The Selected Letters of Elizabeth Stoddard 9781609381455, 9781609381226

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The Selected Letters of Elizabeth Stoddard

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The Selected Letters of

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Elizabeth Stoddard

Edited by Jennifer Putzi and Elizabeth Stockton

University of Iowa Press Iowa City

University of Iowa Press, Iowa City 52242 Copyright © 2012 by the University of Iowa Press www.uiowapress.org Printed in the United States of America Design by Sara T. Sauers No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. All reasonable steps have been taken to contact copyright holders of material used in this book. The publisher would be pleased to make suitable arrangements with any whom it has not been possible to reach. The University of Iowa Press is a member of Green Press Initiative and is committed to preserving natural resources. Printed on acid-free paper Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Stoddard, Elizabeth, 1823­–1902. [Correspondence. Selections] The selected letters of Elizabeth Stoddard / edited by Jennifer Putzi and Elizabeth Stockton.  p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn-13: 978-1-60938-122-6, isbn-10: 1-60938-122-x (pbk) isbn-13: 978-1-60938-145-5, isbn-10: 1-60938-145-9 (e-book) 1. Stoddard, Elizabeth, 1823–1902—Correspondence.  2. Women authors, American—19th century— Correspondence.  I. Putzi, Jennifer.  II. Stockton, Elizabeth. III. Title. ps2934.s3z48 2012 813’.4—dc23 [B] 2012007469

For our boys: Charley Quinn Timothy Putzi, Sam Patrick Addison Putzi, Nolan Patrick Brown, Ian Michael Brown, and William Lowell Jecmen. And for her boys: Wilson (“Willy”) Stoddard, Lorimer (“Lorry”) Edwin Stoddard, and her unnamed infant son.

Contents



xi

Acknowledgements

xiii Introduction xli

Editorial Note

xlv Timeline xlix Biographical Notes 1

Letter 1

To Margaret Sweat November 13, [1851]

3

Letter 2

To Margaret Sweat June 4, [1852]

7

Letter 3

To Margaret Sweat December 23, [1852]

11

Letter 4

To Margaret Sweat January 13, 1853

15

Letter 5

To Margaret Sweat [February 1853]

17

Letter 6

To Margaret Sweat November 8, 1853

20 Letter 7

To Margaret Sweat March 20, [1854]

22 Letter 8

To Rufus Wilmot Griswold January 4, 1856

23 Letter 9 “From Our Lady Correspondent,” Daily Alta California July 7, 1856 30 Letter 10 “From Our Lady Correspondent,” Daily Alta California August 3, 1856 36 Letter 11 “From Our Lady Correspondent,” Daily Alta California September 21, 1856 42 Letter 12 To Annie Taylor (Carey) July 21, 1857 44 Letter 13 To Manton Marble September 19, [1857] 45 Letter 14 To Manton Marble [1858?] 46 Letter 15 To Richard Henry Stoddard [May 26, 1859] 49 Letter 16 To Richard Henry Stoddard July 3, [1859] Letter 17 To James Russell Lowell January 12, [1860] 52 Letter 18 To James Russell Lowell May 5, 1860 51

54

Letter 19 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  May 21, [1860]

57

Letter 20 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  August 25, [1860]

59

Letter 21 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  August 17, 1861

61

Letter 22 To Richard Henry Stoddard  [Late November 1861]

63

Letter 23 To Richard Henry Stoddard  [Late November 1861]

65

Letter 24 To James Lorimer and Josephine Graham January 28, 1862

68

Letter 25 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  March 20, 1862

71

Letter 26 To Bayard and Marie Taylor  April 1, 1862

73

Letter 27 “Gossip From Gotham,” San Francisco Bulletin May 12, 1862

82

Letter 28 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  June 22, 1862

84

Letter 29 To James Lorimer Graham  September 14, 1862

87

Letter 30 “Gossip From Gotham,” San Francisco Bulletin December 13, 1862

94

Letter 31 “Gossip From Boston,” San Francisco Bulletin January 10, 1863

100 Letter 32 To James Lorimer Graham  March 6, 1863 105 Letter 33 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  July 12, 1863 108 Letter 34 To Wilson Barstow Jr.  [April] 16, [1865] 110 Letter 35 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  April 18, 1865 113 Letter 36 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  [May 1865] 116 Letter 37 To Wilson Barstow Jr.  June 21, 1865 119 Letter 38 To Richard Henry Stoddard  June 23, 1865 121 Letter 39 To William Dean Howells [Late November/Early December 1865] 124 Letter 40 To Louise Chandler Moulton  December 16, [1865] 126 Letter 41 To William Dean Howells  August 31, [1866] 128 Letter 42 To Jervis and Gertrude McEntee  October 14, [1867] 131 Letter 43 To Caroline Healey Dall  December 27, 1867 133 Letter 44 To Caroline Healey Dall  February 11, 1868 136 Letter 45 To Helen Hunt (Jackson)  April 7, 1870

139 Letter 46 To Whitelaw Reid  May 9, 1870 141

Letter 47 To Helen Hunt (Jackson)  September 21, 1870

145 Letter 48 To Helen Hunt (Jackson)  November 11, [1870] 148 Letter 49 To Whitelaw Reid  March 10, [1871] 151

Letter 50 To Whitelaw Reid  June 7, 1871

153 Letter 51 To Whitelaw Reid  July 21, [1871] 156 Letter 52 To Whitelaw Reid  August 23, 1871 159 Letter 53 To Elizabeth Akers Allen  June 7, [1872] 163 Letter 54 To Elizabeth Akers Allen  March 28, [1873] 166 Letter 55 To Elizabeth Akers Allen  [Fall/Winter 1873?] 168 Letter 56 To Elizabeth Akers Allen  December 27, [1873?] 170 Letter 57 To William Winter  [November 16, 1874] 172 Letter 58 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  [October 1874] 174 Letter 59 To Elizabeth Akers Allen  February 12, [1876] 176 Letter 60 To Emma Taylor Lamborn  December 24, [1878] 179 Letter 61 To Julia Ripley Dorr  March 31, [1879] 183 Letter 62 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  [Early December 1879] 186 Letter 63 To Julian Hawthorne  November 12, [1883] 189 Letter 64 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  July 19, [1885] 191

Letter 65 To Laura Stedman  July 12, [1887]

193 Letter 66 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  November 18, [1887] 199 Letter 67 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  May 15, [1888] 202 Letter 68 To Lilian Whiting  June 25, [1888] 205 Letter 69 To Julia Ripley Dorr  October 5, [1888] 208 Letter 70 To Lilian Whiting  June 20, [1889] 211

Letter 71 To John Eliot Bowen  November 27, [1889]

213 Letter 72 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  February 3, [1890] 215 Letter 73 To Andrew Varick Stout Anthony  May 7, 1890 217 Letter 74 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  August 21, 1891 220 Letter 75 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  October 22, 1891 222 Letter 76 To William Dean Howells  November 24, [1895] 225 Letter 77 To Julia Ripley Dorr  January 15, 1896

227 Letter 78 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  April 1, 1897 230 Letter 79 To Laura Stedman  November 29, 1897 232 Letter 80 To Lilian Whiting  [July 1901] 234 Letter 81 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  August 29, [1901] 236 Letter 82 To Lilian Whiting  November 18, [1901] 238 Letter 83 To Edmund Clarence Stedman  June 30, 1902 240 Letter 84 To [Constance Lodge Gardner?]  July 2, [1902] 243 Works Cited 247 Index

Acknowledgements

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For recovering Elizabeth Stoddard and creating a culture in which she could be recognized as a writer who deserves this kind of scholarly attention, we would like to offer our deepest thanks to James Matlack, Lawrence Buell, and Sandra Zagarell. Other scholars who have provided invaluable inspiration and assistance at various times throughout this project include Susan Belasco, Helen R. Deese, Philip Gura, Charles F. Hobson, Samuel Otter, and especially Ellen Weinauer. We have been exceptionally fortunate to have intellectual and emotional support from a community of women in our field, especially Faith Barrett, Theresa Strouth Gaul, Desiree Henderson, and Alexandra Socarides. We are also grateful to Deanne Girouard, at the Mattapoisett Inn in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, who welcomed us to Stoddard’s birthplace and provided much needed encouragement. Many students have contributed to this project, at both the College of William and Mary and Southwestern University, and we thank them for their careful attention and hard work: Brooke Arnold, Katie Connor Bennett, Chelsea Edge, Shelley Holder, Megan Keeling, Alexandra Lannon, Nora Pace, Sarah Klotz, Robin Smith, and Elizabeth Swiatoviak. A number of institutions have generously worked with us to locate, photocopy, and interpret Stoddard’s letters: American Antiquarian Society; Boston Public Library; Colby College; Colorado College; Columbia University; Cornell University; Duke University; Folger Shakespeare Library; the Houghton Library at Harvard University; Library of Congress; Massachusetts Historical Society; Middlebury College; New York Public Library; Pennsylvania State University; Player’s Club; Smithsonian Archives of American Art; and the University of California–Berkeley. We are especially grateful to Sandra Stelts, Curator of Rare Books and Manuscripts at Pennsylvania State University, for her continued enthusiasm and support for this project and for Stoddard scholarship. Jenny would like to thank the College of William and Mary for support in the form of Research Leave and a Faculty Summer Research Grant. I xi

am also eternally grateful to Elizabeth Barnes and Melanie Dawson for providing invaluable feedback on our introduction and the volume itself over the years. Simon Joyce has listened patiently to talk about archives, letters, and Stoddard herself since the day we met, and for that, as well as a million other reasons, I love him dearly. Finally, Sam Putzi and Charley Putzi have been constant distractions from and inspirations for this project; Stoddard’s intense love for her children only made sense to me after they were born. Elizabeth would like to thank Southwestern University for its support in the form of sabbatical leaves, summer research awards, and faculty development grants. Funding from the Sam Taylor Fellowship Award from the General Board of Higher Education and Ministry of the United Methodist Church also proved instrumental to this project. I am also thankful to Timothy Jecmen, who provided insight, encouragement, and assistance, as well as Thomas and Margaret Stockton for their generosity and understanding, despite never having heard of Elizabeth Stoddard. Last, but certainly not least, I’m grateful for my family who keeps me laughing and keeps me from taking myself too seriously—Nolan, Ian, William, and most of all, Ryan.

xii

Introduction

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in october 1871, Elizabeth Stoddard published “A Literary Whim” in Appleton’s Journal, “protesting,” she later explained to her friend Elizabeth Akers Allen, “against the frantic fear that authors profess to feel lest they get into print.”1 While these authors eagerly offered their “intellectual wares” to the public, they noisily opposed the publication of letters, anecdotes, and other “innocent items which pertain to them as human beings—husbands, fathers, and the inhabitants of houses where the universal drama goes on as it does with the commonplace and the brainless world.”2 Stoddard viewed writers’ professed aversion to having their private papers published as “a sham, and a duster for the eyes of said public,” and pointed out the irony that “the very authors who at present bar their doors and windows against the vulgar multitude, are, by the light of the midnight lamp, preparing memoirs for the sons and daughters of the fathers and mothers whose curiosity and interest must be baffled and denied.”3 It should be expected, Stoddard asserted, that readers would be eager to know about the lives of the writers whose works they admire, and it was hypocritical of authors to feign shyness about putting their personal experiences and thoughts into print. Yet Stoddard also recognized that the exposure of gossip and private documents to the intrusive gaze of outsiders could only provide a partial representation of the author: What memoir, anecdote, letter, gossip reveals more than some of a man’s many-sided existence? For my part, I believe I shall die an impenetrable secret, even if I should be subjected to the visits of newspaper reporters, desiring to describe my warts and my wens, and to take down my table and my literary talk.4 For Stoddard, the self was ultimately multifaceted and therefore “impenetrable.” Fragments of a life can never be reassembled so as to summon the complexity of a whole person. And yet, as she also acxiii

knowledged, this fact has never prevented readers from attempting to use biographical materials to understand better the literary works and personages that so intrigue them. Nor has it deterred Stoddard’s own readers from trying to reconstruct her personality, “warts” and all. As such, one of our hopes for this volume, the first published collection of Stoddard’s letters,5 is that readers will learn more about Stoddard’s life and career, complicating earlier representations of her as either a literary handmaiden to her more famous husband, Richard Henry Stoddard, or worse, the “Pythoness,” whose sharp tongue and refusal to tolerate foolishness inevitably repelled friends and acquaintances.6 There can be no doubt that Stoddard had “a talent for the disagreeable,” but she was a fully developed person and author in her own right, rather than a mere appendage or foil to the more famous men who surrounded her.7 Her “many-sided existence” has often been overlooked in favor of a caricature that does not take into account the complexity of her roles as wife, mother, friend, enemy, writer, and artist. Thus, even as we readily abandon the hope that these letters can penetrate the “impenetrable secret” that is Elizabeth Stoddard, we do hope that by providing a larger collection of Stoddard’s correspondence than has previously been available, readers will gain a deeper and more complicated sense of her as a woman and a writer—one for whom the letter was a central genre. As Lawrence Buell and Sandra Zagarell observed when they recovered The Morgesons more than twenty-five years ago, Stoddard’s “highly readable letters” are “arresting examples of literary self-dramatization,” which reveal her to be intensely aware of the possibilities of the genre.8 This insight—that Stoddard’s letters constitute a kind of performance, rather than historical raw material—makes them particularly well suited for new conceptualizations of the epistolary genre. As critics like William Merrill Decker, Elizabeth Hewitt, and Theresa Strouth Gaul have recently demonstrated, letters provide more than just a biographical archive; they should also be seen as aesthetic performances that “create the illusion of individuals telling their own stories.”9 In other words, while Stoddard’s letters provide invaluable support for the construction of a biographical narrative, we must keep in mind that, like all autobiographical texts, they can more appropriately be said to constitute the self than reflect it. Furthermore, rather than using letters as a lens through which we can view and identify a stable, singular identity, we xiv

can instead understand them as inherently revealing the malleability of identity and of language. In her letters, Stoddard adeptly plays on generic conventions and linguistic structures to enact particular identities, depending upon the context of the correspondence and her relationship to the correspondent. As a genre, the letter is particularly appropriate for such performances because it is, by its very nature, both intertextual and intersubjective, allowing for—indeed demanding—intimate and multilayered engagements between texts and persons. With some variation within individual correspondences, then, Stoddard constructs a presence particular to each epistolary relationship that allows her to express or experiment with her self in some way—either emotionally, intellectually, or creatively.10 For example, when a thirtyyear-old Stoddard writes to Margaret Sweat, a newly married woman of about the same age, she is the aspiring young urbanite who uses letters to discuss her reading, particularly in philosophy, and to exchange literary and social gossip that positions her firmly within New York City salon culture. Aware that Sweat is at a similar stage in her own life, Stoddard writes often about the difficult balance between heterosexual relationships (paired, as they necessarily were, with sexual activity and procreation) and literary ambition. According to some critics, Stoddard even finds space within these letters to entertain desires that were otherwise denied her by the culture around her—including a longing for same-sex intimacy that went beyond the romantic friendships that were seen as an acceptable precursor to marriage for many young women.11 Letters written twenty years later to Whitelaw Reid, ex–Civil War correspondent and managing editor of the New York Tribune, show Stoddard playing the role of older “woman of sorrows” to younger man, walking a fine line between the personal and professional.12 Stoddard shares gossip with Reid, coyly compliments him, and treats him as a stand-in of sorts for the brothers she has lost. But she also uses her letters to Reid to seek writing engagements for herself and assistance for many of her friends who are also women writers. These letters offer insight into the ways that Stoddard could use letter-writing conventions and epistolary expressions of intimacy, fellow-feeling, and admiration to deepen a professional relationship. The letters to Sweat are unquestionably the most studied of Stoddard’s correspondence. The absence of Sweat’s side of the corresponxv

dence, however, has contributed to a reading of this relationship as one-sided and increasingly tumultuous, marked by a selfishness and rancor that is said to characterize Stoddard’s friendships throughout her life. Stoddard’s frequent disagreements with friends do, in fact, play a large role in her correspondence, and we have included many letters here that demonstrate her quick temper and biting criticisms. She was certainly well aware of her own strengths and weaknesses as a friend; she told Elizabeth Akers Allen early in their relationship, “With me, if you start in a friendship, you will have to begin and go on—with entire, perhaps disagreeable truth, candor, sincerity. There is not one particle of ‘nonsense’ about me. I cannot stand blarney, roundaboutedness. As I have not many good qualities of disposition I feel sure of this.”13 Stoddard certainly was not an angel or a demure Victorian woman. She was direct, opinionated, frequently judgmental, and unafraid to enter into a heated debate or argument. Yet other letters, such as the Reid correspondence, suggest that this was only one part of Stoddard’s role in friendships, especially if we consider each correspondence on its own terms, with its own performative parameters for each of the parties involved. This is true for some of Stoddard’s most important correspondents, to whom she wrote multiple letters—fellow writers Edmund Clarence Stedman and Elizabeth Akers Allen, her brother Wilson Barstow Jr. and her husband Richard Henry Stoddard—as well as literary friends with whom she only corresponded briefly—like William Dean Howells, Helen Hunt (Jackson), and Caroline Healey Dall. Particularly interesting in light of this notion of performativity are Stoddard’s “newspaper letters” to the Daily Alta California and the San Francisco Bulletin, as well as her letters to editors like James Russell Lowell and John Eliot Bowen. These correspondences demonstrate how letters can provide a space for negotiating a professional, authorial identity, as well as the more personal aspects of the self that contemporary readers might more customarily view letters as providing. And yet, Stoddard’s letters offer more than just insight into one woman writer, her experiences, and her explorations of identity. Indeed, her letters provide a literary and cultural history of sorts, particularly of mid to late nineteenth-century New York City, where she lived for most of her adult life. By 1860, the city had become the nation’s printing and publishing capital, and while many in Boston disputed their xvi

rival’s cultural prominence, the Stoddards and other New York writers and publishers remained convinced that, as Charles Fenno Hoffman claimed, “The seat of commerce is . . . the centre of literary power.”14 Stoddard’s correspondence reveals a deep and active engagement with the world around her: she attends literary salons, negotiates with her editors, criticizes and praises the literary works du jour, and passes judgment on the dozens of performances she attends. For this collection we have included letters that reflect Stoddard’s long-term connections with New York. Although much of her fiction that has been reprinted today depicts coastal New England towns that highly resemble her native Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, her letters frequently and vividly depict the variety of her urban experiences, and she often self-consciously positions herself as part of the New York literati, energetically providing literary criticism and gossip to her correspondents. Our selection of letters for this volume was intended to bring attention to this largely neglected aspect of Stoddard’s identity. In choosing letters that represent Stoddard’s life and work, as well as the larger culture in which she lived, we have attempted to create a readable volume for those completely new to Stoddard, as well as those who have keen interests in her biography and work. Rather than attempting to provide complete views of any extant correspondence—such as those with Richard or Sweat—we instead favored letters that would provide readers with a wide range of Stoddard’s opinions, interests, and experiences, so as to offer a richer sense of Stoddard’s complexity than we feel exists elsewhere. Concurrently, we have sought to avoid any pretense of objectivity or comprehensiveness, opting instead to foreground our editorial concerns about prior representations of Stoddard, as well as the inevitable silences and gaps in the archives. In assembling this collection, we have had to acknowledge that Stoddard—like perhaps any historical subject—will indeed remain “an impenetrable secret,” and as such we resisted using her letters to construct a seemingly linear and coherent story of her life. In short, we have intentionally resisted the urge to make these letters “story.” In her study of her great-great-great-aunt’s diary, Jennifer Sinor argues that to force women’s personal writing “to story” is to look past the conventional in order to highlight only those elements that seem the most dramatic aspects. She warns against taking multiple texts or parts of texts and xvii

then framing them as a single narrative when they were never intended to function in that way. Sinor suggests that rather than approaching a text as a mediator—someone who will make sense of it for other readers—scholars should consider “the writer’s agency in producing the text in the first place” and then “generat[e] the kinds of questions that allow us to meet the writing and the writer on their terms.”15 Though letters are certainly different from diaries, both similarly rely on convention, repetition, and parataxis, as well as individual creativity, and both can seem equally opaque when presented to a reader for whom they are not originally intended. This is not to ignore the biographical. Rather, it is to consider letters as a distinct genre and to understand what letters do, in addition to what they are. Although biography is not the key to the epistolary (or vice versa), it provides an important vantage point from which to view the “manysided existence” that constituted Elizabeth Stoddard. To aid in this endeavor, we represent Stoddard’s life in several overlapping ways in our prefatory materials: in the biographical sketch that follows, in which we position many of the letters and correspondences that we have selected for inclusion here; in a timeline that highlights important events such as births, deaths, publications, and the beginnings and endings of personal and professional relationships; and in biographical notes on each of the correspondents represented in this volume. These tools can help uninitiated readers develop a context for the letters, and they will also, we hope, assist Stoddard scholars as they pursue additional work on this compelling writer. At the end of this introduction, we discuss more explicitly our own editorial processes and decisions in order to make transparent, and indeed to problematize, the ways in which we converted Stoddard’s handwritten letters into the printed representations that make up The Selected Letters of Elizabeth Stoddard.

Elizabeth Stoddard: A Life We know very little about Elizabeth Stoddard’s early life, but it seems to have been shaped inexorably by geography. Stoddard was born in 1823 in Mattapoisett (then Rochester), Massachusetts, on the northern shore of Buzzard’s Bay. She was of the fourth generation of Barstows to reside in Mattapoisett, and her family was comfortably well off if xviii

not particularly prestigious. Her father, Wilson Barstow Sr., owned a shipbuilding yard, like generations of Barstow men had before him; unlike them, however, he was swept up in the heady days of the whaling boom, with its insatiable demand for ships, and the subsequent bust following the Panic of 1857 and leading into the Civil War. Throughout Stoddard’s early life, her father’s firm failed several times, placing a strain on the Barstows’ standing in the town as well as on the family’s internal dynamics. Stoddard seems to have left Mattapoisett several times in order to attend school: she enrolled in the Wheaton Female Seminary in Norton, Massachusetts, in 1837 and again in 1840. According to Richard Stoddard’s memoir, however, these stints did less to incur a love of learning in Stoddard than did her informal study under Thomas Robbins, Mattapoisett’s Congregationalist minister from 1831 to 1844. Robbins gave Elizabeth access to “the range of his library, which was a large one . . . and which consisted chiefly of the classic works of the eighteenth century. . . . She read hundreds, thousands of volumes in the good doctor’s library, which was to her a liberal education, and indeed, the only education she ever had.”16 While Stoddard’s life was no doubt changed by Robbins’s dismissal from the pulpit, it was the deaths of her sister, Jane, and their mother within six months of one another in the late 1840s that most significantly changed her young life. As she told her friend Margaret Sweat in January 1853, “Mother took what remained of home, with her when she died.”17 Such feelings may help explain why, in 1849, Stoddard began making more extended trips to New York City to stay with her favorite brother, Wilson Barstow Jr., seven years her junior. In the city, she participated in literary salons hosted by Anne Lynch (Botta), Caroline Kirkland, and George Palmer Putnam, and she interacted with many of the era’s literary luminaries, including William Cullen Bryant, Horace Greeley, Susan Warner, and Alice and Phoebe Cary. “I met great generals, actors, artists, musicians and travelers,” she later recalled, “one lion to a reception and a band of admirers.”18 It is most likely at one of these gatherings that she met Richard Henry Stoddard, a young, relatively self-educated poet who had also grown up in Massachusetts, but in very different circumstances than Elizabeth. Stoddard’s father had died at sea when he was young, leaving his mother to struggle to support three small children, two of whom soon died. Richard went to work when he xix

was fifteen years old, and by the time Elizabeth moved to the city, he was employed as an iron-molder and was about to publish his first book of poems. After a sporadic courtship, marked by Elizabeth’s uncertainty as to whether or not to move with her brother Wilson to California, the two were married on December 6, 1852. Around the same time that she met Richard, Elizabeth began the friendship that marks the beginning of this volume of letters; during a trip to Portland, Maine, in the summer of 1851, she was introduced to Margaret Jane Mussey Sweat, with whom she corresponded for three years. These letters provide some of the only information regarding Stoddard’s life and intellectual development during this period, revealing her to be a young woman embedded in literary culture, and, like Sweat, eager to be an author herself. Stoddard’s literary apprenticeship was slow, however, and there is little evidence that she began writing anything other than letters until she was almost thirty years old. Whether it was because “the habit of writing is sometimes catching,” as Richard claimed,19 or because she had finally made connections that would enable her to publish, Stoddard placed a short poem in the Literary World in October 1852, two months prior to her wedding. She followed this with a series of short poems in the Knickerbocker Magazine in November 1854, which she proudly sent to Sweat, adding, “Stoddard is a severe master and I get so discouraged that I cry dreadfully, then his hands are full.”20 Her most important opportunity as a relatively new professional writer came when she began writing as the “Lady Correspondent” for the San Francisco Daily Alta California in October 1854. Some women writers and activists, like Margaret Fuller, had ventured into newspaper writing in the 1840s, and by the 1850s Fanny Fern and other women columnists were fast becoming journalistic sensations. Stoddard both capitalized on their fame and attempted to distinguish herself from them, beginning her first letter to the Alta by wondering “whether to present myself as a genuine original, or adopt some great example in style: such as the pugilism of Fanny Fern, the pathetics of Minnie Myrtle, or the abandon of Cassie Cauliflower.”21 Stoddard’s regular column kept readers abreast of cultural events in New York City; in the letters included here, for example, she discusses plays, books, and a new statue of George Washington in Union Square. Writing the “Lady Correspondent” letters, she later insisted, “proved useful to me in two xx

ways: teaching me to write prose and the earning of money.”22 This assignment was surely at least in part responsible for her expansion into prose writing—especially short sketches and stories—in the late 1850s. While she continued to write poetry, prose may have freed her, to some extent, from her “severe master,” allowing her to pursue her own literary ambitions apart from those of Richard. The column also served as her initiation into a genre, the newspaper letter, that she would return to throughout her life, partly because of the steady remuneration it offered, but perhaps also because it permitted an array of tones and subject matter unavailable to her in other genres. By her thirties, then, Stoddard was committed to a literary life in New York City—earning money for her own writing and associating daily with her fellow authors. The Stoddards often hosted their friends at their home, coming together to eat and drink, read and write poetry, and discuss literature and literary gossip. According to Lilian Woodman Aldrich, the Stoddards’ house was one of the most important literary gathering places in the entire city: “Of the heterogeneous company of men and women that assembled daily at her table she numbered authors, actors, artists, musicians, mathematicians, professors, journalists, critics, and essayists. . . . An invitation to her rooms on the evening she entertained was to this company what a ribbon is to a soldier, and prized accordingly.”23 Similarly, long after his initial introduction to the couple in the early 1860s, William Dean Howells could still recall the vitality of the Stoddards’ home: I remember very well the lodging . . . where I visited these winning and gifted people, and tasted the pleasure of their racy talk, and the hospitality of their good-will toward all literature, which certainly did not leave me out. We sat before their grate in the chill of the last October days, and they set each other on to one wild flight of wit after another. . . . I liked the absolutely literary keeping of their lives.24 When Stoddard was away from the city, she frequently longed to return, telling Richard, “I do not know any other paradise now than those two shabby rooms.”25 While she thrived intellectually in the urban environment, Stoddard often bemoaned her domestic situation since the couple’s relative lack xxi

of wealth required that they rent “shabby rooms” and live as boarders throughout most of their lives. Access to the cultural life of New York City clearly necessitated long working hours and the sacrifice of creature comforts. Stoddard’s letters often address her physical ailments, which she believed were worsened by a lack of fresh air, exercise, and competent medical attention. To provide relief from some of these concerns, her summers were usually spent outside of New York—in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, with the Taylor family; in Mattapoisett; and later in life, in Sag Harbor. Though these annual escapes from the city provided much needed relief and rejuvenation, both physically and creatively, both Richard and Elizabeth clearly felt that New York offered them the best opportunity to immerse themselves in the literary life to which they were both devoted. The Stoddards’ literary life underwent its most dramatic change when, in June 1855, their first son, Wilson (“Willy”), was born. Although Stoddard had been concerned about the effect of childbearing and childrearing on her professional aspirations, she and Richard were affectionate, even passionate, parents, indulging their children and finding their growth and development nothing short of marvelous. While away from Richard, Elizabeth frequently wrote to him to report on Willy’s health and activities; for example, on May 26, 1859, she wrote from Bayard Taylor’s home in Pennsylvania, where she and Willy were staying, “It would do your heart good to see Willie’s health and happiness. . . . This afternoon he has been hard at work picking cherries. He rushes into my room with leaves and flowers, and says, ‘for you Mama put them in water’—I take the greatest delight in him.”26 Unfortunately, the Stoddards experienced a significant amount of tragedy in their family life, as well. In May 1859, only months after his birth, their second child (who remained unnamed) died as a result of complications from a severe cleft palate, and then, in December 1861 after a very brief illness, Willy died when he was just six-and-a-half years old. Stoddard’s letters regarding the illnesses and deaths of her children speak to the precariousness of life in the mid-nineteenth century, when diseases such as pneumonia, smallpox, and malaria were commonly fatal, especially for children. As the multitudes of elegies for dead children published in the nineteenth century attest, child death was both one of the most common and yet the most painful of experiences for parents during xxii

this period. The shock of Willy’s death devastated the Stoddards, as Elizabeth reported to their friends Lorimer and Josephine Graham: It is all over now, all over but our grief which will not end. I have been ill, confined to my room, and Stoddard has been miserable in health also, but we are better in health now. I try to feel resigned but I cannot, Stoddard is a Christian and dwells on the idea of Willy’s eternal happiness. I dwell on the idea of my loss, and am devoured by a longing love which continually cries to have him back.27 This loss would remain with Stoddard for the rest of her life; almost thirty-five years later, she referred to Willy as “the life of my heart—the loss which still gives me such a pang, that both, Stoddard and I shut it off from each other.”28 The Stoddard’s third son, the only one to survive to adulthood, was born in December 1863, and Elizabeth’s delight in and affection for this child was made more keen by awareness of her previous loss. “My Lorry promises to be a glorious child,” she told Stedman in April 1865, “he grows so cunning every day that I am in a misery of delight because he does not present field enough for me to express my love.”29 Motherhood was central to Stoddard’s life even while her writing career flourished. Just six months after Willy’s death, Stoddard’s first novel, The Morgesons, was published. Her most significant literary accomplishment prior to this was the placement of “My Own Story” in the Atlantic Monthly in May 1860, as well as a number of short stories and poems in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine throughout the early 1860s. The Morgesons received positive reviews in several newspapers, most notably the New York Tribune, and while the sales of the book were not extraordinary (she would later chalk this up to the Civil War), Stoddard seems to have felt encouraged to continue her writing career. She had already begun another engagement as a newspaper correspondent, writing a series of twenty-two letters for the San Francisco Bulletin from May 1862 to March 1863. Her “feminine seat-of-war letters” were informed both by her own experiences living in New York City during the war and by the letters of her brother Wilson, who was serving as aide-de-camp at Fort Monroe in Hampton, Virginia.30 Like her letters to the Daily Alta California, the Bulletin pieces contain book and theater reviews, yet they also provide a distinctly feminine view of the war from the homefront. In her first xxiii

letters, she highlights her gender, mocking the male “War Correspondent,” who “clothes his pen with thunder,” and she distinguishes herself by claiming she is “a person of sedentary habits—a knitter-up of odds and ends of threads which drop from the great web woven daily by the brains of men, and called Life.”31 The inclusion in this volume of letters from the Bulletin and of Stoddard’s personal letters from the Civil War period helps dispel the continued misperception that Stoddard’s literary output was distanced from the politics of her day. Both Stedman and Taylor were engaged as war correspondents, and as her letters indicate, Stoddard was curious and opinionated about the political and military issues that also consumed the rest of her friends. Before the war, she and Richard were moderate Democrats, and Richard sought political appointments from acquaintances in the party. She was opposed to slavery, though she evidenced little sympathy for, let alone engagement with, the abolitionist movement. In particular, she despised the hypocrisy of Northerners who stereotyped both African American slaves and white slaveholders alike. During the war, though, the Stoddards supported the Union; Stoddard’s brother, Wilson, served in the army, as did Richard Stoddard’s stepfather. However, the couple continued to align themselves with Democrats, like Manton Marble, editor of the New York World, rather than their more radical friends, like George Boker, who had gradually shifted allegiances to the Republican Party. In January 1863, Taylor warned Elizabeth: “We had better not write about politics at all. You cannot expect me to take my military opinions from Wilson or my politics from Marble—much as I personally esteem them both. I will only say this—that the ‘World’ is now doing the Union cause more harm in Europe than all the Richmond papers together.”32 The Stoddards’ disapproval of President Abraham Lincoln, which largely stemmed from their support of General George B. McClellan, perhaps placed the most strain on their friendships. Yet, the epistolary evidence suggests that Elizabeth did not blindly adhere to the views of the men closest to her, particularly when it came to their opinions of Lincoln. It is worth noting that in letters both to and from the Stoddards, Richard is often singled out as being the one opposed to Lincoln and most sympathetic to Southerners’ positions. Elizabeth seemed to recognize that her husband’s views were extreme: in a letter written to xxiv

Wilson from Mattapoisett immediately following the assassination of Lincoln, she asked her brother, “What does Dick think now of the business I have heard him advocate—‘that of killing a tyrant’?”33 Her own coverage of the President in her Bulletin letters is largely evenhanded and sometimes complimentary, indicating frustration with the conduct of the war more than with any particular political party or politician. At the very least, her public letters’ relative lack of criticism toward Lincoln indicates Stoddard’s awareness of her readers’ increased endorsement of him and shows her ability and willingness to separate her professional identity from her family’s more polarizing views. Although Stoddard expressed strong political opinions in both her personal and professional writing, she harbored a sustained antipathy toward virtually all collective action. Stoddard privileged individuality over group progress and seemed not to value highly the potential of systemic change. Throughout her life, she repeatedly and openly mocked many of the most prominent women’s rights activists, including Lucy Stone, Paulina Wright Davis, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. In 1870, she writes somewhat teasingly to Helen Hunt (Jackson): “Are you a woman’s righter? I hope not . . . Heavens! How humiliating to our sex all this business is! I can do all that is necessary in this world provided I have original power enough, and if I have not of what use is it to attempt to bolster up imbecility?” 34 In certain letters, Stoddard even claimed that these women activists were simply suffering from loveless marriages and passionless lives, rather than any burning political motivation. In an early letter to Margaret Sweat, for example, Stoddard provides this curt assessment of women activists, after attending a temperance convention: “Those ridiculous women . . . most of them have wretched lives with their husbands.”35 Stoddard’s dismissal of politically active women as emotionally unsatisfied is mirrored by her own attempts to reconcile her desires for a passionate, emotional life with the social, legal, and economic concerns that nineteenth-century women faced. In the 1860s, arguably in the midst of her most creative and innovative period, the letters show Stoddard balancing writing with childcare; while writing The Morgesons, she told Stedman, “I pore over my Ms every day, struggle, fight, despair and hope over it. . . . I cannot work as fast as I am prepared in mind, on account of my not being well, and the care of Willy. I have to do xxv

everything for him, wash, dress, feed, and watch him.”36 Housekeeping in particular required sacrifices of time and energy that she found antithetical to the creative life. After signing a contract for The Morgesons in 1861, she wrote to Richard from Mattapoisett and insisted that he hire someone to clean and cook for the family: “. . . have a woman there to help me. I am never going to do any more housework if I can help it, I am an AUTHOR. I shall be so thankful to get home so glad—it is so cold in the bed! I want a man’s love—.”37 It is too simplistic, though, to claim that Stoddard vacillated between seeing herself as an independent, professional woman and as a passionate, romantic wife. Rather than placing the personal and political in tension, these comments point to the ways that Stoddard connected women’s daily experiences, responsibilities, and feelings with larger social and political forces. She repeatedly recognized and vehemently denounced the ways that these same demands plagued many of her women friends and correspondents. As she wrote to editor Whitelaw Reid in 1871 about a woman writer who had been abandoned by her husband: Think of this young, talented woman, nursing her boy, tending him alone, and writing for their dear mutual lives! You see a young, talented man with the same chance, does not have a baby tugging all night at his nipples, twisting, writhing, squealing in his arms all day—he has his sleep, his leisure his strength for himself—and he is not bound to a jealous being who has the law on his side!38 Here, as in her other writing, Stoddard’s description of women’s domestic life seems to borrow from the sentimental register only to reveal its hollowness and inadequacy, as she transforms the infant into a primal animal and condemns the man for his laziness and jealousy. Ultimately, Stoddard recognizes that this situation is not merely an interplay between two people, but the product of the patriarchal society in which she lives. A number of the letters in this volume demonstrate a similar sympathy for women in oppressive relationships, and a frequent willingness to intervene on their behalf. For example, writing to Reid about their mutual friend, the writer Louise Chandler Moulton, Stoddard describes her marriage to William U. Moulton, editor of the Boston True Flag, as “one eternal nag on all and every possible ground of fault-finding. When I was in Boston,” she goes on to say, “left alone a xxvi

moment I pitched into him, in one instant he was whimpering, and if we had not been interrupted, I should have had him turned inside out.”39 Passages such as these reveal that, although Stoddard might have stood aloof from the organized women’s rights movement, she persistently acknowledged the many ways that social and legal obstacles prevented women from achieving personal and professional fulfillment. Despite having a relatively supportive marriage herself, Stoddard faced a number of disappointments in her writing career, beginning with the mixed critical reception and poor sales of the two novels to follow The Morgesons: Two Men in 1865 and Temple House in 1867. She continually felt herself encouraged by positive reviews, such as William Dean Howells’s review of Two Men in the Nation that declared the novel “original in its goodness and in its badness,”40 but disappointed by others that criticized her handling of plot, dialogue, and, most infuriatingly, the morality (or lack thereof ) of her characters. After Temple House, her favorite of her novels, received the worst reviews of the three, she left off novel writing and turned primarily to periodical publication. The epistolary evidence does not indicate whether this shift resulted simply from disappointment over the reception of her novels, although that seems to have played a role. The failure of her novels to establish her reputation as an author was certainly her deepest professional disappointment. Time and again throughout her life, Stoddard frets over and quibbles with particular reviews, sometimes even decades after they were published. She seems to have clashed with several correspondents for not sufficiently appreciating her novels, as in letters to Caroline Healey Dall, and she also adopted new friends, like fellow novelist Edward Payson Roe, simply because of their expression of admiration for her work. The critical response to her novels, she believed, had influenced Richard’s opinion that, as she writes to Stedman in 1888, “I have no literary art, never had, never shall.”41 Decades after her novels were published, Stoddard reveals to William Dean Howells that Richard “never believed in them” and that were it not for James Russell Lowell helping her with her first published story, “I probably never should have written prose again.”42 Stoddard’s turn to periodical publication may also be attributed to a developing interest in the short story form; in August 1866, while writing Temple House, she told Howells, “Do you not think there must be a xxvii

good deal that is trivial in a novel? Poetry does not own that necessity. If I could push the course of my lives in a hundred pages, I could make them cut like a scythe, but a novel must not consist of a hundred pages.”43 Financial necessity was most likely a consideration as well. Year after year, Richard constantly labored at one writing or editing project after another in order to make ends meet, but the Stoddards seem never to have been financially secure. Elizabeth often found herself writing consciously for the market, cannibalizing her life and the lives of friends and relatives in order to sell her work. “Aint checks nice,” she asked her friend and fellow writer Elizabeth Akers Allen. “I am full of venality. I’ll sell my grandmothers high temper, my uncles drunkenness in articles.”44 It seems clear that Stoddard viewed herself as an “AUTHOR” during the early 1860s at the height of her novel-writing endeavors, but critics have mistakenly characterized the subsequent decades, in which she focused on genres other than the novel, as a dark and relatively uninteresting period in her life. Although letters from this period reflect some disappointment with the direction of her career, they also show her to be as productive and as engaged in literary culture as she ever was. Her relationships with editor Whitelaw Reid, fellow writers Elizabeth Akers Allen, Helen Hunt Jackson, and artist Jervis McEntee, among others, began during this period. She also wrote letters and perhaps criticism for the New York Tribune, and in 1874, released a children’s book, Lolly Dinks’ Doings, which was originally published in smaller segments in periodicals. Throughout this period Stoddard also continued to publish short fiction and poetry, as she had since the early 1850s. One of the most important contributions of this volume for Stoddard scholars, we believe, is its representation of this period in Stoddard’s life, which has too often been passed over. We have, therefore, included a significant portion of letters from this period, including an engaging set of letters to Whitelaw Reid, which has previously been unexamined by critics and biographers. Letters like those to Reid, as well as those to her many other editors, reveal the various ways Stoddard promoted her talent and advocated for her authorial decisions, even as she negotiated the tastes and demands of the publishing industry. Perhaps most famously, her exchanges with James Russell Lowell in 1860 show a young Stoddard attempting to strike a balance between pleasing an editor and writing in her own style. In xxviii

her first letter to the esteemed editor of the Atlantic Monthly, Stoddard demurely asks for assistance with a story that Richard had submitted for her: “Will you oblige me by sending said narrative back with your opinion of what I should do with it . . . It is a trouble of course, but if you are an editor how can it be helped?”45 As their exchange continues over the next few months, Stoddard braces at Lowell’s assertion that her writing goes “too near the edge,” querying him: Must I create from whose, or what standard? . . . Do I disturb your artistic sense by my want of refinement? I must own that I am coarse by nature. At times I have an overwhelming perception of the back side of truth. I see the rough lathes behind the fine mortar—the body within its purple and fine linen—the mood of the man and the woman in the dark on the light of his or her mind when alone. . . . Tell me—whether in writing, one should aim at entering a circle already established—or making one? 46 Rather than suggesting that Stoddard’s modesty in the first letter is some kind of performance, whereas the bold interrogation of morality and aesthetics in the second is a more accurate representation of Stoddard, it seems most useful to consider this correspondence in light of others in which she attempts to position her work in the literary marketplace. In her letters to Lowell, Stoddard openly struggles with the relationship between editor and author, deliberately questioning the extent to which she should revise—or even stifle—the integrity and independence of her own vision. Almost thirty years later, Stoddard continues to query editors about their changes to her work, but she seems more receptive or perhaps resigned to retooling her pieces to fit readers’ expectations. She still insinuates that her work represents the “truth” of her experiences, but she more readily accepts the fickleness of the publishing industry. Her later letters, especially the more commonplace ones in which she negotiates with editors over the length of her stories or the pay she will receive, reveal a willingness to produce material that suits the particular periodical and its audience. Writing to John Bowen, editor of the Independent, after the publication of a Thanksgiving story, Stoddard indicates her surprise at the changes he had made to her text: xxix

I have read my story with smiles of wonder. It seems to me that the individuality of it is left out. . . . On the whole, when I compare it with the sketch that follows it, I believe mutilated as it is, we can hardly call it commonplace. Some time I hope to do something for you that will suit us both entirely.47 Stoddard’s earlier concerns to Lowell about to what and to whose standards she should conform appear to be clarified in these correspondences. Her experiences in the publishing industry seem to have inured her—at least somewhat—to the seemingly arbitrary demands of editors, publishers, and readers. The 1880s brought a significant boost to Stoddard’s ego with the reprints of her novels, over twenty years after their initial publication. This process of revision and republication was perhaps sparked by an effusive 1883 letter from Julian Hawthorne, the son of Nathaniel Hawthorne, written after he read Temple House. His assessment of the novel was thoughtful and nuanced, and he closed by insisting, “It will be a great loss to literature if you do not write again.”48 Such encouragement prompted Stoddard, with the invaluable assistance of Stedman, to seek republication, and the three novels were issued in quick succession from June 1888 to September 1889. In his new preface to Two Men, the first novel to be reprinted in the series, Stedman claimed that Stoddard was ahead of her time and insisted that, had the novels not been published during and immediately after the Civil War, they “would have been received by the many, as they were by the critical few, for what they verily were—the pioneers of something new and real in the novelist’s art.”49 The republished novels were generally well received, but as many of the letters included here reveal, Stoddard was not completely pleased by the financial remuneration from Cassells, the British firm with whom she had signed her contract, or the recognition by her peers. Their moderate success, however, made it possible for her to publish her only volume of verse, Poems, with Houghton Mifflin in 1895. By the turn of the century, the novels had fallen out of public view again, before they were reprinted once more by Coates, a Philadelphia publishing firm, in 1901. By the end of the nineteenth century, the Stoddards were splitting their time between New York City and their vacation residence in Sag Harbor, Long Island, living quieter lives and enjoying their only survivxxx

ing son’s, Lorry’s, moderate success as an actor and playwright. The Stoddards’ health had long been a source of concern: Elizabeth’s letters from this period are filled with discussions of her own nervous and digestive disorders, as well as Richard’s chronic eye problems, which had reduced him to near blindness. The Stoddards were stunned then when Lorry was stricken with a severe case of tuberculosis in 1899. They rushed to the Loomis Sanitarium in Liberty, New York, to find him dying. “It is an awful tragedy in my soul as I look upon my son,” Elizabeth told Stedman. “I have no intimation as yet, how I am going to exist after.”50 Lorry died in September 1901. Elizabeth and Richard, hampered by age, grief, and financial concerns, were cared for faithfully by servants and worried over by friends. Elizabeth died on August 1, 1902, at age seventy-nine. Richard spent his days after Elizabeth’s death organizing their papers and books, most of which he donated to the Authors Club in New York City, and lamenting the loss of his family. After Richard’s death, Stedman’s daughter-in-law, Ellen, who had assisted Richard with his books, wrote to Julia Ripley Dorr to explain, “He was always much affected when he spoke of Mrs. Stoddard, or of Lorimer.” In fact, each day we would begin by calculating how many days it was since his “Dear One”—Mrs. Stoddard—had gone. He was not satisfied to say, it was so many days yesterday and then to add another day; but we had to go through the entire calculation each day. Then he would be, for the time being, bowed down with grief.51 Richard died on May 12, 1903, and he, Elizabeth, and Lorry Stoddard are all buried together at Sag Harbor.

Elizabeth Stoddard: The Letters If these letters can be more richly understood as performances in addition to biographical material, it is worth emphasizing that these performances take place within a genre that is changed inexorably by the very transcription and editing process necessary to publication. To some degree, meeting letters on their own terms becomes more, rather than less, difficult once a set of correspondence is published. Any collection of letters is necessarily incomplete: a printed volume can never convey the full experience of reading handwritten personal correspondence. xxxi

Whenever handwritten letters are transcribed into printed text, they inevitably lose some of their materiality—their creases, marginal notations, stains, and postmarks. It is simply impossible to replicate the experience of handling and reading an original letter.52 In addition, due to space constraints, many collections of correspondence can only include a small number of extant letters. After reviewing more than 700 letters for this project, we selected just 84—or, roughly 12 percent of Stoddard’s surviving epistolary output—and made a conscious decision to include letters spanning her lifetime, beginning with her earliest known correspondence in 1851 and ending with a letter written about a month before her death in 1902. This means that readers looking for correspondence regarding a particular text or event—say, the publication of her first novel, The Morgesons—will find representation, but not complete coverage. For obvious reasons, we have chosen to include the most interesting and well-written letters—and therefore the least conventional or commonplace—which means we lose something of Stoddard as a regular, “boring” correspondent. All letters, however, are reproduced in full, placing the ordinary and the extraordinary side by side, often in the same paragraph or thought. Our annotations point readers toward additional letters, both to and from Stoddard, that might be of interest. We have, generally, tried to foreground correspondences (and correspondents) that were particularly important to Stoddard; some of these correspondences (those with Sweat, Stedman, and Akers Allen, for example) seem to survive almost in full, while others (with her husband, Richard, and her brother, Wilson) are represented by only a handful of extant letters, many of which we’ve included here. Taken together, groups of these letters speak to stories, experiences, or themes that we’ve highlighted here in the introduction—Stoddard’s writing career; the deaths of her children; her perspective on women’s rights—yet they will also hopefully point researchers in other directions that we have not elaborated upon or anticipated. In what is perhaps a more unusual move, we have included a selection of Stoddard’s letters written for publication in newspapers. In doing so, we hope to contribute to recent scholarly endeavors that work to theorize correspondence—its materiality, its multiple audiences, its corporate authorship, and its intertextuality. Although it might seem odd by today’s generic standards to refer to a newspaper column as a xxxii

“letter,” the nineteenth-century context provides reason to do so. First, the newspapers themselves called particular pieces by Stoddard and other writers “letters.” The Daily Alta California titled each of Stoddard’s entries “Letter from a Lady Correspondent,” and the San Francisco Bulletin headlined her pieces similarly. Stoddard herself envisioned particular newspaper writings as letters. When announcing her Bulletin engagement to Bayard and Marie Taylor, for example, she explains, “I have just made an engagement with a San Francisco paper . . . to write three letters a month—$10 each.”53 In Stoddard’s letters to the Alta and the Bulletin, she writes to her California readers as if writing to a friend who has left New York and moved to California; her responsibility as correspondent is to gather materials from her urban experiences for letters that will make her readers feel closer to home. Thus, although Stoddard does not address her newspaper letters to a single individual, she is also not simply addressing them to any reader of the paper. Instead, she is using these letters to bridge the distance between herself and a particular set of individuals who share a common experience and location—similar to the way letter writers would communicate with a whole family by sending a letter to one individual.54 Although she does not receive letters in return, her letters seem to stand in for a complete correspondence, as she reveals when she foresees herself rereading them some day in the far distant future, “with the sentiment of a lover who weeps over the time-stained letters from the love of his youth!”55 Her tone is somewhat mocking, but the “sentiment” expressed here—the way in which correspondence represents a relationship that has disappeared or perhaps just changed over time—is true for both “newspaper letters” and private letters. Reading Stoddard’s private letters next to her newspaper correspondence can help us complicate our thinking about the epistolary genre and about Stoddard’s understanding of its potential. For example, the public (and published) nature of newspaper letters highlights the different degrees of privacy expected of different epistolary relationships, and within the same relationship at different times. A letter to Lorimer Graham about the death of her intimate friend, Mary Booth, and the excessive grief of Mary’s husband, the actor Edwin Booth, is headed “Confidential,” but in the postscript, Stoddard tells Graham that she has read part of one of his letters “to an admiring tea party in our room.”56 xxxiii

Some letters are written to married couples, such as Bayard and Marie Taylor, while others are written jointly from both of the Stoddards to a single individual, as was the “Siamese-twin letter of introduction” that they wrote to Reid on behalf of a female journalist.57 Still others contain private letters written to Stoddard that she then passes on to another correspondent.58 As recent scholarship has pointed out, letters have often been intended for multiple audiences, even when they are only addressed to a single individual, and they circulate in very different ways after they have been opened and read by the intended recipient. The majority of the letters included here are the more traditionally conceived personal letters that have been acquired and cataloged by university archives and historical societies. This edition, then, like others that focus on women writers, faces particular challenges because of the gendered politics of both the literary marketplace and the archive that often devalue both women’s writing and private documents like diaries and letters. Throughout her lifetime and for decades after her death, Stoddard’s husband was the more famous of the two. It is likely that many of Stoddard’s correspondents and later collectors of her materials saved only those letters that reflected on Richard and his more famous friends. For decades Stoddard’s materials were often archived and then interpreted in light of Richard’s.59 Although many early collectors of Stoddard’s materials were esteemed scholars and literary critics, their estimate of her literary talent was almost universally slight, representing her more as a thorny personality than as an author in her own right. With most of Stoddard’s letters having only been printed in excerpts, these views have inadvertently been passed on in the scholarship, thus privileging certain kinds of letters—ones in which Stoddard appears argumentative, critical, or flirtatious—while ignoring others. We hope our inclusion of more personal and self-reflective letters will provide readers with a better sense of Stoddard’s “many-sided existence.” Although most of the archival material we encountered was treated with care and respect throughout its archiving processes, the decadeslong dismissal of Stoddard as a woman and a writer—as well as the devaluing of the letter as a genre—means that there is simply no way to know what might have been discarded as irrelevant, trivial, or morally incriminating. Some correspondence seems to have been preserved xxxiv

in its entirety—as is the case of her more than two hundred letters to Stedman—but many more correspondences are simply missing and presumed destroyed—with close friends Bayard and Marie Taylor, George Henry Boker, and Mary Neely Bradley, as well as people like Edwin Booth and Laura Curtis Bullard, with whom she shared brief but passionate relationships. These figures remain central to the surviving correspondence, but the absence of letters to (and quite often from) them highlights the limitations of our knowledge of Stoddard’s life as well as her letter-writing practices. Perhaps most surprising—and frustrating—is the almost complete absence of letters written or received by Stoddard during the first twentyeight years of her life. In fact, very little from this period survives: we have been unable to uncover any family documents, mementoes, or letters. An article published in the New Bedford Evening Standard on the day Stoddard died draws attention to the many epistolary relationships that may have illuminated her early life, but which have been erased because manuscripts have either been destroyed or are simply impossible to find without the name of a correspondent with which to begin. Titled “Prettiest Girl in This Section,” the piece opens as follows: Friends of Mrs. R. H. Stoddard in Fairhaven and Mattapoisett maintain a correspondence with her. The last letters which were received stated that she was on the way to recovery. This was just before the press dispatches which told of Mrs. Stoddard’s relapse were published. As no letters have since been received, it is thought that Mrs. Stoddard is still unable to write, but some of the correspondents are in such close relations with her that they feel confident if there was danger of immediate dissolution they would be notified.60 The anxiety over letters not received—and indeed, never to be received— reflects something of the scholarly distress that we feel, thinking about the lost correspondences and what they might reveal about Elizabeth Stoddard. We continue to hope that the growth of Stoddard’s reputation will prompt the discovery of additional correspondence that has remained heretofore unidentified due to any number of factors—the limited reach of academic recovery projects; the obscurity of some of xxxv

Stoddard’s correspondents; the difficulty of her handwriting; her habit of signing her letters simply “EDBS.” There is no doubt that Stoddard was a prolific correspondent, a writer for whom letter writing inevitably served multiple functions by expressing her intense emotions, deepening (or otherwise complicating) her friendships, developing her authorial voice, and furthering her career. There is also little doubt that while she may have irritated and alienated some of her correspondents, many found it more than worthwhile to withstand the vicissitudes of her emotions—the candor, the wit, the sympathy, the petty complaints, and the intense desire for connection. As her intimate friend Mary Bradley, a poet and writer of children’s literature, told a male correspondent, “Don’t write us down as an ‘incomprehensible’ sex on the strength of Elizabethan vagaries. From the author of Temple House one can’t expect all the conventional virtues—but we get something better sometimes.”61 Readers today might see much of Stoddard’s correspondence as striking because it is what we would like to believe we would have been like had we lived in such a supposedly mild-mannered and repressive time period. It is also perhaps accurate to say that the correspondence reveals both the comprehensible and the incomprehensible, the conventional and the unconventional about Stoddard and her time and perhaps about the genre of the letter as well.

Notes 1. Letter 54 in this volume. 2. Stoddard, “A Literary Whim,” 440. 3. “A Literary Whim,” 440. 4. “A Literary Whim,” 441. 5. Portions of Stoddard’s letters have been reprinted in Matlack, Buell and Zagarell, and Mahoney. 6. George Henry Boker first referred to Stoddard as the Pythoness, and this portrayal of her has remained fairly well entrenched in subsequent decades. (See Boker to Bayard Taylor, July 30, 1874, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University.) For example, Philip Allison Shelley, one of the first collectors of Stoddard’s materials, composed an unpublished manuscript titled “The Poets and the Pythoness,” reflecting the sense that Stoddard was something other than a poet, or even a writer, herself. This manuscript is in the Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, The Pennsylvania State University Libraries.

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7. Letter 56 in this volume. 8. Buell and Zagarell, The Morgesons and Other Writings, vii, 335. 9. Decker, Epistolary Practices, 9. 10. As Patricia Meyer Spacks argues, letter writers’ “tone and material shift from one correspondent to another” within a lifetime of letters; therefore, readers of letters can “see sometimes virtually different selves emerging in different epistolary relationships” (“Forgotten Genres,” 51, 56). 11. See Putzi, “Two single married women.” 12. Letter 46 in this volume. 13. Letter 56 in this volume. 14. The Literary World 2.27 (August 7, 1847): 5. 15. Sinor, The Extraordinary Work of Ordinary Writing, 16. 16. Richard Henry Stoddard, Recollections, 109–110. 17. Letter 4 in this volume. 18. Stoddard, “Literary Folk,” 1127. 19. Stoddard, Recollections, 114. 20. Letter 7 in this volume. 21. “Letter from a Lady Correspondent,” Daily Alta California (October 8, 1854): 2. Other women writers who had sustained engagements with American newspapers at the time Stoddard began writing for the Alta include Jennie June Croly, Jane Cazneau, and Jane Grey Swisshelm (who edited her own paper, the Pittsburg Saturday Visiter, from 1847 to 1857). 22. Stoddard, “Literary Folk,” 1223. 23. Aldrich, Crowding Memories, 15 24. Howells, Literary Friends and Acquaintances, 87. 25. Letter 22 in this volume. 26. Letter 15 in this volume. 27. Letter 24 in this volume. 28. Letter 77 in this volume. 29. Letter 35 in this volume. 30. Letter 25 in this volume. 31. Letter 27 in this volume. Female journalists’ involvement in reporting the Civil War is an area that requires further research and understanding. The recovery of Stoddard’s wartime correspondence clearly places her in the company of writers such as Jane Grey Swisshelm, Sara Jane Lippincott (who wrote under the pseudonym Grace Greenwood), and Laura Catherine Redden (Howard Glyndon), all of whom wrote about the war from Washington, D.C. For more on Elizabeth Stoddard’s Civil War correspondence, see Jennifer Putzi, “Elizabeth Stoddard’s Civil War: ‘Gossip from Gotham’ and the San Francisco Daily Evening Bulletin,” Legacy: A Journal of American Women Writers 27.2 (2010): 392–411. 32. Taylor to Stoddard, January 8, 1863, in Wermuth, ed., Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor, 204. 33. Letter 34 in this volume.

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34. Letter 45 in this volume. 35. Stoddard to Sweat, September 14, 1853, Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University Libraries. 36. Letter 20 in this volume. 37. Letter 23 in this volume. 38. Letter 52 in this volume. 39. Letter 50 in this volume. 40. Letter 39 in this volume. 41. Letter 67 in this volume. 42. Letter 76 in this volume. 43. Letter 41 in this volume. 44. Letter 54 in this volume. 45. Letter 17 in this volume. 46. Letter 18 in this volume. 47. Letter 71 in this volume. 48. Hawthorne to Stoddard, November 7, 1883, Hawthorne Family Papers BANc MS 72/236z, University of California–Berkeley. 49. Stedman, “Mrs. Stoddard’s Novels,” vii. 50. Letter 81 in this volume. 51. Stedman to Dorr, February 28, 1905, Julia Ripley Dorr Papers, Middlebury College. 52. Decker discusses letters in edited collections as having “two distinct generic lives”—one “addressed to specific people” and the second “intended for readers who have no part in what is now a chronologically distant exchange” (Epistolary Practices, 6–7). 53. Letter 26 in this volume. 54. This sense of the letters having a particular reader in mind is so strong that Stoddard’s only biographer, James Matlack, has gone so far as to suggest that Stoddard’s Daily Alta California columns were intended specifically for her brother Wilson, who had recently moved to California. Although Stoddard had a strong connection with Wilson, there seems little reason to believe that the Daily Alta California letters served as a kind of substitute for personal letters to him. Rather, their separation during this time seems to have given Stoddard a sense of what the transplanted New Yorker might be interested in during the early years of emigration. 55. Letter 11 in this volume. 56. See Letter 32 in this volume. 57. Letter to Reid, August 7, 1869, Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress. 58. See Letter 50 in this volume. 59. For example, one of the largest collections of Stoddard material is the Allison-Shelley Collection at Pennsylvania State University. This archive was begun by Philip Allison Shelley, a German professor who was interested in the European influence on the American Genteel Poets (including Richard Stoddard, Boker,

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and Taylor). While pursuing this interest, he began to find and collect documents related to Elizabeth Stoddard, as well, yet he seems to have been more interested in her volatile relationship with Taylor than anything else. 60. “Prettiest Girl in This Section,” New Bedford Evening Standard, August 1, 1902, Matlack Papers, Mattapoisett Historical Society. 61. Mary Bradley to Arthur Stedman, February 2, 1889, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University.

xxxix

Editorial Note

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Our intent throughout this volume is to present Stoddard’s text as accurately as possible, while also creating a readable volume. As editors, we sought to intrude only when necessary, and in terms of overall practice, we retained Stoddard’s text, including unusual punctuation, misspelled words, and evidently missing words. However, because this volume contains only a fraction of Stoddard’s letters, we recognize that it is not a comprehensive reference book, but rather an introduction to Stoddard’s correspondence, and, perhaps for some readers, her life and work. For this reason, our alterations, to the extent that they occur, were focused on making Stoddard’s text more accessible to modern readers.

Textual Information Each letter is preceded by a heading that numbers the letter in the volume, states the letter’s recipient, and provides date of composition and the place from which Stoddard wrote the letter. When Stoddard did not write this information herself within the letter, we have used other markings or internal evidence to determine it. In these instances, the information appears in square brackets. We add a question mark when the exact data could not be determined. The text of each letter is followed by a note indicating the repository where the manuscript is located. If the letter appears in a particular collection, we have noted that as well. Citations for published letters to the Daily Alta California and the San Francisco Bulletin are provided following the text of the letter. In the rare instances in which portions of the original document are missing, have been damaged, or are rendered illegible, we have noted such issues in either the annotations or the source note and presented the text as it appears in the archives.

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Formatting We have standardized the placement of all dates, salutations, and closings, though Stoddard’s original language has been retained in all cases. Paragraph indentations have been standardized, even when Stoddard did not indent the first line of a new paragraph. It was common in the nineteenth century to end a paragraph mid-line and begin a new paragraph without indentation. To aid with readability, we have used modern paragraph formatting. Stoddard’s original capitalization was generally retained, except for the major exception of beginning all sentences with capital letters, a practice that Stoddard did not follow regularly. At times Stoddard’s handwriting makes it difficult to determine whether she capitalized a particular word. In these instances, we reverted to modern capitalization practices. Stoddard rarely capitalized every letter of a word, and when she did so, the original capitalization was retained. Generally, we retained Stoddard’s original punctuation, though she seemed not to employ any standard punctuation for ending a sentence, and evidently used commas, periods, and long dashes interchangeably. When we felt that a run-on or incomplete sentence would generate confusion, we silently emended Stoddard’s punctuation to make the text clearer. Additionally, Stoddard often used single quotation marks for phrases or titles that would, in contemporary usage, require double quotation marks. For consistency’s sake, we have silently corrected these single quotation marks to appear as double quotation marks. Spelling mistakes have generally not been corrected, nor have they been followed by a [sic], except in the case of Daily Alta California and San Francisco Bulletin letters, when they are likely printer’s errors. Illegible words have been noted as [illegible]. When we were able to make a guess at an illegible word, based on internal evidence or other manuscripts, we placed that word in brackets followed by a question mark. Words that Stoddard crossed out have been silently deleted, and in the small number of cases where a word was unintentionally repeated, this has been silently emended. Marginal text and interlineations are silently incorporated into the body of the letter. However, such incorporations are noted in the letxlii

ter’s annotations if their marginal appearance in the manuscript seems significant. All underlined words have been converted to italics to make for a more readable text. The only exception is when Stoddard underlined her name in the closing; these instances are not represented in the volume. Occasionally, Stoddard used double underlines to indicate emphasis. These are also converted to italics and are therefore not distinguishable from single-underlined words.

Text Not Written by Elizabeth Stoddard Elizabeth Stoddard frequently wrote to friends of both her and Richard, at least in part because Richard Stoddard was a notoriously erratic correspondent. Occasionally before Elizabeth would post her letter, Richard would add a few lines of his own for the recipient at the end of Elizabeth’s text. These are not represented in full in the volume, but the contents of Richard’s remarks are noted in the annotations. When markings appear to have been added after the initial composition and are evidently made by someone other than Elizabeth or Richard Stoddard, they are not rendered in the volume. These markings were likely added by the letter’s recipient or a later collector, and they tend to relate to record-keeping functions. They often appear in the margins of the letter. They are generally easy to identify in the manuscripts. Many include additional commentary that makes it clear that they were not written by Stoddard, such as providing biographical information about Stoddard or commentary about the possible dating of the letter. Often these markings appear in pencil, whereas the original letter was written in ink, and they are in handwriting that differs notably from either Elizabeth or Richard Stoddard’s. Enclosures are not reprinted but are noted in the letter’s annotations. Information on envelopes is not reproduced, but was consulted when determining information for headers. If we consulted the envelope but Stoddard herself did not write the information within the text of the letter, then such information appears in square brackets in the heading.

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Annotations We have attempted to identify wherever possible persons, published material, and events mentioned in these letters. Birth and death dates, along with additional information, have been provided for each person mentioned as often as possible. Abbreviations and nicknames have been retained. Whenever possible, we have noted the full name in the annotations, except in the case of those abbreviations and nicknames she uses most frequently. When other letters or published materials are referred to, we have often identified and quoted from them in our annotations in order to give the reader a fuller sense of the context for a letter. In general, we have not annotated instances when we could not identify the reference. Exceptions to this rule are those instances when we would like to point to missing materials, such as letters or publications by Stoddard or her correspondents. Rather than annotate every time a correspondent is mentioned, we have included biographical notes for each correspondent.

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Timeline

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April 12, 1820 May 6, 1823 July 2, 1825 Summer 1835 Summer 1837 Summer 1839 Winter 1840 Summer 1848 October 19, 1848 January 10, 1849 Spring 1849 Summer 1851 October 30, 1852 December 6, 1852 1853 February 21, 1853 June 1853 October 1853 January 1854 October 8, 1854 January 1855 June 20, 1855 Fall 1857

Wilson Barstow marries Betsy S. Drew Elizabeth Drew Barstow (Stoddard) born in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts Richard Henry Stoddard born in Hingham, Massachusetts Richard Stoddard moves to New York City with his mother Attends Wheaton Female Seminary in Norton, Massachusetts Meets William Gilmore Simms in Great Barrington, Massachusetts Attends Wheaton Female Seminary Richard Stoddard meets Bayard Taylor and months later meets George Boker Stoddard’s sister, Jane Wilson Barstow (b. 1827), dies in Mattapoisett Stoddard’s mother, Betsy S. Drew Barstow (b. ??), dies in Mattapoisett Richard Stoddard self-publishes first volume of poetry, Footprints Meets Richard Stoddard at Anne Lynch’s salon in New York City Travels to Portland, Maine, and meets Margaret Jane Mussey Sweat First known publication, “Phases,” a short sketch, in the Literary World Marries Richard Stoddard in New York City Meets Mary Neely Bradley Wilson Barstow Jr. leaves for California Richard Stoddard begins working at the New York Custom House Meets Boker Wilson Barstow Sr. marries Jane Parr Faunce (b. 1826) in Mattapoisett Meets Taylor First “From Our Lady Correspondent” letter published in Daily Alta California Publication of poem “The House by the Sea” (Home Journal) Wilson (“Willy”) Stoddard, the Stoddards’ first child, born Wilson Barstow Jr. returns to New York from California

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February 28, 1858 Final “From Our Lady Correspondent” column published in the Daily Alta California May 1858 Publication of poem “Mercedes” (Atlantic Monthly) May 4, 1859 Birth of second child (unnamed) in New York City July 1859 Stoddards’ second son (unnamed) dies in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania Fall 1859 Meets Edmund Clarence Stedman 1860 Meets James Lorimer and Josephine Graham May 1860 Publication of “My Own Story” (Atlantic Monthly) 1861 Stoddards meet William Dean Howells Fall 1861 Stoddards move into Miss Swift’s boarding house on Tenth Street December 17, 1861 Willy Stoddard dies February 1862 Publication of “Eros and Anteros” (New York Leader) May 1862 First “Gossip from Gotham” letter published in the San Francisco Daily Evening Bulletin June 1862 Publication of The Morgesons (Rudd and Carleton) September 1862 Stoddards befriend Edwin and Mary Booth October 1862 Stoddard’s brother, Zaccheus Mead Barstow (b. 1833), dies in New Berne, North Carolina February 21, 1863 Mary Devlin Booth dies in Dorchester, Massachusetts; Edwin Booth stays with Stoddards immediately following her death March 1863 Publication of “Lemorne versus Huell” (Harper’s New Monthly Magazine) March 7, 1863 Final “Gossip from Gotham” letter published in the San Francisco Bulletin December 1863 Richard begins working for the Round Table December 11, 1863 Lorimer (“Lorry”) Edwin Stoddard, the Stoddards’ third son, born, in New York City May 1865 Publication of poem “Childless” (Harper’s New Monthly Magazine) June 1865 Stoddard’s brother, Samuel Barstow (b. 1829), dies in California July 1865 Richard Stoddard begins working for the Nation October 1865 Publication of Two Men (Bunce and Huntington) November 1865 Publication of “The Chimneys” (Harper’s New Monthly Magazine) Summer 1866 Keeps her only extant diary while writing Temple House in Mattapoisett Richard Stoddard fights with E. L. Godkin and loses position at the Nation October 1867 Publication of Temple House (Bunce and Huntington) December 1867 The Stoddards’ Crystal Anniversary dinner in New York City

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January 1868 Publication of poem “Unreturning” (Harper’s New Monthly Magazine) 1869 Remember! A Keepsake, edited by Elizabeth and Richard Stoddard; reprinted as Readings and Recitations from Modern Authors (Belford, Clarke, and Company) in 1886 Meets Whitelaw Reid March 16, 1869 Wilson Barstow Jr. (b. 1831) dies in New York City August 19, 1869 Last surviving brother Altol Olmnar Barstow (b. 1835) dies in Mattapoisett Spring 1870 Richard Stoddard loses position at New York Custom House June 1870 Richard Stoddard’s mother, Sophia Gallon (b. 1804), and stepfather, James Gallon (b. 1805), die in Mattapoisett Publication of first Lolly Dinks story, “A Six-Year-Old Tale” (Harper’s Bazaar) December 1870 Richard Stoddard appointed a clerk in Department of Docks Publication of “Collected by a Valetudinarian” (Harper’s New Monthly Magazine) Summer 1871 Richard Stoddard becomes editor of the Aldine Spring 1872 Move to two-story house on East 15th Street, where Stoddards will live for the rest of their time in New York City Begins publishing in the Aldine Begins correspondence with Elizabeth Akers Allen June 1873 Richard Stoddard loses position with Department of Docks Summer 1873 Richard Stoddard steps down as editor of the Aldine Stoddards visit homes of Julia Dorr and of Elizabeth Akers Allen December 1874 Publication of Lolly Dinks’ Doings (William F. Gill) May 1877 Richard Stoddard becomes Librarian of New York City December 18, 1878 Bayard Taylor (b. 1825) dies in Germany January 1879 Richard Stoddard loses position as Librarian of New York City November 1880 Richard Stoddard becomes Literary Editor of New York Evening Mail (later Mail and Express) Summer 1887 Stoddards begin to spend summers in Sag Harbor Spring 1888 Meets Lilian Whiting June 1888 Republication of Two Men (Cassell); preface by Stedman October 1888 Republication of Temple House (Cassell) September 1889 Republication of The Morgesons (Cassell) Begins publishing in the Independent October 16, 1891 Wilson Barstow Sr. (b. 1798) dies in Mattapoisett August 1895 Publication of Poems (Houghton Mifflin)

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March 25, 1897 Summer 1899 November 1899 June 1900 September 1901 October 1901 August 1, 1901 May 12, 1903 October 1903 1967 1971 1984

1997 2003

2008

Authors Club dinner in honor of Richard Stoddard Lorry diagnosed with tuberculosis Receives plates of her 1888–1889 reprints from a fan Publication of “Literary Folk as They Came and Went With Ourselves” (Saturday Evening Post) Lorry Stoddard dies in Sag Harbor, New York The Morgesons, Two Men, and Temple House reprinted (Coates); preface written by Elizabeth Stoddard Dies in New York City Richard dies in New York City; Stedman serves as literary executor Recollections, Personal and Literary (A. S. Barnes and Co.) by Richard Stoddard and edited by Ripley Hitchcock The Literary Career of Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard (Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University), by James Matlack The Morgesons, Two Men, and Temple House reprinted (Johnson), edited by Richard Foster The Morgesons & Other Writings, Published and Unpublished (University of Pennsylvania Press), edited by Lawrence Buell and Sandra A. Zagarell The Morgesons (Penguin), edited by Buell and Zagarell American Culture, Canons, and the Case of Elizabeth Stoddard (University of Alabama Press), a collection of essays edited by Robert McClure Smith and Ellen Weinauer Stories (Northeastern University Press), edited by Susanne Opfermann and Yvonne Roth Two Men (University of Nebraska Press), edited by Jennifer Putzi

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Biographical Notes

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Elizabeth Akers Allen (1832–1911) was born in Strong, Maine. After her first husband, Marshall S. M. Taylor, abandoned her and their infant daughter, Akers Allen worked as an assistant editor for the Portland Transcript and began to publish poetry under the pseudonym “Florence Percy.” In 1855, she published her first book of poems, Forest-Buds, from the Woods of Maine. After divorcing her husband in 1857, Akers Allen met and married Benjamin “Paul” Akers, a sculptor from Maine with a growing national reputation. Akers was an invalid when the couple married, and he died of tuberculosis in 1861; their infant child died as well. During the Civil War, Akers Allen worked in the War Office in Washington, D.C., and also helped nurse wounded soldiers. In 1866, she published Poems in Ticknor and Fields’s prestigious blue-and-gold series. Soon after, a number of amateur poets claimed authorship of her most popular poem, “Rock Me to Sleep,” which she had published in the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post in 1860 as well as in her 1866 collection. The resulting controversy almost cost Akers Allen her credibility as a professional writer. After marrying her third husband, Elijah M. Allen, in 1865, she moved to Richmond, Virginia, remaining there until 1872, when she and her husband returned east. It was at this time that she met Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard, after submitting a poem to Richard for publication in the Aldine. Elizabeth Stoddard and Elizabeth Akers Allen maintained a friendship and correspondence from that spring until the early 1880s. In 1874, Akers Allen returned to Portland, where she became the editor of the Portland Advertiser. She left the newspaper in 1881 and moved with her husband to New Jersey. In 1883, Akers Allen seems to have become angry with the Stoddards over the omission of her work from the third volume of English Verse, an anthology of nineteenth-century poetry edited by Richard and William James Linton. Later in life, she would claim that the Stoddards dropped her acquaintance once she left the Advertiser because she could be of xlix

no use to them professionally. After retiring from the Advertiser, Akers Allen published several collections of poems, including The Silver Bridge (1885), The High-Top Sweeting (1891), and The Sunset Song (1902). She died at age seventy-nine. The majority of her papers, including more than forty letters from Stoddard, are at Colby College. Andrew Varick Stout Anthony (1835–1906) was a prominent American engraver. He provided or supervised the engravings for many expensive illustrated editions of popular nineteenth-century works, especially poems. During the Civil War, he served as the art manager of the New York Illustrated News under the editorship of Thomas Bailey Aldrich. After the war he supervised the illustrations for the publishing firm James R. Osgood & Company. Anthony later managed and selected artists for Our Young Folks, an illustrated children’s magazine, for Ticknor and Fields. It is not clear how Anthony met the Stoddards, though his wife, Mary Anthony, was involved in New York literary circles and the couples corresponded with many of the same authors and artists throughout their lives. Extant letters from Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard date from 1890 through 1900. Anthony’s papers are primarily located at Houghton Library, Harvard University. Wilson Barstow jr. (1831–1869) was Stoddard’s closest sibling and was younger than her by seven years. Wilson moved to New York City in the late 1840s, and Stoddard visited him there on a few occasions. In the early 1850s he considered moving to California. Initially, Stoddard thought she would travel with him, but she married Richard Stoddard in December 1852 and moved to New York City permanently. Wilson ultimately sailed for California in February 1853, and by the end of the year, another Barstow brother, Samuel, had joined him. The Stoddards named their first son, born in June 1855, in honor of Wilson. Wilson Barstow returned from California in late 1857 or early 1858 and lived near the Stoddards in New York City until the Civil War began. In September 1861 Wilson enlisted in the Union Army and became an aide-de-camp for General John Dix. By the end of the war, he had been promoted to brevet brigadier general. After mustering out of the army in 1866, Wilson had trouble settling on a career and went into debt, privately applying to some of the Stoddards’ friends for money. In early 1867 he was apl

pointed assistant appraiser of the port of New York City. Wilson died of pneumonia at the Stoddard house. His papers from the Civil War, which include his letters to Stoddard, are housed at the Library of Congress. Although both Stoddards certainly wrote extensively to Wilson throughout his life, only two letters to him from Elizabeth are extant. John Eliot Bowen (1858–1890) was an editor of the Independent, a Congregationalist magazine, to which Elizabeth Stoddard contributed a series of travel essays and short stories in the late 1880s. Born in Brooklyn, Bowen attended Yale University and after traveling extensively in Europe, began work at the Independent in 1882. In addition to writing for the magazine, he published The Conflict of East and West in Egypt in 1887. Bowen died of typhoid fever on January 2, 1890, only a few days before his scheduled wedding. Many of his papers, including letters from Stoddard regarding her contributions to the Independent, are housed along with other correspondence relating to the magazine at Syracuse University Library. Caroline Healey Dall (1822–1912), influential women’s rights advocate and writer, was born in Boston to a Unitarian preacher father who insisted that his daughter receive a superior education. She began writing and publishing her work at a young age and worked briefly as a teacher before marrying Charles Henry Appleton Dall in 1844. A minister, Charles Dall proved unable to hold a pulpit, and in 1855, he decided to become a missionary in Calcutta; he went without his family and lived in India until his death in 1886. In the absence of her husband, Caroline Dall supported herself and her family in several ways—taking in boarders, teaching, lecturing, and writing. She had long been interested in women’s rights and social reform; in 1841, at the invitation of Elizabeth Peabody, she had attended Margaret Fuller’s “Conversations,” which she would later write about in Margaret and Her Friends (1895) and Transcendentalism in New England (1897). In 1855, she and Paulina Wright Davis organized a women’s rights convention to be held in Boston; in the same year, she began delivering and publishing lectures on issues such as women’s labor, education, and suffrage. Her most important work in this regard was The College, the Market, and the Court, published in 1867. She and Stoddard met in late 1867, but after visiting and corresponding li

for a few months, they seem to have abandoned the friendship. Around this same time, Dall’s involvement in the women’s movement began to taper off, largely due to disagreements with other leaders. Dall was an incredibly prolific writer, but her most important achievement arguably was her journal, which she began when she was nine years old and kept faithfully until her death at age ninety. Dall’s extensive papers are at the Massachusetts Historical Society. Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr (1825–1913) was born in Charleston, South Carolina, but moved to Rutland, Vermont, when she was a child, in hopes that the change in climate would revive her mother’s failing health. After her mother’s death in 1826, the Dorrs remained in Vermont, where her father remarried in 1831. Julia received an intermittent education, but was interested in reading and writing from an early age. She married Seneca R. Dorr, a lawyer and businessman, in 1847; after ten years in Ghent, New York, the couple returned to Rutland, where her husband worked with her father. They had five children and a happy marriage, with Seneca supporting her writing career. Seneca Dorr went on to serve as a legislator, a senator, and a judge. Julia Dorr began publishing her work, including her first novel, Isabel Leslie, in 1848. Although she published several novels and travel books, she was best known for her poetry, which appeared in Scribner’s, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, and the Atlantic Monthly. Over the course of her career, she published many collections of poems, including Poems (1871), Friar Anselm and Other Poems (1879), Afternoon Songs (1885), Beyond the Sunset (1909), and Last Poems (1913). Stoddard met Dorr in the 1850s and they remained friends until Stoddard’s death in 1902; their friendship waxed and waned over the years but the existing correspondence refutes the idea that Stoddard was unable to maintain a long-term friendship with another woman. While more than two dozen letters from Stoddard to Dorr exist, it is likely that many more were written. The largest collection of Dorr’s papers is at Middlebury College. Very little is known about how Stoddard met Constance Lodge Gardner (1872–1941). Only two letters from Stoddard to Gardner are extant and Gardner’s identity has been determined from internal evidence alone. However, it seems likely that this correspondent, to lii

whom Stoddard wrote her last extant letter, is indeed the daughter of Henry Cabot Lodge and the wife of Augustus Peabody Gardner, both prominent Republican politicians from wealthy Massachusetts families. Constance Lodge was born in 1874 in Paris, France, and she married her husband in 1892. They had a daughter, also named Constance, in October 1894. Gardner seems to have met Stoddard through Lorimer Stoddard in some way—either just prior to his being treated at the Loomis Sanitarium in mid-1901 or perhaps while he was a patient there. Both letters from Stoddard to Gardner are in the Allison-Shelley Collection at Pennsylvania State University. James (“Lorrie”) Lorimer Graham (1835–1876) and Josephine (“Josie”) Garner Graham (??–1892) met the Stoddards in New York City in 1860, though it is unclear exactly when or where. Both were from prominent New York families, with Lorrie’s family being particularly well connected to the New York banking industry. Lorrie might best be understood as a gentleman of letters, and he exchanged correspondence with many of the era’s prominent authors and cultural leaders. The Grahams were especially close to the Taylors and would frequently take the Taylors’ side against the Stoddards when disputes arose. Though Stoddard would bristle at what she perceived as Lorrie’s uncharitable characterizations of her, she seems to have maintained positive feelings about him throughout his life. In the summer of 1861, the Grahams moved to Europe for two years, and in 1866 left again for Europe, where they lived the rest of their lives. In 1869 Graham was appointed the U.S. Consul General at Florence, a position that he retained until his death in 1876. The extant epistolary evidence indicates that the Stoddards wrote to the Grahams most frequently during the Grahams’ first trip to Europe. As was characteristic of her correspondence, Stoddard at times wrote to the couple jointly and at other times to either Lorrie or Josie specifically. Stoddard’s letters to the Grahams are in the Allison-Shelley Collection at Pennsylvania State University. Rufus Wilmot Griswold (1815–1857) was born in Vermont, but spent much of his early career as a journalist moving between periodicals throughout New England. In 1836 he moved to New York City, where he met and married Caroline Searles, with whom he had three children. In liii

1842, Griswold published the work that would secure his fame, Poets and Poetry of America, and followed this volume with Gems from American Female Poets (1842), Prose Writers of America (1847), and Female Poets of America (1848). These volumes, along with his work for periodicals, earned him a name as an influential, albeit controversial, literary critic. Griswold married two more times after the death of his first wife in childbirth. His second marriage, to Charlotte Myers, ended in a very public divorce and finally scandal, when he was married a third time, to Harriet McCrillis. McCrillis eventually left her husband and went to live with her family in Maine. Griswold is perhaps best known now for his personal enmity with Edgar Allan Poe. He died of tuberculosis in New York City in 1857. Richard Henry Stoddard updated Griswold’s Poets and Poetry of America in 1872 and his Female Poets of America in 1875. Griswold’s correspondence is scattered across many collections; Stoddard’s sole letter to him is held at the Boston Public Library, along with other papers. Julian Hawthorne (1846–1934) was the only son of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Sophia Peabody Hawthorne. Hawthorne initially worked as an engineer in the late 1860s while also developing his career as a writer. He spent most of the 1870s in Europe and wrote a series of novels there. Upon his return to the U.S. in the 1880s, he turned his focus toward criticism of American literature, especially of his father’s life and works, writing Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife (1884) and an extended criticism of The Scarlet Letter in the Atlantic Monthly (1886). While he had met the Stoddards prior to 1883, it was in that year that he wrote a letter to Stoddard in which he expressed his appreciation of Temple House, her third novel, and encouraged her to continue writing. This encouragement played an important role in the 1888 republication of her novels. In 1887 the Stoddards began vacationing in Sag Harbor, Long Island, New York, where the Hawthornes lived. Hawthorne’s papers are in the Bancroft Library at the University of California–Berkeley. William Dean Howells (1837–1920) was one of the most influential literary critics in America. Born in 1837 in Martin’s Ferry, Ohio, Howells was the child of Welsh immigrants. In 1860, Howells published Poems of Two Friends, written with fellow Ohioan John James Piatt, and visited Boston, where he met many prominent American writers and liv

editors, including James T. Fields and James Russell Lowell. After writing a campaign biography of Abraham Lincoln, Howells was appointed Venetian consul; before leaving, he met Edmund Clarence Stedman in Washington, D.C., who then introduced him to the Stoddards in New York City. Howells greatly enjoyed the literary atmosphere of the Stoddards’ home, and his memories of these scenes in his Literary Friends and Acquaintance (1900) contributed to the revival of interest in Stoddard’s novels at the turn of the century. While in Europe, he met and married Elinor Mead, with whom he had three children. Upon returning to the United States after the Civil War, Howells worked briefly for the Nation, but left to become the assistant editor and then the editor (until 1881) of the Atlantic Monthly. It was while he was at the Nation and living in New York City that his friendship with the Stoddards was revived; he published a review of Stoddard’s second novel, Two Men, in October 1865. Along with Mark Twain and Henry James, both of whose work he published, Howells was a central figure in the development of American realism. He wrote over a hundred books in various genres, but is best known for his realistic fiction, including A Modern Instance (1881), The Rise of Silas Lapham (1885), and A Hazard of New Fortunes (1890). He died in 1920 at the age of eighty-three. The majority of his papers are held in the Houghton Library at Harvard University. Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–1885) was born Helen Maria Fiske in Amherst, Massachusetts, where her father worked as a professor, and she received an education superior to that of many young girls of the time. Jackson’s literary career originated in grief and disappointment. After the marriage of Helen Fiske and Edward Bissell Hunt, a lieutenant in the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, in 1852, their first child died of a brain tumor at the age of eleven months. In 1863, Edward Hunt was killed in an accident, and two years later her second and only surviving child died of diphtheria at the age of nine. Her earliest poems, many of which were published under the initials “H. H.,” dealt with the losses she had faced. With the encouragement of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, her editor and literary mentor, she published extensively within the next ten years and carefully cultivated her literary reputation. She published Verses in 1870 and, after traveling to Europe, Bits of Travel in 1872. It is not clear how she met Elizabeth Stoddard in early 1870; it is possible that lv

Louise Chandler Moulton may have introduced them. Their friendship does not seem to have lasted long, but epistolary evidence indicates that this was due more to circumstance than personal conflict. Helen Hunt married again in 1875, after meeting William Sharpless Jackson, a wealthy banker and railroad executive, in Colorado. She continued to publish poetry and travel writing, but also fiction and children’s literature. In the late 1870s, she became passionate about the mistreatment of Native Americans at the hands of the United States government. She published the nonfiction treatise A Century of Dishonor in 1881 and a novel, Ramona, in 1884. Jackson’s writing, as well as her efforts on a special Department of Interior commission to investigate the conditions of California missions, was instrumental in raising public awareness of the inequality faced by Native Americans in California. Jackson died of stomach cancer in 1885. Stoddard’s letters to Jackson can be found at Colorado College’s Tutt Library, which holds the largest collection of Jackson’s papers. James Russell Lowell (1819–1891) was born into a prominent Massachusetts family and was educated at Harvard University, where he was elected class poet his senior year. Having decided that poetry was an impractical vocation, he became a lawyer after graduation. His courtship of and marriage to Maria West, a devoted abolitionist and a poet herself, both politicized Lowell and convinced him to return to literature. The couple had four children, only one of whom survived infancy, and Maria herself died in 1853. Lowell gradually built a reputation as a poet and as a critic; his earliest work included The Biglow Papers (1848) and A Fable for Critics (1848). In 1855, Lowell received an invitation to a professorship at Harvard, where he taught literature, French, and Spanish for almost sixteen years. He married again in 1857 and also became editor of the newly established Atlantic Monthly; as editor, he corresponded with Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard regarding the publication of “My Own Story” in 1860. He was generally known for encouraging young American authors and for being willing to embroil the Atlantic in controversy. In 1861, Lowell left the Atlantic Monthly, but continued to contribute to the periodical, and from 1864 to 1866, he was coeditor of the North American Review with Charles Eliot Norton. Lowell served as U.S. Minister to Spain in 1877 and then to England in 1880, lvi

returning home to Massachusetts in 1885. He died in 1891. His papers are held in the Houghton Library at Harvard University. Manton Malone Marble (1835–1917) had experience with newspapers in Boston and New York City before becoming the owner and editor of the New York World in 1860. The World was financed by wealthy New York Democrats, and Marble utilized it as a tool for the party, especially in its harsh critique of Abraham Lincoln’s stance on emancipation and arrests of political dissidents. Marble seems to have become friends with the Stoddards in the late 1850s after his move to New York City, and the Stoddards agreed with many of his political opinions during the Civil War. Financial difficulties during the Panic of 1873 led Marble to sell the World to railroad tycoon Thomas A. Scott. In 1864, Marble was married to Delia West, with whom he had two children; his wife died in 1868. He was married to his second wife, Abby Williams Lambard, from 1879 until her death in 1909. The couple had lived in Europe, and Marble died in England in 1917. His papers are held at the Library of Congress. Jervis McEntee (1828–1891), a landscape painter of the Hudson River School, was born in Rondout, New Jersey. In 1850, McEntee began studying with Frederick E. Church, who guided him in his early career and became a close friend. Although he worked briefly in the flour and feed business in Rondout, he returned to painting in 1855, encouraged by his wife gertrude sawyer mcentee (1834–1878), the daughter of a minister. McEntee studied at the Art-Union Building in New York City and exhibited at the National Academy of Design. He was one of the first artists to rent rooms in the Tenth Street Studio Building, which soon became a headquarters and gathering place for New York artists. The Stoddards frequented the Tenth Street Studio Building, where they socialized with the McEntees, Calvert Vaux, Launt Thompson, and Sanford Gifford. McEntee usually left the city after the Academy show in the spring and, using his Rondout home as a base, went on sketching tours throughout the Catskills and the Hudson River Valley. The Stoddards occasionally sent their son Lorry, whose health was frail, to Rondout with the McEntees in order to protect him from the heat of the city. The relationship between the couples seems to have ended sometime in the late 1870s. McEntee enjoyed fairly moderate success during his lvii

lifetime: he exhibited at the Paris Exposition in 1867 and again in 1878, the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia in 1876, and the Royal Academy in London in 1872. He is, to some degree, best remembered now for his extensive diary, which reveals the inner workings of the Hudson River School. The manuscript, along with many of his letters, has been digitized by Smithsonian Archives of American Art. Gertrude McEntee died in 1878; Jervis died of Bright’s disease in 1891. Louise Chandler Moulton (1835–1908) was born in Pomfret, Connecticut, where she was educated at Christ Church School; she later attended Emma Willard’s Female Seminary in Troy, New York, from 1854 to 1855. As a child, she met Edmund Clarence Stedman, who became a lifelong friend and no doubt introduced her to the Stoddards. Moulton began writing and publishing poetry under the name “Ellen Louise” when she was fifteen years old. Her first book, a compilation of stories, poems, and essays titled This, That, and the Other appeared in 1854, and a novel, Juno Clifford, was published in 1855. In the same year, she married William Upham Moulton, editor of the True Flag, with whom she had two children. He is perhaps best known now as the author of The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern, which he published the year the couple married. Their marriage seems not to have been particularly happy, but epistolary evidence indicates that she was concerned about the damage that a divorce might do to her literary career. Moulton published sketches, poems, and essays in periodicals such as the Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, and Youth’s Companion, and, from 1870 to 1876, published a regular column in the New York Tribune. This venue rendered her an influential literary critic and, as Stoddard’s letters demonstrate, an object of some envy for other women writers. As a resident of Boston, Moulton moved in a vibrant social circle which included well-known writers and editors, and when she later began spending summers in England, she hosted successful literary salons on both sides of the Atlantic. In her work for the Tribune, as well as in her weekly column for the Boston Herald from 1886 to 1892, Moulton was instrumental in introducing the American public to the literary elite of Europe: Pre-Raphaelites, late Romantics, French Symbolist poets, and Decadents. Her later volumes of poetry include Poems (1876, renamed Swallow Flights when it was reprinted in England in 1877); In the Garden lviii

of Dreams (1889); and At the Wind’s Will (1899). She also published travel writing, children’s literature, and other prose works. Moulton died of Bright’s disease in Boston in 1908, and her personal papers and library were donated to the Library of Congress. While only a handful of letters from Stoddard exist in this collection, extant evidence indicates a longer correspondence that has been lost or destroyed. Whitelaw Reid (1837–1912) was the son of a farming family near the small town of Xenia, Ohio. He attended Xenia Academy and Miami University of Ohio, matriculating when he was just fifteen years old. After writing antislavery articles for the Xenia News as a student, he and his brother Gavin purchased the newspaper and edited it until 1861, when financial troubles forced them to close it down. Throughout the early years of the Civil War, Reid reported on the front lines for the Cincinnati Gazette; his report on the Battle of Shiloh on April 6, 1862, became a classic example of war correspondence. After Shiloh, he went on to cover the rest of the war from Washington, D.C. For the next five years, Reid served as librarian for the House of Representatives; went on a tour of the South with Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase; purchased and ran cotton plantations in Louisiana and Alabama; and wrote two books: Ohio in the War (1867) and After the War (1868). In 1869, he accepted Horace Greeley’s offer to become managing editor of the New York Tribune. In 1872, Greeley ran against Grant in the Presidential election as a Liberal Republican, and Reid took over the Tribune. Greeley’s crushing defeat and his death a few months after the election left Reid the head of the most powerful newspaper in America at the age of thirty-five. The Stoddards were probably introduced to Reid by Stedman, who also served as a war correspondent, or by Taylor, who had a long-standing relationship to the Tribune, but Elizabeth Stoddard seems to have taken a particular liking to the journalist. Although the pieces remain unidentified, it seems likely that Stoddard published in the Tribune at this time, and she wrote openly to Reid about issues such as women’s rights, free love, and the Beecher-Tilton scandal. The relationship between Reid and the Stoddards may simply have suffered from Reid’s increasing responsibilities in the mid-1870s; it is also possible that he took the side of Bayard Taylor in the many arguments between Elizabeth and Bayard. After years of rumors associating him with the abolitionist and feminist Anna lix

Dickinson, Reid married Elizabeth Mills in 1881. He successfully edited the Tribune for thirty years, becoming an influential voice in journalism and politics. In 1905, Reid gave up the editorship to serve as ambassador to Great Britain, and published several books on diplomacy. His son became editor of the Tribune after Reid’s death in 1912, and the paper remained in the family until 1958. Reid’s extensive papers, including seventeen letters from Stoddard, are held at the Library of Congress. More letters exist written by Stoddard to Edmund Clarence Stedman (1833–1908) than to any other correspondent. His papers also include more than fifty letters from Stoddard to his wife, laura stedman (1833/34–1905). Born in Hartford, Connecticut, Stedman lost his father at a young age. After his mother’s remarriage, Stedman went to live with and be educated by an uncle in Norwich, Connecticut. He entered Yale in 1849, but when he was expelled several years later, he and a close friend purchased the Norwich Tribune. He married Laura Hyde Woodworth, a seamstress, in 1853. In 1859, he published “The Diamond Wedding,” a satirical poem about the extravagant marriage of a wealthy but elderly Cuban and a teenaged American girl. The poem was immensely controversial and popular, and Stedman published his first collection of poetry, Poems, Lyrical and Idyllic, in 1860. It was around this time that Stedman met the Stoddards and the Taylors, who were sharing rooms in New York City. His friendship with the Stoddards lasted the rest of their lives, with very little interruption, despite occasional disputes. Stoddard’s relationship with Laura was fractious, but they seem to have become more comfortable with one another as they aged. From 1861 to 1863, Stedman served as war correspondent for the New York World, first covering the front, and then writing from Washington, D.C., where he also worked for the office of the U.S. Attorney General. In 1864, he returned with Laura and their two children to New York City. He soon purchased a seat on the New York Stock Exchange and opened his own brokerage firm while continuing to write and publish. In addition to writing his own verse, he established a reputation as a respected critic of literature, publishing anthologies such as Victorian Poets (1875) and Poets of America (1885), as well as The Nature and Elements of Poetry (1892). He was well known during his lifetime as a mentor to young writers and a champion of American literature. His most important work may lx

be A Library of American Literature, which he coedited in 1888 with Ellen M. Hutchinson. Stedman’s double life as the “banker-poet,” as he was known, was extremely stressful. He had a heart attack in 1899 and sold his seat on the stock exchange in 1900. After Richard Stoddard died in 1903, Stedman delivered the eulogy at his funeral. Stedman died in 1908 in New York City, three years after Laura’s death. His granddaughter, Laura Stedman, coedited The Life and Letters of Edmund Clarence Stedman (1910), using the private papers he had preserved so carefully. These papers, which include the more than two hundred letters written by Elizabeth Stoddard, were donated to Columbia University. Richard Henry Stoddard (1825–1903), Elizabeth Stoddard’s husband, was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, to Captain Reuben Stoddard (changed from “Stodder”) Jr. and Sophia Gurney Stoddard. Reuben Stoddard died in a shipwreck in 1827, leaving three children, two of whom died soon after their father. Sophia then moved between Hingham; Abingdon, Massachusetts, where she was raised; and Boston, where she met and then married James Gallon, another sailor. Around 1845, Sophia settled in New York City with her young son, while Gallon worked around New England as a sailor. In New York, Richard began to work in an iron foundry and struggled to educate himself. Eventually he became involved with the burgeoning literary culture of the city. In 1848, Stoddard met Bayard Taylor and soon after George Boker, and the three formed a close friendship, focused on writing and literary criticism, which was later added to by younger poet Edmund Clarence Stedman in 1860. Stoddard self-published his first volume of poetry, Footprints (1849); though he sold only one copy, the book drew him some local attention, especially from the influential editor Rufus Griswold. In the summer of 1851, Richard and Elizabeth met at a New York literary salon, most likely hosted by Anne Lynch (Botta). They were married in a private ceremony in New York City on December 6, 1852. In 1853, Stoddard secured a position in the New York Custom House with some assistance from Nathaniel Hawthorne, and he held this position until 1870. While working a salaried job, Richard Stoddard continued to write poetry prolifically, both occasional pieces and book-length verse, and he contributed to and edited a series of New York literary journals, including the Round Table, the Aldine, Scribner’s, and the Mail and Express. lxi

In the 1870s and 1880s, Stoddard took on an increasing number of writing assignments, including substantial editing projects, like an updated edition of Griswold’s Poets and Poetry of America (1872), as well as biographical essays, which particularly focused on the writers whom he most admired. Around this time, Richard’s health deteriorated, and a debilitating case of cataracts left him nearly blind in one eye by the end of the century. Toward the end of his life, Richard turned his attention to preparing his and his wife’s papers for their literary executors. He donated most of his materials to New York’s Authors Club, where they were evidently mishandled. The extant letters between Elizabeth and Richard come primarily from the late 1850s and 1860s, usually written between New York, where Richard was working, and Mattapoisett, where Elizabeth would take extended trips to write and care for her father and family. These letters are in the Ripley Hitchcock Collection at Columbia University. Margaret Jane Mussey Sweat (1823–1908) spent most of her life in Portland, Maine, where she met Stoddard in 1851, yet she was also a frequent traveler, both within the United States and in Europe. Sweat’s father, John Mussey, was a civil engineer, ship owner, and merchant, and Sweat received a fairly good education in Portland schools and later in Massachusetts at the Roxbury Latin School. She married Lorenzo De Medici Sweat, a lawyer, in 1849; Lorenzo would go on to serve in the Maine House of Representatives and the United States Congress. Stoddard may have been introduced to Sweat by Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat, the wife of Lorenzo’s brother William; Sarah’s sister lived in Mattapoisett, and she may also have grown up there. Sweat’s friendship with Stoddard lasted only three years but is important to Stoddard scholarship for many reasons, not least because Stoddard’s letters to Sweat represent her earliest extant correspondence. In 1859, Margaret Sweat published her first and only novel, Ethel’s Love-Life. She went on to publish literary criticism in the prestigious North American Review, as well as in newspapers like the Portland Transcript, the Boston Courier, and the New Orleans Picayune. She was also a prolific travel writer whose work includes Highways of Travel; or, A Summer in Europe (1859) and Hither and Yon by Land and Sea (1901). When Sweat died in 1908 at the age of eighty-four, she left her home and $100,000 to the Portland Museum of lxii

Art to construct an art museum. Stoddard’s letters to Sweat were sold to a Portland rare book dealer, who later sold them to a professor who was collecting materials relating to Bayard Taylor. They are now part of the Allison-Shelley Collection at Pennsylvania State University. It is not clear when Stoddard met Annie Taylor (Carey) (1832–1919), one of Bayard Taylor’s three younger sisters. By the time she wrote the first of the very few surviving letters to Annie, she had known Bayard for more than three years. Stoddard visited Annie and the rest of the Taylor family in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, often in the late 1850s. From January to March 1861, Annie lived with the Stoddards and the Taylors, who were sharing rooms on 13th Street in New York City, and possibly cared for Lorry Stoddard and Lily Taylor while Stoddard finished her first novel, The Morgesons. In September 1863, Annie married Charles Carey of Switzerland, with whom she moved to Lausanne and had two children. In the mid-1870s, their family returned to Kennett Square. Although Stoddard does not seem to have been in regular contact with Annie throughout their lives, they were still writing in 1885, after Bayard’s death. Stoddard’s letters to Annie are in a private family collection. Bayard Taylor (1825–1878) was born in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, and retained a strong attachment to the place for most of his life, building his estate, Cedarcroft, there in 1860. Taylor was an avid traveler, however, who embarked on extensive voyages throughout Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and the western United States. Taylor met Richard Stoddard in 1848, and shortly thereafter secured a position on the New York Tribune, for which he began writing a series of travel essays. In October 1850, Taylor married Mary Agnew, who was fatally ill and died in December 1850. After traveling for much of the decade, he returned to New York City with his German wife, marie hansen taylor (1829–1927), and the couple shared lodgings intermittently with the Stoddards in the late 1850s and early 1860s in New York City, and for shorter time periods in Pennsylvania and Mattapoisett. During the early Civil War, Taylor became deeply engaged in the Union cause and, like Edmund Clarence Stedman and Elizabeth Stoddard, served as a war correspondent. In April 1865, the Stoddards and Taylors experienced a substantial disagreement, which began as a domestic dispute lxiii

and quickly spread to other issues, including their estimates of one another’s literary work. In particular, Elizabeth Stoddard criticized Taylor’s first novel, Hannah Thurston (1863), following what she perceived as his inability to appreciate The Morgesons sufficiently. Although scholars have typically attributed the break to Elizabeth Stoddard’s difficult personality, other letters from their circle of friends, including those written by Taylor, indicate that Taylor could also be severe and unforgiving. In addition, the couples’ differences extended beyond the personal and into the political, as letters in this volume indicate. The two couples reconciled by the end of 1865, but their relationship never fully recovered and continued to be marked by long periods of silence. In the late 1860s and early 1870s Taylor continued to write both periodical essays and fiction. In 1878 he was appointed the U.S. Minister in Berlin, but a few months after arriving in Germany, Taylor abruptly passed away. Despite the disputes between the couples, the Stoddards were grieved at the news of Taylor’s death, and they attended his U.S. funeral at Cedarcroft. In addition, Elizabeth Stoddard and Marie Taylor apparently remained close friends for the rest of Stoddard’s life. Taylor’s legacy has been relatively well maintained in private collections as well as in archives, especially at Cornell University. Emma Taylor (Lamborn) (1834–1916) was one of Bayard Taylor’s younger sisters. In 1856–1857, Emma traveled with Bayard to Europe, a journey she wrote about years later in the privately printed Reminiscences of My First Year in Europe. She also occasionally wrote and published poetry and travel sketches. Epistolary evidence suggests that she and Stoddard’s brother Wilson carried on at least a romantic flirtation before she married Charles Burleigh Lamborn in 1865. The couple had three children. Though the Lamborns were both from Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, they moved to the Midwest in the late 1850s or early 1860s. Emma did not return to Pennsylvania until after her husband’s death in 1902. Letters from Stoddard and those in her circle indicate that Stoddard and Emma were particularly close during the mid-1850s. Lilian Whiting (1859–1942), travel writer, biographer, and editor, was born in Niagara Falls, New York. Stoddard met Whiting in 1888, likely in New York City or Boston. Whiting edited the Boston Traveller lxiv

from 1880 to 1890, and much of Stoddard’s correspondence with Whiting relates to the republication of her novels and their subsequent reception. Apparently, Whiting also knew Anne Barstow, Stoddard’s half sister, when Anne was living in Boston. After working on the Traveller, Whiting edited the Boston Budget until 1893. She traveled extensively in the early 1890s and wrote several essays about those experiences, which were collected in The World Beautiful (1894). Whiting and Stoddard’s correspondence was apparently on hiatus during this period, but it resumed again in the late 1890s, when Stoddard wrote to Whiting about, among other events, Lorry’s illness and death. Whiting befriended and wrote biographies of women whom Stoddard also knew, including Kate Field and Louise Chandler Moulton. Her papers are housed at Syracuse University. William Winter (1836–1917) is known mostly for his theater reviews and criticism. After spending his youth in New England, he moved to New York in 1859 and soon began working for periodicals there, including the Saturday Press and the Albion. He became theater critic for the New York Tribune in 1865, a position which he held for almost forty years. In addition to his criticism, Winter also wrote poetry throughout his life. Though it is unclear how the Stoddards met Winter, the three were at least loosely connected to the “bohemian” culture in mid-nineteenthcentury New York and were acquaintanced with many of the same writers and performers.

lxv

The Selected Letters of Elizabeth Stoddard



Letter 1  To Margaret Sweat November 13, [1851] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

My dear Mrs. Sweat— On the way from Portland I saw a notice in a paper of my friend Stoddard 1 which I determined to send you—But I found at home the one I enclose2—sending you it because I think a notice from William C Bryant 3 or Parke Godwin 4 better to read than a nameless one— I have a lovely letter from Oliver Wendell Holmes5 relative to the genius of Stoddard—I wish I could send you it—He says S. has the love, the age, and the music to help make this country lovely! I also venture to enclose you a poem of another favorite Bayard Taylor 6—I must tell you something lovely of him. While he was in Europe he remained faithful to a young girl— his affianced—he came home to find her dying of consumption. A fortnight before her death he married her 7—in order he said to call her his “wife in heaven.” Now if this is not astonishing in these prosaic days what can be? If he were here not on his way to Egypt by a deviating and wandering course,8 if he could come within my sphere by any means of mine I would fall upon him with tears and prayers, intreating him to bestow upon me what he supposes stedfast heavenly regards— I shall not forget our rides about Portland—by our doctrine of compensation9 something better or worse must again occur to us together— believe me yours truly, Elisabeth Barstow Mattapoisett Nov 13 Thursday Eve. 1

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Richard Stoddard (see biographical note) and Elizabeth Barstow met during the summer of 1851, after which Richard visited her in Mattapoisett. 2. Stoddard enclosed a review of Richard’s Poems (Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1851) from the New York Evening Post. This notice, presumably written by William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878), the editor of the Post, claimed Richard as “one of our most agreeable writers of verse.” The review itself included an excerpt from “The Castle in the Air,” as well as the full text of two short poems, “The Two Brides” and “Along the grassy slope I sit.” 3. American poet, journalist, and editor of the New York Evening Post from 1828 to 1878. 4. Parke Godwin (1816–1904), New York City journalist. He served as an associate editor of Putnam’s Magazine in the 1850s and later as the sole editor of the magazine. 5. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. (1809–1894), American physician, lecturer, and author. 6. See biographical note. The poem by Taylor, “Autumnal Verses,” was published next to the review of Richard’s Poems in the Post. 7. Taylor married Mary Agnew (1827–1850) on October 24, 1850. She died two months later. 8. Taylor left the United States in August 1851 with his brother William (1831– 1896). They toured Europe together before Taylor went on alone to Egypt, where he stayed from November 1851 through April 1852. 9. Probably a reference to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s (1803–1882) “Compensation,” which appeared in Essays: First Series (1841). In it, Emerson asserted that natural law ensures that negative experiences will be offset by positive ones.

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Letter 2  To Margaret Sweat June 4, [1852] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

Friday 4th June Dear Margaret, There are times when the eternal repose of nature—her unsympathizing fierceness mock and imitate the soul, thus it is now. I wish for my likeness in turbulent souls. Perhaps the terrific the sublime and desolate might symbolize what I feel— Your fair smooth letters by my jagged incoherent scrawls! I love you for remembering me so well, some day these black & ragged lines will be explained to you— Could you give me tears instead of diversion? Could you from the depths of the human soul answer me, instead of pointing to nature or God for relief— I have vitality enough—“a quick root,”1 but I would have its force varied, and it must be. I am shaping my destiny with a relentless will but ah, with what fluctuating feeling? I perceive that you are more steady than I am, that you do not storm & wail & weep—that you control yourself in your superiority of will & design, it is not so with me. Still the heart of you has not always been calm. I believe you have had pain there— Why can I not with audacity write you out in few words, my life. You do not believe I am cowardly? An innate belief that it is nobler to suffer silently perhaps holds me— Yet how plainly it shows! Somehow when I write you I feel more moved I feel so sincere. I cannot write you as I would & do many, lightly & of the world. It seems that back of all our belongings we both realize that we have a terrible self & that this is a terrible life. I dream this way when sleep falls upon me—scenery is arranged— the curtain of the past rises—and flitting to & fro are my dead Mother and dead Sister!2 Night upon night do I dream of them, in their old 3

attitudes old looks—but they even there seem like phantoms. I rarely dream pleasantly— Never dream of those near me in love—that is in my present life— it must be beautiful to dream as you do. Mrs. Ruggles3 doubts whether she will go to Portland. She thinks she might find conventional matters troublesome. She gets so tired of society that all the summer she seeks quiet. I believe her intention is to be here in August. Perhaps when I write you again I can tell precisely of our visit. I read a good deal, just now am in Victor Cousins History of Philosophy.4 I have been trying to get a translation of Kant’s theory but cannot find one.5 I shall read Modern Painters,6 next, having just read Seven Lamps of Architecture.7 The style of Ruskin is admirable—but his theology is detestable. Stoddard writes me to read Smollett 8 & Fielding’s9 novels, he says there are no such books now for “real world-wide human nature, coarse perhaps but manly”! He has a fine poem in Sartains10 the best he has written yet— You know of George Boker 11 of Philadelphia. I have read a letter of his lately—he has a mind of wonderful force. Did I tell you of my meeting Charlotte Cushman.12 She is a wonderful creature, most splendidly superior, odd, brilliant energetic & independent. I never saw a woman I was so much attracted by. She goes to Europe soon. She said she had worked her strength up—and was ordered to Italy for two winters. One thing she said I remember, that only a woman knows how a woman should be loved— Miss Matilda Hays an English woman who is a translator of George Sand’s books is her friend & companion—13 In point of available talent Miss C surpasses any woman I have ever heard of. When I was last in New York I saw few people—but got a sort of run of many literary matters. Have you seen Curtis’ new book of Travels Abysinian,14 it is said to be admirable— I wish I could see you. I sit by my sea-window, all is calm and pleasant. I would you had no husband almost so that we could be partners in divers concerns. If I come to P. all the real pleasure I shall enjoy will be with you. You must love my Wilson15 also. You cannot guess how beautiful 4

a thing he is in my arid life—good I mean by positive trial. I have some deep and luxuriant feeling, I have stronger passionate powers than most women, therefore I run riot in these matters. It is my rare fortune to be wonderfully loved, loved beyond all account— To my exacting appreciation you can imagine how much this may be. Some lovely flowers nod themselves over the paper—sweet scented & lovely—tinted. Summer is so beautiful! Have you anybody about you for society. I saw feeble specimens enough when there—but supposed I was not in the heart of anything real. It seems so strange that I should even have gone to P 16 at all for the purpose I did go, and strange that I should find you as much out of place as I was. You have such a pleasant home—you must enjoy much. I have only the abbreviation of housekeeping here—lately or in fact now. I am house-cleaning—since poor mother died it seems almost as if we had lived in a state of ruin. Once in a while a desire strikes me to “fix up”—and I come down like the day of judgment on sandy obscure corners, bringing them to light— Father, my third brother,17 myself & three servants comprise the family, and in fact they are all the society I find here. Mikes Irishisms & the cooks speculations interest me more than any interviews by our good folks in Matta— This is a long foolish letter, but take it as you must take all things from me—believe me yours very truly Elisabeth D.B.

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Likely a reference to Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1818) by British poet George Gordon Byron (1788–1824): “There is a very life in our despair, /Vitality of poison,— a quick root / Which feeds these deadly branches” (Canto 3, 24). 2. Stoddard’s sister, Jane Wilson Barstow (1827–1848), died of consumption on October 19, 1848, when she was twenty-one years old. Their mother, Betsy Drew Barstow (??–1849), died soon after, on January 10, 1849.

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3. Probably Mrs. Philo Ruggles (??–??). “Mrs. Ruggles” is mentioned as a friend in several of Stoddard’s letters to Sweat. 4. Cours de l’histoire de la philosophie by Victor Cousin (1792–1867), French philosopher, was originally published in 1827. It was quickly translated and widely republished in the United States. 5. Cousin was viewed as an important commentator on Immanuel Kant (1724– 1804). It seems likely that reading Cousin prompted Stoddard to want a volume of Kant in translation. 6. Modern Painters (1843, 1846, 1856, 1860), a multivolume work by British art critic John Ruskin (1819–1900). 7. The Seven Lamps of Architecture (1849) by John Ruskin. 8. Tobias Smollett (1721–1771), Scottish author, known primarily for his picaresque novels The Adventures of Roderick Random (1748) and The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle (1751). 9. Henry Fielding (1707–1754), British novelist, best known for the picaresque novel Tom Jones (1749). 10. Richard published frequently in Sartain’s Union Magazine of Literature and Art (1849–1852). Stoddard is probably referring to “Carmen Naturae Triumphale,” published in the May 1852 issue. 11. George Henry Boker (1823–1890), American playwright and poet. Richard Stoddard and Boker became friends in 1848 and were corresponding at this time. Elizabeth did not meet Boker until June 1853. 12. Charlotte Saunders Cushman (1816–1876), an American stage actress best known for her roles as male characters, including Romeo and Hamlet. 13. Matilda Hayes (1820–1897), American journalist, author, and actress. She published The Works of George Sand (1847), a multivolume English translation of Sand’s work. She had an intimate relationship with Cushman and, in 1852, after Cushman retired from the stage, the two moved together to Rome. 14. Probably The Howadji in Syria (1852) by George William Curtis (1824–1892), a sequel to Curtis’s Nile Notes of a Howadji (1851). 15. Wilson Barstow Jr. See biographical note. 16. Portland, Maine. 17. Probably a reference to Zaccheus Mead Barstow (1833–1862), Stoddard’s third-oldest brother.

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Letter 3  To Margaret Sweat December 23, [1852] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

23 Dec. Dear Margaret— Now such exterior quiet is about me! You have one friend, the friend of friends with you. Nothing here to go with me into the depths of myself. The sterile landscape, the wintry wind these gray wailing waters benumb me, or rouse me to deep melancholy. I have so many bitter and unfortunate associations of death and evil, that I can never be happy here. But the days fly fast. I shall change or die before many more. You wonder if we could be alike ever. I answer no, for the same man would influence us in two ways entirely. You are happier than I am. Yet you are not so happy. I do not think you love so madly, curse so furiously, weep so bitterly. Yet in a cold kind of hate you can excel me. I am afraid I am more easily moved than you. Not so fixed or stedfast. This is my life. I was in love fifteen years with my Father. Now I am in love with Wilson. Happily with the latter I am more independent than with the former—all my life nearly comes of those loves. Had I not been able to analyze this new love of mine1 I should not believe in it. I have torn everything to pieces in him and myself and for the first time in my life I have genuine passion for a man. I have bought and sold many times, as you must know, but the price always ruined me— I have experimented with myself since I knew him, before this finale, I looked into physical emotion, graded it by feeling it, and by imagining it. I studied the voluptuous. I can obtain no more. Then in the emotions of the intellect as must play between man and woman, I have met others, seen and compared, and I have chosen. The man I have chosen for a husband idealizes my reality—as Houssaye2 says it is not the man but our dream of him that we believe we find—it is not 7

him, but his influence upon me. Then he is noble. Most men are so bad in a small way. I cant endure them. I do not believe there is such a thing as spontaneity in love, no more than love of God is spontaneous. We love God because we are afraid, or because we hope in him, or because we learn there is beauty in him. No young persons by the passions will move each other— half the unions rise in such way, habit and expediency conclude the whole. You must think how rare is an intellectual marriage between two wonderfully sensuous persons? I believe love is a matter of will very much. If I had been committed to this belief earlier I might have married long since. It is impossible to forget the experience of sense—and the intellect is ever active— I am happy in love, it is neither a dream nor a hope, it is an existence. I worship the heart and mind of a man and I long to have him possess me soul and body. You will know all. Meantime, will you be silent in the matter. He is such a man—that Wilson says life would be worthless to him without me. In the most singular way he gives his life to me. (He, WB,3 is not on change 4 and does not speculate in stocks.) How right you are about those damned french. The seduction of their style would be complete were it not for its stamp of headless society. I constantly collect items that would interest you but I forget them. Wilson has made the acquaintance of Julia Dean5 the western actress. She is celebrated already though but twenty two. She is a most charming, fresh beauty. Her life is one of triumph, rich, under the constant care and protection of a good Father. Life is coleur de rose to her. Someone asked Ripley how his wife was. He said she had been very well since she found God in a bread-basket.6 Do you read Alice Carys7 poems they are full of talent. Mr R. likes Caroline Chesebro.8 He reads all Harpers books before they are published.9 Stoddard says he has a most correct and beautiful taste. He is an intimate friend of Stoddard. The literary men in NY love each other to distraction or ridicule each other like devils. Fields10 has published a vol. of Barry Cornwall’s early stories,11 not fit to read, his friends cut them from magazines & gave them to him. He says Mrs Browning12 has a blotched 8

red face. Think of her sonnets. Mrs “Estelle Lewis”13 a lady that writes verses and loved Poe told Stoddard she did not dare trust herself with a pen-knife even in her moments of inspiration. Oh literary women! Hawthorne I suppose will get an office.14 I think he is the strangest man in the world. Have I not asked you if you have read George Boker?15 He has great genius—and he is a man I greatly desire to meet. I shall some time and then I shall tell him that I like him. I have finished Henry Esmond. Thackerys.16 I do not like it. I can tell you nothing of what we shall do. I am afraid Wilson will be sent any moment to Cal. I do not know what will become of me. A remote speck of a prospect shows up that I shall be in the midst of just such life as I am made for. If it comes to pass this prospect you and me will be enabled to exchange each other. I hope you will have no children. I have signified my intention to that effect—and we will walk the world two single married women. Will you write me as often as you feel in the mood. I hope your tranquil happiness will ever abide with you. Be affectionate and sisterly to me. I want to see you and I have dreams that we shall meet happily in the future. I have written lately to Sarah,17 doubtless you will see it between the leaves of books. What frantic rumor was that that she intends coming back to live, realizing that beautiful legend from a book I often quote, of the man who scratched out both his eyes and then “jumped in again”18— Yours truly EDB19

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Elizabeth and Richard Stoddard were married in a private ceremony on December 6, 1852. 2. Arsène Houssaye (1815–1896), French novelist and poet. 3. Wilson Barstow Jr. 4. “On change” was a colloquialism for working “on the stock exchange.” 5. Julia Dean (1830–1868), American actress, whose father began supervising her acting career in 1843.

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6. Sophia Dana Ripley (1803–1861), wife of American journalist and social reformer George Ripley (1802–1880), converted to Catholicism in 1846. Ripley was one of the founders of the Brook Farm commune in Massachusetts in 1841. In 1849, he began to write for the New York Tribune and was one of the cofounders of Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in 1850. 7. Alice Cary (1820–1871), short story writer and poet. She and her sister, the poet Phoebe Cary (1824–1871), hosted Sunday evening receptions in New York City attended by the Stoddards and their friends. 8. Caroline Chesebro (1825–1873), American short story writer and novelist. 9. Ripley also read manuscripts offered for publication to Harper and Brothers. 10. James T. Fields (1817–1881), American publisher, editor, and poet. In 1839, Fields became a partner in the publishing and bookselling firm William D. Ticknor and Company, which became Ticknor, Reed, and Fields in 1845. Two years after this letter was written, the firm was renamed Ticknor and Fields. 11. Essays and Tales in Prose (1853) by Bryan Proctor (1787–1874), British poet known as “Barry Cornwall.” 12. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861), British poet best known at the time of this letter for Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850). This collection of forty-four love sonnets chronicles her courtship with British poet Robert Browning (1812–1889). 13. Estelle Anna Lewis (1824–1880), American poet, playwright, and translator, who was intimate with Edgar Allan Poe. In his Recollections, Personal and Literary, Richard recalls a visit that he and Elizabeth made to Lewis’s house in Philadelphia and claims that Poe’s support of her work was a sham (156–160). 14. Stoddard is referring to the fact that Nathaniel Hawthorne’s friend Franklin Pierce (1804–1869) had been elected president in November 1852, thereby enabling Hawthorne (1804–1864) to receive a coveted political appointment. 15. See Letter 2, note 11. 16. The History of Harry Esmond (1852) by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863). 17. Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat (1818–1901), wife of William Wedgwood Sweat (1821–1872); William was the brother of Margaret Sweat’s husband, Lorenzo De Medici Sweat (1818–1898). Sarah was a member of a prominent Mattapoisett family, so it is likely that she and Stoddard knew one another from childhood. She may also have introduced Stoddard to Sweat. Sarah and William Sweat married in 1848 and initially lived in Maine, traveling back to Mattapoisett occasionally. By 1860, they had moved back to Mattapoisett where they lived the rest of their lives. 18. From a Mother Goose nursery rhyme, “A Man in Our Town,” about a man who “jumped into a bramble bush, / And scratched out both his eyes” and then “jumped into another bush, / And scratched ’em in again.” Stoddard seems to be referring here to the possibility that Sarah might return to Mattapoisett to live. 19. Stoddard apparently left her married initial, “S,” off of this signature.

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Letter 4  To Margaret Sweat January 13, 1853 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

13 January 53 My dear Margaret— The air is thick and white with snow, the wind howls and the sea heaves grey & misty. I am full of pain. It seems only to leave my hands and arms free. I feel fastened in this chair. Do you have many feminine pains. I have read Dr. [Holenck’s?] book lately he says it cannot be denied that “Nature in the female constantly labors at one function,” that it is the organic business of our lives to be preparing for conception! Talk to me about women’s rights, good heavens, it is as much as we can live under to struggle with our idiosyncrasies. Your pleasant letter seemed so spontaneous from your mind that I was glad of it. Your view on the analysis of love I read to Stoddard. He was pleased at your clearness & asked me if there was any break or interruption in the writing. He has been staying a few days with me & as you may have guessed he is the man. Unfortunately the visit was disturbed by the illness of Father.1 I was obliged to devote my time to him. I am so surprised that I can attach such a man as he is. He carries his individualty so quietly along with him, yet so entirely—he is so gentle with my imperiousness for I have an ugly temper—and I am as ugly to him as I am to others that love me. I did not tell you I was happy. I am not. There are too many cruel circumstances in my life now for me to be settled. I was satisfied to take him for better or for worse—but I could not more live on the joys of love with him than with anyone. He impresses me continually—and my mind lives in his, but I feel him more when he is away than when with me. We are exactly alike in the inner nature which can only be developed between a man & woman, in the world we are two. I long for you to see him. If we are here next summer I will bring him especially to you. You will like him, the most opposite people admire him, but 11

I fancy you may sympathize intellectually with him. I depend upon having wonderful talks with you some day. I am reading two newer vols of DeQuincy, recollections &c2—Have you seen the new magazine, Putnams,3 do have it, it promises more than any magazine ever offered. Curtis4 is one of the editors, notice the introductory it is by him. Harry Franco-Briggs5 is the other—Wilson wrote me that he saw at Putnams6 the other night the authoress of the wide wide world.7 He says she is the tallest, thinnest, witherest looking woman he ever saw— Griswold is in Maine, Bangor I think attempting to get married, he has a wife south8— I am going to New York for a few days to get freshened. I must look upon the face of the world, or I shall rust so stiff I shall never be able to turn round— You are late with your redowas9 etc—they are passing by, stateliness in the form of quadrilles is coming up. Wilson wrote me he met Mrs. Wilson-Sherwood10 & liked her. Mrs. Neal Sherwood11 is in the family way— Hicks12 is painting for me a portrait of Stod. Have you heard of him, he was abroad with Margaret Fuller13 & Stoddard says he has painted a wonderful face of her. Ripley,14 Hicks & Dana15 are a trio— When shall you go to New York. Will you tell me so Wilson & Stoddard may see you if I am not there. S. asked me if you would like to go to one of Mr Putnams receptions, would you? Your husband Wilson & S. might protect you from literary danger, & I wish you would go, or if you wish to see anybody or thing not comeatable by the habitkeepers, signify to either the boys & your wishes shall be granted. Has Sarah16 lost my letter in some book? What more can I write you—I have not much heart today am all stomach. Continue your friendly office of correspondent. I sew a little, read a little and loaf immensely. I am not well at all, growing old & hideous. Sometimes I feel as if the animal part was dying out entirely.17 Then again my intellect feels muffled. I wonder how I should feel to live your way, but I long for a happy home. Mother18 took what remained of home, with her when she died. Good bye Yours EDB 12

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Wilson Barstow Sr. (1798–1891). 2. Ticknor and Fields published twenty-two volumes of the Writings of British author Thomas De Quincey (1785–1859) between 1851 and 1859. 3. The first issue of Putnam’s Monthly Magazine of American Literature, Science and Art, a periodical published by G. P. Putnam & Co., appeared in January 1853. 4. George William Curtis (1824–1892), American travel writer and editor, was associate editor of Putnam’s, along with Parke Godwin. 5. Charles Frederick Briggs (1804–1877), journalist and editor, was managing editor of Putnam’s from 1853 to 1856. Here Stoddard refers to his pen name, “Harry Franco.” 6. The publisher George Palmer Putnam (1814–1872) hosted evening receptions in his home in the 1850s, which the Stoddards frequently attended. 7. American novelist Susan Warner (1819–1885), author of the bestselling novel The Wide, Wide World (1850). 8. Rufus Wilmot Griswold (1815–1857), American editor, critic, and anthologist. Griswold married his second wife, Charlotte Myers (??–??), of Charleston, South Carolina, in 1845. Myers was, according to Griswold, physically incapable of consummating their marriage. After some degree of public controversy, Griswold secured a divorce in December 1852, though Myers later filed to have the divorce repealed in September 1853. In February 1856 the appeal was dismissed. At the time this letter was written, Griswold had been married to his third wife, Harriet S. McCrillis (1820–??), for two weeks. 9. A dance consisting of turning, leaping waltz steps. Of Czech origin, the redowa was introduced in Europe and the United States in the 1840s. 10. Mary Elizabeth Wilson Sherwood (1826–1903), American novelist, poet, and etiquette-manual writer. 11. Possibly Mary Neal Sherwood (1831?–??), translator of French works into English. 12. Thomas Hicks (1823–1890), American portrait painter. 13. Hicks studied in Europe from 1845 to 1849. While in Rome, he painted a cabinet-sized portrait of Margaret Fuller (1810–1850), American journalist, literary critic, and prominent transcendentalist. 14. George Ripley. See Letter 3, note 6. 15. Charles Anderson Dana (1819–1897), American journalist and editor. 16. Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat. See Letter 3, note 17. 17. “Sometimes I feel as if the animal part was dying out entirely” is written along the right-hand margin. The remaining three sentences, along with the closing and signature, are written along the left-hand margin and the top margin of the first page of the letter. 18. Betsy Drew Barstow. See Letter 2, note 2.

13

Richard Henry Stoddard. From Richard Henry Stoddard, Recollections, Personal and Literary (New York: A. S. Barnes and Company, 1903, Limited Edition).

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Letter 5  To Margaret Sweat [February 1853] New York City, New York

My dear Margaret— I have been married two months, and have concluded since I came here to make a announcement of the marriage in order to avail myself with marital freedom, of Stoddard’s protection during Wilson’s absence.1 My position remains the same for the present, we do not live together 2—I feel nervous just now, hurried & somewhat excited. I have no time to be in love, see very little of my husband. You know my world of friends is here, and Stoddard is so well known too. It is not known here except by one or two that we are affianced—therefore I expect a general surprise—and S. you know is poor and we are—so it is a strange thing. Only two more things, a baby and death. Marriage in a certain & true sense is a humbug. I cannot see why the married should deny this— S. hopes to get a place in the Custom House3 here. At first he wished to go abroad & his friends advised it—but he has many literary relations here, and a mother in delicate health,4 to whom he is devotedly attached. But political favors are not to be counted on. I should write Sarah5 a note had she written me during the last four or five months— I will send her a paper—6 Your letter came yesterday I hope you will be here—be sure to write me. I would give all I possess and sacrifice all else if I could go with Wilson. I am madly in love with him and my heart weeps blood to lose him. Oh life, life! Yours truly, EDBS 15

Thursday 10 Feb. 38 Warren St Tomorrow the announcement is to be made—I shall return to Matta [illegible] with Father—7

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Wilson sailed for California on February 21, 1853. Here Stoddard is referring to the need for women to be escorted during social engagements by men, especially in urban environments. In marrying, her “protector” shifted from her brother to her husband, Richard. 2. Stoddard lived in a boardinghouse with her brother Wilson until his departure; in March, she and Richard rented the second floor of a house on Henry Street. On March 14, she writes to Sweat, “I cannot realize the comical fact that I am to sleep with him every night, dine with him every day. Does it grow tiresome?” In closing she asked Sweat to call her “Mrs EDBS,” insisting “I do not like the adoption of the lords initials” (Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 3. With the assistance of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Richard was appointed an inspector of customs at the New York Custom House on June 28, 1853. 4. Richard Stoddard’s mother, Sophia Gurney Stoddard Gallon (1804–1870). 5. Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat. See Letter 3, note 17. 6. Prior to postage reductions in 1845, it was much less expensive to send a newspaper through the mail than it was to send a letter. The exchange of newspapers often took the place of or supplemented epistolary contact. By 1852, the price of posting a letter had been reduced so drastically that most Americans could afford to participate in exchanges of handwritten letters. Stoddard’s decision to “send [Sarah] a paper” may be a reference to the outdated practice of mailing newspapers rather than letters, therefore implying that such a poor correspondent does not deserve an actual letter. 7. This postscript is written along the right hand margin of the final page of the letter.

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Letter 6  To Margaret Sweat November 8, 1853 New York City, New York

Nov 8 Dear Margaret The dead leaves dangle from the sapless stalks. And this I may take as a text. For six weeks I have re-lived a trouble of many years growth and endurance. It has broke into dreadful publicity (to me). My Father has married lately a girl who has lived many years in our family as a servant.1 A struggle silent to the world has been fought between us. My power and strength centering upon it could not fail to have an influence, but I dealt with a merciless nature. I shook his life but I could not conquer him, I had not the courage to kill her, but that which enabled me to keep about me a mantle of dignity and never but once did I show myself to her. I died and died bravely to her. I married and so became defenceless. The accursed thing changed my nature and I expect further and deeper ruin from it. It has broken my heart. Judge what I have been in these years, judge of my grief and rage that never slept, my prayers and curses and you will guess at a tragedy never played on the boards, but one that has gnawed my soul to frenzy. I dare say you have heard of it, it has been notorious enough. The Meigs did all they could to enlarge its borders but she was not his mistress.2 He loves her. It is one of those horrible infatuations that seize upon men of a sensual temprament, a strong will and an intellect of confined ideas. That he respected her was so much the worse for me. She was the rival of all my past influence on him, she rose up before him and he denied all his duties and ruined us in his honor to her. She is a fool and he is one and all is ended. I am not well, nervous and restless. My nights are generally filled with horrid dreams of the old times. I am in a life where Stoddard is 17

not. To go to him I leave myself, thus I alternate between heaven and hell, the heaven has a leaven of memories which embitter it too. I am in the strangest mood, my individuality overpowers me. I am worn to a thread feeling myself so deeply. It will pass away doubtless as all things do pass away. I have happy meetings in the Richards3 family. Mrs R is so talented, so good and so self-possessed she helps me. She sees trouble in me but does not divine its nature. Few women have suffered as I have, not so much from circumstances but from a favoring idiosyncrasy to the trouble which has met me. Caroline Chesebro wrote the Tree of Life in Putnam’s.4 We have Putnams card for this season’s receptions but I do not know when we shall go. We are in the way of having political as well as literary news. Pierce 5 drinks hard it is said he makes a poor president as he forgets his word and is generally maudlin. Burn6 made us laugh Sunday by telling us of Pierce’s crying great tears when he had an interview with him. We have an idea of giving up housekeeping. We spend all the money. It offends our esthete taste to buy coal and beef and flour, and to give up the charming illusions of money. I have wanted to go to Portland more than ever since I wrote you, during the beautiful Oct my love longed to bathe in a woody atmosphere. I had the invalid feeling for change of scene. We often spoke of it, but it was impossible. To see some face that I saw before this phase would relieve me, and yours is almost the only one I care to see. I dread any sight or sound of anything pertaining to Mattapoisett. Have you read the infantile Bremer.7 I am much enchanted with Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister 8 it is full of heart subtleties and full of suggestions to the intellect, that is, it reveals oneself to oneself. That I take to be the power of genius. Stod is dilatory about your letter but he is always so to all. Write soon. Yours affectionately EDBS

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Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Wilson Barstow Sr. married Jane Parr Faunce (1826–1897) in October 1853. She was twenty-eight years younger than he was. 2. The Meigs were a prominent Mattapoisett family, of which Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat was a member. See Letter 3, note 17. 3. Reverend William C. Richards (1817–1892), Baptist minister and author, who also served as a book buyer for Southern libraries, and his wife Cornelia H. Bradley Richards (1822–1892), American author who often used the pen name “Mrs. Manners.” 4. “Tree of Life” is a short story by Caroline Chesebro (see Letter 3, note 8) published in Putnam’s in August and September of 1853. Stoddard apparently offered this information in response to a question from Sweat regarding the story’s authorship; see Stoddard to Sweat, August 24, 1853 and October 4, 1853 (Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 5. Franklin Pierce, President of the United States from 1853 to 1857; see Letter 3, note 14. His drinking was well known in his early political career in the 1830s. He later joined the temperance movement, but seems to have struggled with alcoholism for most of his life. 6. Unidentified. 7. Probably a reference to Swedish author Fredrika Bremer (1801–1865) who published The Homes of the New World: Impressions of America in the United States in 1853. 8. Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship (1795–1796) is the second novel by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832).

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Letter 7  To Margaret Sweat March 20, [1854] New York City, New York

Monday, 20 March Dear Margaret My intellectual life is at variance with my other life, and my body is not a rock for the troubled waters of my soul to dash against. The desire for mental occupation only worries me, my physical capacity is not enough for continuous effort. I really think I shall wear out for I have some hidden disease that preys on my strength. If I could only go into a mild climate, only have a society like the climate I might recover. I think if you were not so far off and the season so early, I would beg to come to you next month in order to fly from this moving.1 I shall be with Mrs. Richards2 some next month, and shall feel better there no doubt. I go to Dr Gray3 occasionally but with little hope. The other day in disposing some papers I found that I had your early letters filed away, a large pile of them and there they lie between sundry joys and sorrows. Sidney Yendys is the name or assumed name of the author of Balder.4 My hand gets tired with writing. I send you the printed lines which is the first. Send them back as I have no copy. The other I have lately finished—it takes me a great while to do so little, but the “Tavern poem” 5 was made quite suddenly. It is the best I have done. I hope you will be pleased. Stoddard is a severe master and I get so discouraged that I cry dreadfully, then his hands are full. You may be sure that rhythm is a hard study where it has to be wholly acquired as with me. You do not know how my mind spirals as I go contrary to what I supposed, and you will see it. I have attempted a poem of feeling which I cannot finish. I will give you the two verses of it, and you will recognize your opinion of me and my own in what I should do. Forgive my egotism 20

you have sought it. Stod has a poem in Putnams file! “The shadow of the hand”6 he writes but little now. Write me soon. Yours EDBS

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. The Stoddards were moving to new rooms on Third Street. 2. Cornelia Richards, wife of Reverend William C. Richards. See Letter 6, note 3. 3. Probably Dr. John Franklin Gray (1804–1881), New York City physician, spiritualist, and philanthropist. He was an early and prominent advocate of homeopathy, and he attended many of antebellum New York’s artists and intellectuals. 4. Sydney Thompson Dobell (1824–1874), British poet and critic, published the poem Balder (1853) under the pseudonym Sydney Yendys. 5. Possibly the poem published as “In His Cups” in the November issue of Knickerbocker Magazine. The other poems sent to Sweat may have been included among the five others published along with “In His Cups.” 6. “The Shadow of the Hand” was published in Graham’s Magazine in November 1855.

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Letter 8  To Rufus Wilmot Griswold January 4, 1856 New York City, New York

New York. 4th Avenue [illegible] January 4, 1856 Dear Sir I saw to day for the first time a volume of your “Poets and Poetry of America.”1 I discovered there my maiden name in print and, underneath it a kind notice, which I thank you for. It is something nowadays to be “predicted” about, for a woman I mean. The Literary Female is abroad, and the souls of literary men are tried. I am afraid to think of writing a book, and only intend to keep up a guerilla kind of warfare, by sending out odds and ends. Any holding out of the hands from the “powers that be” gratifies me and helps me on. But I am not equal to a speech, I can only bow my thanks. Please remember me to Mrs Griswold2 and believe me yours truly Elizabeth D B Stoddard

Manuscript: Rufus W. Griswold Collection, Boston Public Library

Notes 1. The Poets and Poetry of America, originally published in 1842, went through several editions. Here, Stoddard is referring to the 1855 edition, in which Griswold mentioned her at the end of the entry on Richard Stoddard, asserting that her “recent occasional contributions to the periodicals have marked individuality, and justify predictions of remarkable and peculiar excellence should she continue to cultivate her capacities for literature” (609). At the time, Stoddard had published eight poems. 2. Harriet McCrillis Griswold, Griswold’s third wife; see Letter 4, note 8. Stoddard writes this letter one month before the appeal of Griswold’s second wife, Charlotte Myers, was heard in court. Due to the public nature of the divorce, Harriet McCrillis Griswold had by this point left Griswold and moved back with her family in Bangor, Maine.

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Letter 9  “From Our Lady Correspondent” Daily Alta California July 7, 1856 New York City, New York

From Our Lady Correspondent New York, June 5th, 1856 I have just arrived in New York by the propeller Petanisks.1 I paid twenty shillings for as many hours passage: the agony was cheap. I took the propeller just as a man sometimes prefers to have a country doctor pull a tooth, dragging him some minutes by the forceps, all for twenty-five cents, instead of paying a dentist a dollar to take it out in a twinkling. Oh! but I was sea-sick! My internal antagonism to the motion of the cruel deep rose to such a height that I was overpowered by the contest. Phoebe, the stewardess, was only able to get my bonnet off, when she was obliged to cram me into a berth. It was like packing a carpet-bag. I went in with a whalebone petticoat and a great flounced, and tucked, and starched cambric affair. Phoebe had to tuck my material into all the crevices of the berth, and then she left me, laughing like a shark. A raging fever burned my head; hair pins fell out; my hair choked my eyes and floated round the pillow like seaweed, or like signals of distress over a sinking wreck. My feet were like icebergs, and did not seem to belong to me, but to be a pair of obtrusive extremities, that were where there was no room for them. I was in the possession of the Demon of the Sea. There was no help for me. So I emulated the behavior of Prometheus, remembering that he preached from his solitary crag to the winds and waters: “But I needs must hear my doom as easily as may be, knowing as I do that the might of necessity cannot be resisted.”2 I also thought of Mazeppa;3 but could not recall anything from Byron that would suit the case. “Time and the hour” wore through that rough night,4 however, and at last I emerged from the log-like propeller, a gaunt and hungry woman. I am writing from a perch in a big house on 24th street. It is quite elegant outside. The first floor is handsome, and I have strong hopes 23

of misleading my acquaintances as to my real position in the garret by introducing them to the parlor merely. In this manner I have received one of your California delegates to the Philadelphia Convention.5 I am not sure but that he would have been as cordial and pleasant if I had received him upon the aerial heights as he was in the parlor. It would do you good, though, to see how ingeniously the cracks on the wall are covered by pictures. There is no carpet on the floor; but plenty of books. Dusters are unknown in these regions; in fact, this is a genuine literary den. But there is no lion in it. From this traditional situation I think some inspiration may light on my brain. There are so many pairs of stairs between me and the outer world, that unless I choose to make a descent from the window, I shall find it best not to journey often to the outside. But I am sorry not to be in Cincinnati.6 Capt. Rynders7 and Tom Hyer 8 are there; and I am as good a Democrat as either. The Democratic party is essentially fisticuffy, and the bullying element is dominant. Sumner 9 had his head caved in in a good time. Every cat and thrust that Bully Brooks gave him will bear political fruit. When I left Yankeedom, even the women had the newspapers in hand, and were violently disturbed about Sumner’s assault. The indignation meetings are everywhere fast and furious. The Tribune is powerful and sound, about these times, in many things. It circulates tremendously out West. I should think its articles on the Kansas matters10 would infuriate the hot-headed geniuses. The Tribune also continues to quote advertisements from the Southern papers of negro sales. This reminds me of the little dramatic entertainment that took place at Mr. Ward Beecher’s11 church, last Sunday. After his discourse, he presented a slave girl to his audience for redemption.12 The enthusiasm of the [illegible] [illegible] was so great that an overplus was raised at once. Much clapping of hands ensued, which the reverend gentleman called a “holy clapping of hands.”13 I have heard of “holy crawls,” but never of holy clapping of hands before. I should say that Ward Beecher was the best stock actor in the pay of the church. I am indebted to your correspondent from Shasta, in the uttermost part of the earth, for a kind notice of my unpretending gossip with you.14 He calls me a model letter-writer. Generally, models are failures. There’s the model wash-houses for the poor, but the poor 24

won’t wash themselves; and model lodging-houses, where the lodgers won’t stay; and the model woman! The Lord deliver my friend in Shasta from her! A woman that possesses all the virtues by rule is to be dreaded. I have my mind’s eye on such a woman now. She is amiable; she is deferential; the color of your opinion is the color of hers; she is a human tree-toad. She harnesses the household out of all comfort, to keep it in order. She has a brush in hand, or some erasive soap, to assail you with when you come home dusty, dirty and tired. She is getting her clothes ready for summer or winter the year through; either giving them shakings and airings, or packing them away in old handkerchiefs and pepper. She goes to church well dressed, and adores a particular minister. She never speaks the truth, because she has never learned it. She never lies, because she knows the commandments. And so she will live and die. People will remember her just long enough to say “she was a model woman.” I must own that I am greatly pleased to be praised; whether I deserve it or not, the generous intention is fulfilled in my heart. Per contra: Squibob, the Phoenix that will never be reduced to ashes, has, I hear through a friend, honored me with a series of drawings in his sketch-book.15 Your correspondent is represented with a squalling baby, a shirtless husband, and shoes down at the heel. O, Squibob! where is your originality! Strong-minded women are always caricatured in this way. Shoes down at the heel began with Aspasia,16 and shirtless husbands came in when the Roman toga went out. Will not the valiant Squibob consider me but a mosquito, and protect himself against me with the net of his self-conceit? My little humming should not irritate a man that is in his seventh or tenth edition. Like most people after a course of country, on arriving in town I rushed to the theatre. I went to Laura Keene’s Varieties.17 The play was “Jane Eyre,” supposed by the ignorant to be a version of the book of that name.18 It was no such thing. Brougham has a craze about turning books that lack the dramatic element into dramas. Miss Keene’s Jane Eyre and Jordon’s Rochester were comical representatives of the originals. Laura Keene was as elegant as she knew how to be; and Jordon, whose basis is a consummate puppyism, looked as handsome as he could. The whole affair was a heap of stage 25

epithets, dull and conventional. Miss Keene is well preserved. There is no depth in her acting: she is merely pleasing and well-taught. She dresses well, and that is a great merit, especially in a woman that is “on the go.” Her company is not forcible. Among its members is Miss Emily Lesdernier,19 a daughter of the minister and poet John Pierrepont.20 She has tried numerous dramatic plans, but none have succeeded; her talent being very frail and so she has settled into single sentence and waiting-maid parts. Another lady there has assumed the name of Ada Clare.21 She is of good family, good means and good education. She shook off all family ties, came to New York, where an insane vanity led her to go on the stage; and where she made a pitiable failure. She made her debut at Wallack’s in an amateur performance, with a Mr. Ware,22 a cock-a-doodle man who thinks himself a genius, and wears more collar than he does shirt; curls his hair to a frenzy, and walks Broadway with his little fingers in the arm-holes of his coat. Such human apes make me weep. After Miss Clare has exhibited herself enough to satisfy her morbid appetite, she may retire into private life and leave off her preposterousness. I hope so. But I should not be surprised if she should try California. Have you had any furor since the Heron?23 Mrs. J. R. Scott, wife of the lately deceased tragedian, the old Bowery fire-eater and word pounder, is also a member.24 I fancy that the Varieties is a sort of hospital, and that the actors have gruel behind the scenes. I should think, too, that it was the market for unappreciated dramatists. Miss Keene is soft-hearted, perhaps, and can’t say “no!” Bass25 and Harry Hall26 are there, and are the best actors in the company. Barnum27 is rising; his creditors have persecuted him into popularity. He has refused aid, and I like him for that. Several theatres have offered him benefits; some of our best men also. Last and least, Tom Thumb proposes to come up to his assistance.28 In conclusion, I would say, dear Alta, that I hope you will keep your political eye open. I trust you notice the tone of the Southern journals in reference to the Sumner assault. Read, for instance, an article in the Richmond Inquirer of June 2d.29 I am sure I should love the man that would beat the writer of it. Yours, E. D. B. 26

Source: Daily Alta California 7.177 (July 7, 1856): 1

Notes 1. A propeller was one of three types of steamboats commonly used in midnineteenth-century America. 2. From Prometheus Chained (better known as Prometheus Bound) by the Greek tragedian Aeschylus (525/524 b.c.–455/456 b.c.) and translated by Theodore Alois Buckley (1825–1856). This translation was published in 1849. Prometheus is a figure from Greek mythology who steals fire from Zeus to give to mortals. Zeus punishes him by binding him to a rock and having an eagle eat his liver, only to have it regenerate and be eaten again the next day. 3. George Gordon Byron’s Mazeppa (1819) recounts the story of a young man being strapped naked to a horse by the husband of his lover. 4. “Time and the hour runs through the roughest day” is a quotation from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 3. 5. The Republican Party’s National Convention was held in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in June 1856. 6. The Democratic Party’s National Convention was held in Cincinnati, Ohio, in June 1856. 7. Captain Isaiah Rynders (1804–1885), American businessman, sportsman, and politician, associated closely with the corruption of Tammany Hall. Around the time of this column, Rynders switched his allegiances briefly to the anti-Catholic, anti-immigrant Know-Nothings, whom he had previously opposed. 8. Tom Hyer (1819–1864), American boxer who aligned himself with the Know-Nothings. 9. Charles Sumner (1811–1874), American politician from Massachusetts, associated with the Radical Republicans. In May 1856, South Carolina Representative Preston Smith Brooks (1819–1857) severely assaulted Sumner on the floor of the Senate. The immediate provocation for the beating was a speech Sumner had made three days earlier, in which he denounced the Kansas-Nebraska Act and insulted a relative of Brooks, Senator Andrew Butler (1796–1857), also of South Carolina. Many Northerners took offense at Brooks’s savage attack, which they regarded as evidence of the inevitability of war. 10. The Kansas Territory became a battleground over the issue of slavery. On May 21, 1856, a pro-slavery mob entered the free-state stronghold of Lawrence and burned several buildings. On May 24, abolitionist John Brown (1800–1859) and some of his followers brutally killed seven pro-slavery men, and then in early June, Brown took several pro-slavery soldiers captive. Shortly after this column by Stoddard, in August 1856, the dispute broke out into more organized violence. Almost sixty people died in these skirmishes by 1859. Editor Horace Greeley (1811–1872) coined the term “Bleeding Kansas” in the New York Tribune’s coverage of the events. 11. Henry Ward Beecher (1813–1887), prominent clergyman, brother of Harriet

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Beecher Stowe (1811–1896) and Catharine Beecher (1800–1878). He was the first pastor of Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims in Brooklyn, which he served from 1847 until his death in 1887. 12. On June 1, 1856, Beecher closed his worship service by challenging his congregation to donate the funds necessary to assist a slave girl to purchase her own freedom from slavery. The parishioners came up with the money—over $500—on the spot in an emotionally charged donation spree. 13. After Beecher announced the result of the collection, his congregation burst into applause. Beecher termed the outburst a “holy clapping of hands.” 14. In the April 8, 1856, Daily Alta California, the correspondent from Shasta, California, insisted “your New York Lady correspondent is the letter writer—indeed she is the model letter writer. If all her admirers in California will contribute a small sum toward purchasing a big nugget of gold as a ‘testimonial’ to be presented to her in token of their esteem and the pleasure her letters have afforded them, you can ‘count me in’ who will second the motion. Just make a beginning and the thing is done. Shasta will do her part” (“Letter from Shasta.”). 15. George Horatio Derby (1823–1861), California humorist who published under the pseudonyms John P. Squibob, Squibob, and John Phoenix. The sketch of Stoddard as the Daily Alta California’s “Lady Correspondent” remains unidentified. 16. Aspasia (c. 470 b.c.–c. 400 b.c.), a Greek courtesan renowned for both her superior beauty and her superior education. 17. In February 1856, British-born American actress Laura Keene (1826–1873) opened her New York City theater, Laura Keene’s Varieties. 18. Jane Eyre; or the Orphan of Lowood was written by John Brougham (1814–1880) and performed at Laura Keene’s Varieties on May 26, 1856. Actor George Jordan (??–??) played Rochester, and Laura Keene performed in the role of Jane. 19. Emily Lesdernier (??–??), American actress, novelist, and poet. 20. John Pierpont (1785–1866), American teacher, poet, minister, and antislavery activist. 21. Ada Clare was the stage name of Jane McElhenney (1834–1874), American actress and writer. Stoddard had met McElhenney at a literary party at the house of Reverend William C. Richards in 1853. McElhenney was the cousin of Paul Hamilton Hayne (1830 –1886), a Southern writer and critic with whom the Stoddards exchanged letters. 22. Unidentified. 23. Matilda Heron (1830–1877), Irish-born American actress. Her performances were known for their emotional power and for their representation of women’s sexuality. She had her California debut on December 26, 1853, and critics praised her performances across the state. 24. The wife of John Rudolph Scott (1809–1856), American actor, was born in Philadelphia and made her theater debut in 1851. Her name is unknown. 25. Charles Bass (1803–??), American actor.

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26. Harry Hall (1804–1858), Irish-born comedic actor. 27. Phineas Taylor Barnum (1810–1891), American entertainer and businessman. In 1856, the Jerome Clock Company, which Barnum had invested heavily in, went bankrupt, and Barnum lost a good deal of his wealth. 28. After Barnum’s 1856 setback, Tom Thumb (Charles Sherwood Stratton, 1838–1883), a performer whom Barnum had managed, offered to assist Barnum, and the two embarked on a European tour. 29. This editorial, like many in Southern newspapers, supported Brooks’s attack on Sumner, claiming: “These vulgar abolitionists in the Senate are getting above themselves. . . . The truth is they have been suffered too long without collars. They must be lashed into submission. . . . We trust that other gentleman will follow the example of Mr. Brooks.”

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Letter 10  “From Our Lady Correspondent” Daily Alta California August 3, 1856 New York City, New York

From Our Evening Edition of Yesterday1 FROM OUR LADY CORRESPONDENT. New York, July 5th, 1856 Colonel Fremont 2 is treated by his party as a grandmother treats her darling grandson. With her it is what John did when he was a boy; what John’s mother thought, and how John’s wife felt; and how nobly he appeared on this occasion, and on that, when everybody else would have failed. The field of his life has been laboriously dug over by his political friends. If he is not elected these biographical items will have a ridiculous air. I dare say Colonel Fremont’s prayer at present is, “Save me from my friends.” Election business has the result of bringing into office pop-gun and wind-bag style of men. They are enabled to strut down the columns of a newspaper, and as the penalty of greatness, pay the expenses of caucuses, committee sittings, and [illegible] pamphlets. These men die with an impression that they saved their country. How does [illegible line] journal of Lewis Cass3 could tell us exactly. It seems to me that the men most unnecessary in life are abdicated kings and retired presidents. Despite the hints Mr. Fillmore4 must have received, I do not hear that he has declined his nomination. The papers make romantic efforts in describing the warmth of his reception on his arrival. It is my impression that Mr. Fillmore’s party lives in cities, and that the country don’t care much about him. We are floating in a fiery atmosphere. My isolated attic to-day belies its situation. The most sensible confess to cold drunkenness from claret punch and iced champagne. An excellent remedy against the heat is iced schnapps, a palm leaf fan, and no clothes; the fan is the least necessary. Speaking of clothes reminds me of the statue in Union Square.5 It is still covered up with canvas, and mysterious 30

movements take place beneath it. I have had a glimpse of the tail of George Washington’s horse; it is a pale yellow—not a good color for a street ornament. But we are in duty bound to applaud the donors of this statue to the city. It is the first attempt of Art-worship in New York. To be sure, we use everything but Art, and Beauty: the best of eatables and drinkables; hotels filled with the handsomest carpets, and curtains of the largest known patterns; coaches that roll on velvet springs, and all that sort of thing. Look at the parks of New York. The scalded Battery!6 its puny trees waving their arms to the emigrant’s [sic] for help. And Union Park7—its little self fenced in, its dingy benches and narrow paths made to keep people out. They are all so bounded by utility that Beauty refuses to enter. There is not a noticeable land-mark in New York. I wish some rich man would have money for a fine arch at the head of Broadway. Its effect would be as good as the effect of money left to tract societies and foreign missions. And, by the way, what is the real influence of churches? I have concluded, after taking churches in the abstract, that they are necessary in the social system; they keep society together. The communication of the church keeps up good manners. I have thought of churches in particular—that is, their effect upon me— that they make me especially irreligious. When I go to them I criticize what I see and hear; I analyze the logic and ability of the sermon; I detect false notes in the singing, and the squeak of the organ irritates me. I study physiognomy. I see a citizen at the foot of his pew; he reads the hymn; he lifts his eyes to the ceiling, but he does not find God. The valves of his heart are not open: God does not enter. At the head of the pew I see the citizeness: I decide that I will pattern from her bonnet the very next I have, which will not be very soon, as I do not go often to church, where ladies dress the most. She is made wretched by her tight boots; by the superior mantilla of her friend in the pew before her; and by the kicks and grimmaces [sic] of her children, who have not yet learned to be pious. Religion is a spirit that visits me when I least expect it. God’s mediums are not man’s. In the midst of the gayest crowds I have been seized with the most solemn thoughts, and in the fullness and zest of life I feel the skeleton fingers of Death closing on my heart. The sound of my own laughter recalls to my mind the sound of my weeping. The “worm i’ the bud”8 is never concealed within me. Upon the little child that sits near me,9 whose voice is like the 31

babbling melody of a running brook, and whose eyes wear the beauty of the summer sky, I look with prophetic pain. But this has little to do with the offer I have had lately of a seat in a “fifteen hundred dollar pew,” so my inviter said, in Dr. Bellows’ church, in the Fourth Avenue, commonly called the Church of the Holy Zebra, from the fact of its being built in stripes of Normandy stone, of a creamy color, and yellow brick.10 This church is a fine specimen of mixed Italian architecture. It is out of place where it stands. A meat market crowds against it; a blind alley runs up one side, at the end of which, Dr. Griswold,11 who, like the church, has been afflicted with many stripes, lives. On another side stands a row of nobodyish houses; so that its beauty is not as evident as it would be if it stood in a square. I think the church has already cost one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, yet the tower is not added.12 The church now is like the play of “Hamlet”—Hamlet out. (You must forgive the repetition of this time-honored joke.) Moses H. Grinnell has poured some ten thousand dollars into the treasury-gap of the Holy Zebra. Dr. Bellows is a good beggar, an autocratical preacher, a lover of the fine arts, and a man of talent. The fashionable godly attend Grace Church, the sexton of which is Brown,13 who waits on the guests at a party, or buries them with equal pleasure—doing both in the brownest style. Your correspondent would like to make a campaign at Saratoga and Newport,14 and send you pictures, done from life. Watering places are a fine field for the cynic and the philosopher; human nature buds and blossoms there, like flowers and fruit in a hot-house. I think I could endure a season at these places with plenty of money, and the feeling of accomplishing my duty to my readers. And how shall I name my readers? Who does read these familiar, anti-newspaperish letters? The day I send my last letter to California will be a sad day: I shall cry, and howl, and refuse to be comforted by the other little children of my brain, that have a feeble existence in the corners of newspapers, and spaces that “must be filled up” in magazines. But the Alta is hydra-headed,15 and I am tough. So I hope for a long existence for both. We have quite as many goodish books as usual. Among them, and more noticeable than most of them, is Caroline Chesebro’s “Victoria, 32

or the World Overcome.”16 After the title (for why should the world be “overcome?”) Miss Chesebro’s dogmatic and pious ideal of a woman assails me in reading her book. I object to the position she takes in regard to the reader—that of a teacher. The morality is not agreeable, and quite impossible. It is only women of the brain that possess “the wisdom of the world and the virtue of the saint.” Why will writers, especially female ones, make their heroines so indifferent to good eating, so careless about taking cold, and so impervious to all the creature comforts? The absence of these treats compose their good women, with an eternal preachment about self-denial, moral self-denial. Is goodness, then, incompatible with the enjoyment of the senses? In reading such books I am reminded of what I have thought my mission was: a crusade against Duty—not the duty that is revealed to every man and woman of us by the circumstances of daily life, but that which is cut and fashioned for us by minds totally ignorant of our idiosyncracies and necessities. The world has long been lost in a polemical fog. I am afraid we shall never get into plain sailing. None of Miss Chesebro’s readers can gainsay her intellectual force. She is clearer than nine-tenths of our woman-writers. She has a hard head and an ignorant heart. The style is good, and savors of a cultivation of the world’s means, though she writes nothing of the earth, earthy. “Victoria” is a tale of two hundred years ago, dated from the puritanic reign of terror. A happy, innocent and beautiful girl is accused of witchcraft, and suffers death thereby. Miss Chesebro defines the characters of the accusers extremely well, and draws the line between their ignorance and distorted religion, and the real motives of passion, envy and pride, with metaphysical tru[th] and reason. Miss Chesebro too much disdains picturesque detail. There is no wholesome flavor of life in her writings; no impulse; no warmth. If she allows anybody to admire or feel anything, it is only a momentary aberration from the pathway to another and better world. If I were her physician, I should recommend a tremendous course of champagne. I should tell her to seek some experience that would snap the bars of steel that band her head so tightly. Quite a different book has made a sensation lately; said to be written by a woman, too—“Paul Ferroll.”17 It is an English reprint, author unknown. The story is founded on one of those mysterious 33

murders for which England is somewhat celebrated, and ends with its consequences—detection and ruin. Paul Ferroll, the murderer, is made attractive by the powerful analysis of his character by the author. It is, in fact, an intellectual study, and extremely probable. The book is not pleasant, and one cannot help wishing that the writer had used his talent in another direction. He is destined to create a name in literature—he or she, as the case may be. Your leader in the Alta of May 24th, “Isolation,” presents to me a gloomy and terrifying picture. Last of all comes the awful railroad accident one [sic] the Panama route.18 I have expected, since I read Tome’s history of the Panama Railroad,19 that an accident must occur. It is hard to overcome nature; but you will do it; and my motherly heart says, “Don’t be discouraged.” After you have kindly reshipped to us the scoundrelly refuse embodied in gamblers, fighters and bullies, that we lent you so freely, you will, I suspect, go to the other extreme. You will have such an excess of law and order that you will be as tiresome as the old Puritans. Yours, E. D. B.

Source: Daily Alta California 7.204 (August 3, 1856): 1

Notes 1. The August 2, 1856, evening issue seems to no longer exist, so our transcription comes from the reprint in the August 3, 1856, issue. 2. John C. Frémont (1813–1890), American military officer, explorer, and politician. He was the Republican Party candidate for president in 1856. 3. Lewis Cass (1782–1866), American military officer and politician. He was the Democratic nominee for president in 1848, but lost the election to Zachary Taylor (1784–1850). 4. Millard Fillmore (1800–1874), thirteenth president of the U.S., 1850–1853, and the last president from the Whig Party. After the disintegration of the Whig Party, Fillmore joined the American Party, which was associated with the antiCatholic and anti-immigrant Know-Nothing movement. He ran as the American Party’s presidential candidate in 1856. 5. In 1856, an equestrian statue of George Washington (1732–1799), created by sculptor Henry Kirke Brown (1814–1886), was unveiled in Union Square in Manhattan. It was the first public sculpture erected in New York City since 1770.

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6. Battery Park is located at the southern point of Manhattan, facing New York Harbor. By the middle of the 1850s, this area had become a primary settling point for European immigrants. 7. Union Square Park is located at the intersection of Broadway and what was in Stoddard’s time Bowery Road. A fence surrounded the central portion of the square until 1872 when the park was redesigned. 8. Reference to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Act 2, Scene 4, in which Viola says: “She never told her love, / But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, / Feed on her damask cheek.” 9. The Stoddards’ first child, Wilson (Willy) Stoddard (1855–1861), was born on June 20, 1855. 10. The Unitarian Church of All Souls in New York City was led by Rev. Dr. Henry Whitney Bellows (1814–1882). In 1855, the congregation moved to a new building located at Fourth Avenue and Twentieth Street, which was designed by Jacob Wrey Mould (1825–1886). The Italianate design was unconventional for New York City at the time, especially the striped effect that Mould created by alternating deep red brick with beige-yellow Italian stone. Many jokingly referred to the church as the “Church of the Holy Zebra.” 11. Rufus Wilmot Griswold. See biographical note. 12. Mould went almost $50,000 over budget in building the church. Moses Hicks Grinnell (1803–1877), who was a major benefactor of the church and had essentially handpicked Mould to be its architect, reportedly paid for the overbudget costs. 13. Isaac Brown (1812–1880), the sexton of Grace Church for much of the nineteenth century, was well known for taking a central role in planning his parishioners’ exclusive parties and social events. 14. Saratoga and Newport were elite vacation destinations in New York and Rhode Island. 15. In Greek mythology, the hydra is a serpent-like creature with multiple heads that regenerate when cut off. 16. Victoria, or The World Overcome (1856) was an historical novel set in seventeenth-century Puritan America by Caroline Chesebro. See Letter 3, note 8. 17. Paul Ferroll (1855) by British writer Caroline Clive (1801–1872) is a sensationalist novel about a man who appears to be mild-mannered and respectable, but in fact murdered his first wife. 18. On May 6, 1856, a large train ran off the tracks on a journey to Aspinwall (also known as Colón), the Atlantic terminus of the Panama Railroad. Approximately fifty people were killed. 19. Panama in 1855: An Account of the Panama Rail-road, of the Cities of Panama and Aspinwall, with Sketches of Life and Character on the Isthmus (1852), by Robert Tomes (??–??).

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Letter 11  “From Our Lady Correspondent” Daily Alta California September 21, 1856 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

from our lady correspondent. Buzzard’s Bay,1 Aug. 20th, 1856. You have heard the anecdote of the ballet dancer, who was asked at rehearsal how her husband was, and who replied balancing first on one leg and then on the other, as earnest in her dancing as she was sincere in her grief: “He died this morning.” I feel something as she felt, as I sit down to write this letter. I have a grief to struggle with, a malady that has its origin in California—the separation from my family.2 But I must keep up my dancing for all that. It is not easy to indicate a long series of circumstances that bring about the one result—disappointment! I once had no faith in the sorrow which did not show red eyes, loss of appetite, and disordered clothes. I have learned though, that disappointment may color a whole life one sombre, uniform tint. Such is not the grief which “maketh gray,”3 but one that lies in the depths of one’s nature, like one of those calm, fathomless mountain lakes, which the traveller unexpectedly finds. I am inclined to think that California divides more family ties than it has inhabitants; for one person there, three may be left here, to amuse themselves with anxiety—the wife, mother and sister. As California has no parallel, and no past, we can only surmise its future, and accept the present. Its elements of business are so fluctuating, its social basis so slight, and the possession of gold so possible for all, that men are cut adrift from established moorings while there. We don’t know what to expect from the individual, or the mass. All Californians are gamblers—in money, in hope, in dreams. And now the Vigilants have taken up the problem of government, and are gambling for a pretty serious stake.4 If the country was settled by Frenchmen, its gorges, ravines and gullies would be peopled with the ghosts of suicides. As there is a “never say die” principle in the 36

Yankees, the reaction of all this exhilaration is to make them dogged and determined. I find that my letters to you make a sort of mental almanac; each one is a finger post to some experience or event. When they shall have grown mouldy and yellow with age, I, with my specs, will look them over with a “well-a-day,” and with the sentiment of a lover who weeps over the time-stained letters from the love of his youth! I overhauled a package of them the other day for some trivial reason or other, and noticed particularly the one dated the 20th August, a year ago this date. I must say I thought it funny, although I never heard anybody else say so. In calculating the period of days have elapsed since I commenced writing for the Alta, I remember that I have had just seven hundred vexations. A complete pyramid of annoyances in the desert of time! Had I have chronicled my little woes after the time-honored fashion of dropping a black stone in a vase, what a funeral mound I might have erected on my premises! Thank God, the Calamities have not visited me in that time! I am quite well enough pleased with life, for I have written a book! I found that my aggregate letters, if put up Derby-fashion, would sell for a dollar and twenty-five cents: ten cents to me, the author, a dollar and fifteen cents to the cormorant Derby!5 Unlike the topographical “Squibob,” and the academic “Doesticks,”6 I do not believe in newspaper literature. Like May-flies it should skim on the pool of society, from morning till evening, and then, having fulfilled its functions—die: instead of living like a stuffed specimen, between the covers of books. Mentioning my letters reminds me what I lately heard of one of them—that a lady-reader was shocked at the freedom with which I spoke of the confinement of the Empress Eugenie.7 My informant (another woman) woman-like, begged me to show her the letter; she wanted to read the impropriety! I am glad of this opportunity to speak of the excessive prudery of American women. Prudery, and a right knowledge of common things of life, no more belong together than Prudery and Ignorance.—Women seem to be on the alert for something improper in conversation or manners; feeling it to be their mission to shrink, and blush, or to keep in arms, in case anybody should venture into some sin against convention. I have been much vexed at the obscure style of talking which our women practice. 37

One cannot understand them. They emasculate the Saxon language in order to attain to what they call “a refined phraseology.” I must confess that I am something of a horror to such persons, for I knock down my ideas with substantial English. We are creeping into the yellow leaf, but shall not arrive at the “sere” 8 till October. The beets have dried hard in the garden, for the want of rain. The grape vines look wilted, and the grapes refuse to change color, but remain in their green boldness. There has not been any prayer meeting appointed yet, to pray against the drouth; but there will be, according to the old custom, unless it is abolished, just before the rain comes. I am struck at the approach of autumn, with the change in the scenery of the clouds. They assume a pageantry, as if to compensate us for the decay of summer. The blue heavens are lined with splendid mountain masses, in white and purple; they move slowly and grandly to the unheard music of winds, whose current is high above us. The arch of the sky appears expanded, more serene and blue than at any other time. I have thought that clouds were the sky’s dreams, it puts forth such fantastic forms;—like creatures, like birds, like towers and castles, and like giants that ride under the sky in chariots without horses. I believe it is Ruskin who accuses us of being indifferent to sky-scenery.9 He forgets that the people of cities can only get glimpses of the sky in rims and patches. Here at Buzzard’s Bay I am a cloud worshipper; the people think I am turning up my nose at them, to use their vernacular, while I am full-hearted with the glories of sea and sky. I am, in fact, looked upon as a vampire here; for sustenance I write about them, and ridicule them. The house where I stay is looked at as a Retreat for the Insane might be. The passers-by stare up and down at the windows, to catch a view of the ghoule inside. There are no friendly men or women, cats or dogs here. The cats mew at me, and the dogs snuff me with disdain. The men pass along on the other side of the way, and the women nudge each other when they see me. Therefore, O good Samaritan Alta, pour upon my wounded “pheelinks”10 the balm of your sympathy and friendship. The second regatta of the New York Yacht Club took place at New Bedford, last week.11 Much aquatic enthusiasm was exercised by everybody who could paddle on the water, in boat, sloop, or 38

steamboat. A ball was given to the Yacht salts. I was amused in reading the account in some Boston paper of the ball supper. The poetical reporter called the man who got up the supper an “unsurpassed caterer.” Among the ornaments was a whale-boat in sugar at each end of the table! At such an unartistic, ungraceful sight, I should have thought the guests would have “blubbered.” The marine idea should have been carried out. Bomb-lance bon bons, try pot-jelly, quadrants in paste, caboose pies, monkey-rail puddings, and so on!12 One dinner could not exhaust the happy nautical names that might be given to as happily concocted dishes. The Home Journal of August 16th gives an account of the pleasant concert given at Benicia, California, by the young ladies of the Seminary there.13 The style of its getting up struck me as being very fanciful and pretty, and reminded me of my own New England boarding-school days. Some of those young ladies are destined to make excellent citizenesses for California. Their influence will be refining and beautiful. I regret that I have not the new book by Emerson,14 to notice in this letter. It is said to be a splendid example of his genius. I am sure “English Traits” may be found at your crack bookseller’s, Lecount’s15 even before I can write about it. The novel of Paul Ferrol was written by Mrs. Arthur Cline.16 No woman has risen above her ordinary sphere equal to her, since Miss Bronte.17 Thackeray18 has begun a new story. Tennyson19 and Browning 20 are on the point of publishing new poems. Mrs. Browning 21 will be brought out here soon—not herself, but her new volume. Ticknor & Fields are opening their fall campaign splendidly. Beginning with the second part of the “Angel in the House,”22 their next will be Arnold’s Poems.23 E. D. B.

Source: Daily Alta California 7.253 (September 21, 1856): 1

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Notes 1. Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, is located on Buzzard’s Bay. 2. Wilson Barstow Jr. remained in California until the autumn of 1857, but Stoddard’s eldest surviving brother, Samuel Barstow (1829–1865), who had joined Wilson in September 1853, returned to New York soon after this letter was written. 3. “The grief which maketh gray” is a line from Festus: A Poem (1845) by British poet Philip James Bailey (1816–1902). 4. The San Francisco Committee of Vigilance was initially established in 1851, serving as a kind of citizens’ police force for three months, investigating crimes and hanging suspected offenders. It was reorganized in May 1856, and focused on political corruption, as well as on policing violent crimes. This committee was responsible for the arrest of boxer James “Yankee” Sullivan (1807–1856), whom Stoddard refers to in her Daily Alta column from October 22, 1854. Sullivan moved to San Francisco from New York City in 1854 and was reportedly involved in a ballot stuff scandal and other criminal activities. He hanged himself in his jail cell in June 1856, just before Stoddard wrote this letter, which gives her comments about suicides later in this paragraph a sharper tone. 5. George Derby (see Letter 9, note 15) initially published in newspapers but collected those writings in the volume Phoenixiana, or Sketches and Burlesques (1856). 6. Q. K. Philander Doesticks was the pseudonym of humorist and journalist Mortimer Neal Thompson (1831–1875), whose essays appeared in the New York Tribune before being collected in the volume Doesticks: What He Says (1855). 7. The wife of Napoleon III, Eugénie de Montijo (1826 –1920), was the last Empress consort of the French from 1853 to 1871. She gave birth to the couple’s only son on March 16, 1856, after a difficult labor lasting twenty-two hours. On May 4, Stoddard published a letter in the Daily Alta California in which she announced, “The Empress Eugenie’s baby has come, too. The programme reached me just before the affair came off. It seems that Nature was somewhat disconcerted at the bill, and refused to be pleased at the introduction into the apartment, at a critical moment, of sundry state humbugs.” 8. An allusion to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 3: “I have lived long enough. My way of life / Is fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf!” 9. John Ruskin makes this argument in the second part of Modern Painters, Volume One (1843): “If artists were more in the habit of sketching clouds rapidly, and as accurately as possible in the outline, from nature, instead of daubing down what they call ‘effects’ with the brush, they would soon find there is more beauty about their forms than can be arrived at by any random felicity of invention” (216). 10. Colloquial spelling of “feelings.” 11. In spring 1856, the town of New Bedford issued an invitation to the New York Yacht Club to hold its annual regatta at New Bedford, instead of at its usual location of Newport, Rhode Island. The race was held on August 8. 12. All whaling or nautical terms. A bomb lance is a lance or harpoon with a hol-

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low head that is charged with gunpowder that explodes when thrust into a whale, while try pots were used to remove and render the oil from blubber obtained from whales. A geometric quadrant was an instrument that aided navigators on ships, and the caboose is a small kitchen on a merchant ship or the cast iron ranges used on such ships. A monkey rail is about half a foot above the quarter rail on a ship. 13. The Young Ladies Seminary in Benicia, California, was founded in 1852 under the direction of Mary Atkins (1819–1882). See “Interesting to Ladies,” Home Journal (August 16, 1856): 4. 14. English Traits (1856) by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 15. Josiah J. Lecount (1827–1878) operated a bookstore in San Francisco from the early 1850s through the early 1860s. 16. See Letter 10, note 17. 17. Probably Charlotte Brontë (1816–1855), British novelist and poet, best known for Jane Eyre (1847). 18. William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863), popular British novelist. 19. Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892), British poet. 20. Robert Browning; see Letter 3, note 12. The U.S. edition of Men and Women by Browning was published by Ticknor and Fields in 1856. 21. Elizabeth Barrett Browning; see Letter 3, note 12. Stoddard is referring to Aurora Leigh, which was published in the U.S. in December 1856. 22. The second installment of “The Angel in the House”—a popular poem by British writer Coventry Patmore (1823–1896)—was titled “The Espousals” and was published in August 1856 by Ticknor and Fields. 23. In 1856, Ticknor and Fields published an American collection of the poetry of Matthew Arnold (1822–1888) titled Poems: A New and Complete Edition.

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Letter 12  To Annie Taylor (Carey) July 21, 1857 [New York City, New York]

13 Douglas St July 21 57 Dear Annie Your letter I received today. We are sweltering in the heat. I am writing you in as few clothes as the law allows, and I have on a pair of stockings with large holes in them to keep up the ventilation as much as possible. If I did what I wanted to do, which I never do exactly, I should march off with Willy1 to Kennett 2 and leave all care and duty behind me for a while. But I cannot say when I can visit you, for Stoddard’s mother 3 is quite sick, and I cant leave here. I hope she will get well enough for me to go some time next month, or that she will be able to make some arrangement in her affairs so that it will make no difference whether I am with her or not. Willy begins to suffer with the heat and a change of air will do him good, and I want Stoddard to go with me for he feels poorly too. So your travelling boots are laid aside and you have stepped into the old home shoes. Which pinch the most? All events seem more or less like dreams don’t you think so, and life itself is a dream, perplexing, baffling and disappointing. I think you are equal to your duties. I should think your nature was a strong and healthy one. And I know you do not shrink from work. One of my troubles is a weak organization, I have not the physical health to endure labor and trial, neither has Stoddard and therefore we both suffer from melancholy more or less. I long to visit you and I shall if I keep well. I will not give it up if I delay it. Let us when we meet get truly acquainted with each other. One of my great wants, is dear, sympathetic female friends— Give my love to your mother 4 how is she. Stoddard sends his love to you. Willy can say Annie Taylor with perfect distinctness. I wish 42

you would write me soon. As soon as I see any prospect of going to Kennett I shall write you. And let it be as I said, if the time I propose does not happen to be the right time for you, tell me— Yours truly—with regards to all Emma5 in particular, EDB Stoddard PS We had a letter from Bayard since you left. He had a good visit at Tennyson’s.6

Manuscript: Private Collection (unidentified at the request of the collector)

Notes 1. Wilson (Willy) Stoddard. See Letter 10, note 9. 2. Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, home of the Taylor family. 3. Richard Stoddard’s mother, Sophia Gurney Stoddard Gallon (1804–1870). 4. Bayard, Emma, and Annie Taylor’s mother, Rebecca Way Taylor (1799–1890). 5. Emma Taylor (Lamborn), Annie and Bayard’s sister. See biographical note. 6. In June 1857, Bayard Taylor spent two days with Tennyson in England. The letter in which he tells the Stoddards about this visit does not seem to be extant.

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Letter 13  To Manton Marble September 19, [1857] New York City, New York

Sept 19th Dear Sir Manton I am glad to hear you are coming to New York to live. It is the place for literary vagabonds. I too am a Bohemian and I love my fellow tinkers, and I hope I shall be able to include you in my list. I am out of friends just now. I need a new stock and will you allow me to ask you to make a beginning for me? By Stoddard’s advice I enclose you a poem which I beg you to offer to Phillip’s & Sampsons Yankee periodical1 for me. It is, or it is not a good poem. At any rate it is a womanish thing—It is a kind of appendacal to “A Woman’s Dream” that was published in Harpers Mag.2 Most of my poems you will perceive have a kind of “enjoy-poorhealth” character— Yours Elizabeth D B Stoddard PS I am glad you know Celia Burr 3 & Cornelia Richards4—capital females both. Manuscript: Box 1, Manton Marble Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. Probably “Mercedes,” which appeared in the May 1858 edition of the Atlantic Monthly, a new magazine published by Phillips, Sampson and Company. The first issue was released in November 1857. 2. “A Woman’s Dream” was published in the June 1857 edition of Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. 3. Celia M. Burr (1826–1875), poet, journalist, and editor. She moved to New York City in 1850 after she divorced her first husband and became a correspondent for the New York Tribune. Shortly before this letter was written, she moved away from New York City and divorced her second husband, Charles Chauncey Burr (1817–1883). 4. See Letter 6, note 3.

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Letter 14  To Manton Marble [1858?] [New York City, New York]

Dear Mr. Manton, I missed you. Do come one as soon as you can, and lie on the sofa and have a headache, and take a Seidlitz powder,1 and tell me I am like Charlotte Bronte or Margaret Fuller or some other abominably ugly woman. Do come and make me laugh. You shall never have to go home late at night again. We have already fixed our idea about the matter of visitors abed. Yours EDBS

Manuscript: Box 1, Manton Marble Papers, Library of Congress (missing); James Matlack Papers, Mattapoisett Historical Society (typescript)

Note 1. Seidlitz powder was a medicinal powder used throughout the nineteenth century. It was named after the Seidlitz Saline Springs in Bohemia, now the Czech Republic.

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Letter 15  To Richard Henry Stoddard [May 26, 1859] Kennett Square, Pennsylvania

Thursday Night Dear Dick I waited to hear from you before writing again—I sent mother 1 a letter this week. I have been sick since Monday—the tension of my nerves gave at once. I had a sore throat, continued menstruation, back ache & cold in the bowels. I have been in bed all the day nearly, but I feel much better tonight. I am sick generally when I go from home & you. We preserve each others vitality. It would do your heart good to see Willie’s health and happiness. He is already well browned. He is good and very intelligent. He attracts the folk here. He likes Fred2 greatly and goes with him to the field and rides in the cart. This afternoon he has been hard at work picking cherries. He rushes into my room with leaves and flowers, and says, “for you Mama put them in water”—I take the greatest delight in him. He is stronger already. I have been down tonight to see our baby,3 it looked a better color and has lost some of that restlessness. I do like Mrs. [Nothelfer?]4 very much but I do not think the child will live very long. It is delicate, she thinks its stomach is weak. I am very sad when I see it. Its blemish is very decided now. I am thankful that it is so that I can have it taken care of and so well. I could not do it. A better place and a better person could not be found I believe for him. Bayard has gone on the authors excursion to Ohio, he will be back on Saturday he went Tuesday. I see there is a letter for him from you. I don’t think he could stay here long at a time. He has not the contemplative faculty. They are so kind to me here. What have I done to deserve such friendship? And how can I ever make returns. They want you to come down and you must, have you an idea how long your [illegible] as Wilse 5 calls it will last you? I cannot stay here a very big while you know—I must go home and work too—and cheer 46

you—only I can’t much. You will have some new shirts soon I have engaged an ample old lady to make them. I wish you would send me five dollars. You have a dull time of it do you? You remember though that in these latter days we have not seen much of each other. You like to sit up ’o nights and read, write and smoke and I love to go to bed to sleep and dream, but I do love my home after all—it is so pleasant and attractive in memory! It is best for me to go away sometimes. I value my possessions including my husband.— Friday pm— This letter I did not send this morning because some one would have been obliged to go to the PO very early this morning. I have written a short letter for Cala.6 If you have time will you put in some theatricals7 if not let it go short. I feel better today. Willy got into the beehive this morning. Annie8 & Emma9 both wished to get him away Emma fought the bees, and got stung in the lips—she rolled in the grass, and pulled some up & put it on her mouth. Annie brought him off with two stings on the hand. He roared well. He is well. I hope George10 will bring his thick shoes. Have you spoken to Carlton11 yet. My thumb is still quite sore—I long and hope to get well, so that I may receive & give the embraces you love— Your own EBS

Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Probably Stoddard’s mother, Sophia Gurney Stoddard Gallon. 2. Possibly Bayard Taylor’s younger brother, Charles Frederick Taylor (1840– 1863). At the time this letter was written, Stoddard and Willy were staying with the Taylor family at their home in Kennett Square. 3. The Stoddards’ second son was born on May 4, 1859, and suffered from a severe cleft palate that made it difficult for him to swallow and take nourishment. Due to his poor health and uncertain future, he remained unnamed, as was the convention with very sick infants in the nineteenth century. It is possible the Stoddards had a name for the child that they did not mention in letters, as the headstone at his grave reads “MST.”

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4. Probably a nurse or wetnurse engaged to care for the infant. 5. Probably a reference to Wilson Barstow Jr. 6. Stoddard stopped writing the “Lady Correspondent” letters for the Daily Alta California in February 1858. This “short letter” may be one of a series, signed simply “B.,” that she and Richard collaborated on for the Alta. See Mahoney, Elizabeth Stoddard and the Boundaries of Bourgeois Culture, 22–23. 7. Theater reviews. 8. Annie Taylor (Carey). See biographical note. 9. Emma Taylor (Lamborn). See biographical note. 10. Possibly George Boker. See Letter 2, note 11. 11. George W. Carleton (1832–1901), publisher of The Morgesons (1862) and Temple House (1867).

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Letter 16  To Richard Henry Stoddard July 3, [1859] Kennett Square, Pennsylvania

Sunday Night July 3rd My dearest Love— The baby is failing fast.1 I had not seen him since Friday Eve until this afternoon and I was shocked at the change in him. The nurse says he has been in this way since yesterday. All his restlessness has gone, he seems to suffer no pain—his eyes grow larger and more intelligent—his looks haunt me. His food does not nourish him. He has a bowel complaint now. The surgeon we had, said something one day, about his food not assimilating as it did with other children & that he would not gain flesh as fast in consequence. I called Howard Taylor 2 in, he thought nothing could be done, and said he could not digest the milk he took. Had I have known he was to fail so soon, I should not have hurried away so. His coming here may have caused a change—who can tell anything about it, one way or the other though? It is a trial to me, one that I shall suffer from more than I do now, by & by. I am sorry to be away from him, still I shrink from taking him here & taking care of him myself. What would be my duty—do you think? I got your two letters yesterday. We drank your health in a tempest last night. Willy is well—he hitches his shoulder up now & then, but he is stronger, and does not bend forward at all now. He begins to think of you now, last night he said when he went to bed he should like to have you come here, and tonight he said, what will papa say when we go home, will he be glad? He found a pin yesterday in the yard, and he said he wanted to pin up the ground. He is quite different from what he was at home, he is so funny. Tell Wilson he would make him laugh immensely, for he does me. I feel melancholy now. I am much better, I hope I shall not have any more ill turns while I am here. Bayard came home last night—he is now playing the piano, his favorite diversion. 49

My dearest I know you miss me if you are hard at work. It is a hard life for you and me—still our love for each other—our unity our intellectual life, and Willy are something—a great deal are they not? I do love you always—I wish, and think that we shall have more tranquility together. You will forgive me all your life for being old and sick? I shall write you every day now—give my love to Wilson & ask him to write me. Good night yours sadly Elizabeth Mother 3 is so good. She says if the baby is no better she shall have him here & take care of him, that I shall feel better to do so and that all would, but I think not, the nurse is very good. She cried over him today—she lost her own baby lately. Mother says from the moment she saw him, she thought he could not live.4

Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. See Letter 15, note 3. The Stoddards’ unnamed infant had a surgery for his cleft palate in early June 1859. Richard reported to Taylor on the results of the surgery: “He (the baby) has four wires stuck through his mouth: about these cord is wound, making a large breech under the nostrils. He looks like a fish that had been caught, but had broken away, entangling his gills in some of the line. I held him a little while the other day, and I swear to you, it made me sick” (June 7, 1859, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University). 2. J. Howard Taylor (1826–1905), a physician and Bayard Taylor’s brother. 3. Probably Bayard Taylor’s mother, Rebecca Way Taylor, unless Richard’s mother had come to Kennett Square in response to the letter Stoddard mentions in Letter 15 in this volume. 4. The Stoddards’ son died in July; he is buried in the Taylor family plot in Kennett Square.

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Letter 17  To James Russell Lowell January 12, [1860] New York City, New York

January 12. New York Dear Sir. Mr Stoddard received a line from you several weeks since respecting a story which I sent to you hoping it might go to the Atlantic.1 He answered it, but has heard nothing from you. Will you oblige me by sending said narrative back with your opinion of what I should do with it—as you suggested in your note. It is a trouble of course, but if you are an editor how can it be helped? I have an idea that my story is ricketty, round shouldered and big headed—it may have fine eyes and a good complexion. I believe my subject makes me feel sometimes as Bunsby2 felt under the ringbolt treatment—it knocks me on the head, and I am senseless—However it is really the first story I ever attempted, and although I am an old woman3 I am a young writer— Yours respectfully Elizabeth DB Stoddard Manuscript: James Russell Lowell Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. At the time of this letter, James Russell Lowell was in the third year of his tenure as editor of the Atlantic Monthly. (See biographical note.) In November 1859, Richard Stoddard sent Stoddard’s “My Own Story” to Lowell, asking him to consider it for publication in the magazine. The story “has some faults of construction, I believe,” Richard wrote, “but it seems to me that its good parts more than balance these: at least I hope so, for I would like to see it in the magazine” (November 7, 1859, James Russell Lowell Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University). He also asked for assistance with a title for the as yet unnamed story. 2. Reference to Jack Bunsby from Dombey and Son (1848) by Charles Dickens (1812–1870). During his apprenticeship Bunsby was purportedly beaten about the head with a ringbolt for three weeks. 3. Stoddard is thirty-six years old at the time of this letter.

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Letter 18  To James Russell Lowell May 5, 1860 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

Mattapoisett Mass May 5th 1860 Dear Sir I brought your note with me to the country wishing to answer it. Your warning strikes me seriously—am I indeed all wrong, and are you all right about “going too near the edge” business? Must I create from whose, or what standard? What am I to do with some twenty years now past, but whose result ferments in my mind? Twenty years of vehement ignorance! Do I disturb your artistic sense by my want of refinement? I must own that I am coarse by nature. At times I have an overwhelming perception of the back side of truth. I see the rough lathes behind the fine mortar—the body within its purple and fine linen—the mood of the man and the woman in the dark on the light of his or her mind when alone. Hereditary portraits, and the thumb screw of habit frown on me and pinch me in vain. I fall into those errors and am unhappy of course. You see I speak frankly with you. I fear I never can do any1 that will not show up in my constitution. But I am in earnest about trying to prove that an ordinarily exceptional person may be good, right minded and pleasing—even if she has opened her mouth at a “pippin.”2 Tell me—whether in writing, one should aim at entering a circle already established—or making one? What do you think of those scenes in Jane Eyre3 where she watches with a professional eye the rising of his4 passional emotions, and skillfully prevents any culmination of feeling by changing her manner? Did any body ever notice it? Stoddard said the same thing of that sketch in the Saturday Press5 52

which you say. I failed utterly in it. I wanted to make a study of the difference of a first love between a woman of thirty and a boy of twenty. Your kindness and interest surprise me. You seem so much farther along in work than the men I know best—your experience and your readiness give your words so firm a resistance, that I feel all you say very much. I hope I have not bored you. I am about to commence a story 6—here in sight of the stormy sea, which I hope will not have the faults you have spoken of— Yours truly EDBStoddard

Manuscript: James Russell Lowell Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. Stoddard seems to have left a word missing here. 2.“Pippin” is slang for a young, foolish, or naïve person. 3. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. 4. Probably a reference to Rochester, who ultimately becomes Jane’s husband. 5. The “sketch” referred to here is “A Summer Story,” published in the shortlived Saturday Press on April 7, 1860. In this story Agnes Fleming, a thirty-year-old married woman with a young son, falls in love with a man ten years her junior. While Agnes is on an assignation with her lover, her son falls from a window. It is not clear why both Richard and Lowell criticized the story, or why Stoddard believed she had “failed utterly in it.” 6. Possibly The Morgesons.

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Letter 19  To Edmund Clarence Stedman May 21, [1860] [Mattapoisett, Massachusetts]

Monday May 4 Dear Stedman, What a good letter you have sent me! I fully agree with you in what you say about my writing. You mentioned, “Wuthering Heights,”1 that book made more impression upon me than any book I ever read perhaps. Its directness, truth & isolation & individuality are wonderful. You have noticed what I have done closely, and I thank you for it—I am writing a story here,2 how long it will be I cannot say—of some length I hope, but my mind is so spasmodic there is no counting on it. I am as yet incapable of wresting my conceptions from my brain, they present themselves, to speak obstetrically, head & feet together—or I perceive that they are misshapen. I have to labor hard to give them grace & expression. I have had since I have been here, a fine letter from Lowell, wherein he sets forth his “creed of life & letters.” It is purity in both. In me he detects a tendency towards the edge of things3 & warns me against it. He objects strongly to the realistic tone of our present literature. Also I am coarse and literal by nature, what shall I do? My sensual perceptions react on my brain and I am a meek small, well disposed woman! I have been looking over Leaves of Grass.4 The author leaves himself no privacy and I think he is very nasty and laughable. What you say about Dick I feel. You will find no change in him—his faults are on the surface & find vent in his, “God dam yes!” He is an honorable, artistic man faithful to his notions of art—and generous to all real artists. We love each other as you know, though very different. I am the most worldly and, like every woman, want more things than he does, and he is the most unreasonable. Stoddard complains so much of lonesomeness & says I must be on 1st of June to stay with him. He thinks we can get our 54

meals at the Unitary 5 without much cash. I may leave Willie till 1st July here & then go to Kennett 6 with him. He is well & very handsome, but I feel with him, something as the man felt who won the elephant in the raffle—I do not know how to influence him—or what manner of being he is—or whether I am necessary to his development. Stoddard & I have such a violent individuality that I do not believe we can make good parents. I hope we shall see each other in NY. I am anxious about your health. Is there nothing to brace your nerves that are so harassed by the preying of disease? Do you take good care of yourself ? You know I am not well. I have had some internal trouble for years & have suffered greatly. I have suffered much since I have been here. I know so well your dejection know the weary resistance against bad feelings you continually make know the awful loneliness & separation from life, of sickness. Nothing but courage from God— energy, can keep you up. Hold fast to mental prayer, which is but selfsearching and resolution. I hate and fear Death, and shrink from pain & all sights of distress & misery—Yet, when I have been called upon to endure—I have gone through with my appointment with some fortitude. I am very sad about you. I am afraid you feel that you are not to live long & I fear so for myself—that you may not—that I shall have to see you suffer at last—Let me help you if I can. You must believe in me, and love me for I am worthy of it. I have liked you from the first. I see all your cares. I feel all your troubles. I think you must write. You must get into a poem—think of it by bits—& do not let work interfere with your ideal life. If you only had more money—if we only had. If we were all good sincere, unselfish, self-denying! Goodbye yours ever EDBS

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, David M. Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Library

Notes 1. Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Brontë (1818–1848). 2. Possibly The Morgesons.

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3. Stoddard responds to Lowell directly about this claim in Letter 18 in this volume. 4. In May 1860, the third edition of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman (1819–1892) was published by Thayer and Eldridge. The first edition was published in 1855. 5. Probably the New York City Unitary Household on East 14th Street, established by Stephen Pearl Andrews (1812–1886), a radical social reformer and proponent of free love, in May 1858. The Unitary was a large boardinghouse that provided shared living spaces, communal meals, and cooperative childcare. 6. Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.

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Letter 20  To Edmund Clarence Stedman August 25, [1860] Kennett Square, Pennsylvania

Cedarcroft 1 25 August Dear Stedman Your notice created quite a commotion last night among us, especially as you made the mistake of putting in Mrs. Taylor sen.2 For my part I am pleased being fond of publicity, as you know. Your paper is creditable I think, but it is a miserable mistake in the not having amusements noticed.3 How do you get on—how is Laura—are the children well—have you plenty of money, how is your health? I want to get back to the barracks in 13th Street 4—and shall be there before many days I hope. I am to rebegin housekeeping in my usual style of splendor and munificence. I shall buy 6 new glasses, one new table cloth, and be happy. I pore over my Ms5 every day, struggle, fight, despair and hope over it. I have a hundred and twenty-five pages done—not yet half completed. If it proves a failure I shall have a fit of sickness. I cannot work as fast as I am prepared in mind, on account of my not being well, and the care of Willy. I have to do everything for him, wash, dress, feed, and watch him. I hope we are to have some good times together in the coming months. ______ atmosphere is electrical don’t you think so? 6 Steddy and Steddyfied? with an Elizabethan spirit permeating—or rather percolating it! To say nothing of Tom,7 Leland,8 Bayard and others. If you come across any choice spirits save them up for my prey at our den. I expect the condition of the rooms, beds, clothes, etc. is awful. I am going to have a dreadful clean as soon as I come, and shall come down like the day of judgement on the debris. You of course have no spare time for writing verse—what a pity. I fear my poetical days are over—I am growing gray every minute—my soul is getting ashen— Yours ever E.D.B.S. 57

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University (typescript)

Notes 1. Cedarcroft, Taylor’s country estate in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, was completed in the summer of 1860 and the Stoddards were visiting the Taylors for the dedication of the estate on Saturday, August 18, 1860. Guests at the ceremony included writers and editors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, James Russell Lowell, Horace Greeley, and John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). 2. Bayard Taylor’s mother, Rebecca Way Taylor. Taylor and Richard composed a one-act drama, Love at a Hotel, which was performed in honor of the dedication of Cedarcroft. Both Marie Taylor and Stoddard had roles in the play, the latter as “Mehitable Johnes, of Squam Neck, Chambermaid.” See playbill, Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University. The “notice” referred to here is a review of the performance, written by Stedman and published in the World on August 24, 1860. “Mrs. Taylor sen.” may have objected to being named in the notice because her Quaker beliefs would have prohibited her attendance at a dramatic performance. 3. Stedman joined Manton Marble’s New York Evening World as editor of the weekly edition in July 1860 and was promoted to day editor in August. 4. In April 1860, Stedman took a “bachelor room” at the house on Thirteenth Street where the Stoddards and the Taylors also lived. Stedman’s wife and children lived in a rented cottage in Strawberry Farms, New Jersey, a utopian community established by Albert Brisbane (1809–1890). He left Thirteenth Street on September 10, 1860, to room with another friend on Fourth Street (Diary, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 5. The Morgesons. 6. The underline before the word “atmosphere” appears in the typescript. It is not clear whether this was a dash in the original manuscript or was intended to stand in for a word that the transcriber either could not read or wanted to leave out of the typescript. 7. Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836–1907), American poet, novelist, and editor. 8. American journalist and editor Charles Godfrey Leland (1824–1903).

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Letter 21  To Edmund Clarence Stedman August 17, 1861 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

17th Aug. 1861 Dear Stedman I thought I should see you before this, or I might have written you in answer your letter to me. Word of mouth is much better than word of pen. I think you said, you were not able to be found fault with. That’s a woman’s excuse. I have found fault with you and I must. You knew perfectly well, that I never spoke of your wife to you, or answered you when you spoke of her, wasn’t that enough for you to keep her away? Do you expect that your friends are going to shuffle their behavior to her as you do? 1 I heard of you at Bull Run and I was pleased.2 How delighted the Ludlows3 were at your letter and your conduct. L himself is a noble hearted man! Mrs L. praises you to the skies—let that comfort you for my abuse. I wish you were home again, I want to see you. I should like to have you live with us at Miss Swifts.4 Stoddard isn’t enough for me to quarrel with. We are in our little house by the sea, Stod. Wilson & I.5 What a chat we would have if you were along. I have not seen my lord Marble 6 in a long time. The World is a wretched, venal sheet. Good bye. Your amiable Elizabeth

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

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Notes 1. The argument referred to here apparently began sometime in early May 1861. On May 14, Richard wrote a letter to Stedman in which he asked that Laura Stedman no longer accompany Edmund to the Stoddards’ home, explaining: “Your own account of your home difficulties last winter, a matter from which I have stood entirely aloof, has made [Elizabeth] dislike Mrs Stedman. It may be prejudice, call it so, if you will; still the fact remains the same” (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 2. Stedman’s letter on the battle of Bull Run, published in the New York World, on July 23, 1861, and later reprinted as a pamphlet by Rudd & Carleton, was widely regarded as one of the best accounts of the conflict. Although he did not mention the incident in his own report, a correspondent for the Philadelphia Inquirer described Stedman taking up the flag of the Fifth Massachusetts Regiment in an attempt to rally the troops during their retreat. At the time this letter was written, Stedman appears to have been in Washington, D.C. 3. Fitz Hugh Ludlow (1836–1870) was the author of The Hasheesh Eater (1857), a work that brought instant popularity to the young writer. He was married to Rosalie Osborne (1841?–1893) in 1859. 4. From 1861 to 1872, the Stoddards lived intermittently at a boardinghouse on Tenth Street in New York City owned by a Miss Swift (possibly Ann Swift). According to Lilian Woodman Aldrich (1844–1927), the Stoddards’ home at Miss Swift’s was one of “three literary centres in New York” in the early 1860s (the other two being Pfaffs beer cellar and the Century Club) (Crowding Memories 14). 5. In the summer of 1861, Richard Stoddard purchased a house in Mattapoisett. His mother, Sophia Gurney Stoddard Gallon, and her husband, James Gallon (??–1870), lived there throughout the year, while the Stoddards visited during the summer months. 6. Manton Marble, editor of the New York World. See biographical note.

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Letter 22  To Richard Henry Stoddard [Late November 1861] [Kennett Square, Pennsylvania]

Wednesday Eve Dear Love I think the lines you sent me very good indeed, there is to me a tone of deep feeling in your delineation of the King.1 I think he reminds me of you. You are my dear sweet poet and are far above me. I would not have it any different. My talent is palpable—he who runs may reach it—not so with yours. I work as hard as I can, and am more earnest & industrious than I have been over my work. It ought not to be interrupted now. The box with sleeves came to hand today, very pretty indeed, will you pay Wilson for them. G. P. Putnam came to night.2 Willy is better but his bowels are not right yet. I enclose some flowers that he sends to his grandma. I pressed them for him, he says he will send some preserves to her. You cannot more impatient to see me than I am to see you. I picture you & me in our room, talking about the thousand nothings which please those who love & are on good terms with each other. I do not know any other paradise now than those two shabby rooms. Two weeks from last Monday I expect to be there. Send me money next week, so that I can leave Monday morning. I pray nothing may happen to hurt and disappoint us meantime. You never said whether you paid Miss Knox.3 I hope so—I said after the fashion of Hood, Knox says he once or twice without notice. I have not been more than an hour away from this corner, since Sunday. The habit of occupation grows on one. Idleness makes me miserable. I am unwell again. I shall come in the dangerous time. This morning I woke with the wish to have another child, & thought for a while that I would ask you for one but I am so frail— good bye. Bless you love. Yours E. 61

Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Richard published The King’s Bell, a long narrative poem, with Rudd and Carleton in December 1862. 2. George Palmer Putnam. 3. Stoddard’s dress maker in New York City.

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Letter 23  To Richard Henry Stoddard [Late November 1861] [Kennett Square, Pennsylvania]

Thursday Am Dear Love, I did not send you a letter this morning because we were away yesterday all day until 10 O’Clock at night, and the night before not hearing from you—I put it off. I got a note from George B.1 saying he would see me going through Phila—. He said he heard from you—but if you had not wanted something you would have seen him damned before you would have written.2 You resemble our late lamented friend T Buchanan Read 3 in that respect. Em4 & Willy and all will be at home Thursday—we leave here at 4 & Philadelphia at 12 am. Wednesday night we want to see the Wide Awakes.5 Will you ask Wilse 6 if we can go to his office, dont forget. Will you have Jeanette, the black woman or Mrs Wheeler there, with a fire in our back room if it is cold—and let her get a Meal for us of some sort (NB no salt provisions of any kind wanted) several peaches or pears for Bayard. He is going to write his lecture in New York—Marie may come on too— I believe I have nothing more to say in the way of directions. At any rate—have a woman there to help me. I am never going to do any more housework if I can help it, I am an author.7 I shall be so thankful to get home so glad—it is so cold in the bed! I want a man’s love— Your own EDBS Willy seems to be well now. It is dark & cold today—fallish—

Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

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Notes 1. George Boker was born in Philadelphia and lived there throughout most of his life. 2. Richard Stoddard’s friends often complained about his failure to respond to their letters; Elizabeth was often left with the responsibility of maintaining correspondences for both of them. 3. Thomas Buchanan Read (1822–1872), American poet and portrait painter. Although the Stoddards were once friends with Read, their relationship had soured more than a year earlier. 4. Emma Taylor (Lamborn). See biographical note. 5. The “Wide Awakes” were a paramilitary organization affiliated with the Republican Party who marched in support of Lincoln during the 1860 campaign. Following the beginning of the war in April 1861, many Wide Awakes enlisted in the Union Army. It is not clear to what event Stoddard is referring here, but she seems to think they will be able to see it from Wilson’s office in the city. 6. Probably Wilson Barstow Jr. 7. On November 7, 1861, Richard Stoddard signed the publication contract with Rudd and Carleton for The Morgesons.

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Letter 24  To James Lorimer and Josephine Graham January 28, 1862 New York City, New York

28 Jan 1862 My dear friends You have heard! 1 Give us your pity for we are struck through the heart. Were it not for the six years of happiness that I have had from Willy’s beautiful life, I should say to you, “be thankful that you are childless for you are spared the anguish we suffer.” I cannot write you much about the circumstances of his death, it is hard to write about him, but I wish our friends to know all, for I want their remembrance of my child. He was sick only from Monday morning till Tuesday morning. Stoddard did not know that he was dying and went down town as usual on Tuesday morning, leaving me alone with him. I soon grew alarmed, then deadly sick myself, I got people in the room but I did not know then that he was dying. I went out of the room I was in such distress, and presently I was told that he was dead. We carried him to Mattapoisett and buried him where my family have been buried for generations, we went alone for Wilson could not get on from Baltimore till the day after we arrived in Mattapoisett. We could not send for the Taylors, we did not know where Bayard was. Tom Aldrich2 and Thompson3 were here the night he died & my relations the Barstows came also. Miss Swift with whom we board did what a mother would have done for us, we could do nothing except what those can do who are stunned. It is all over now, all over but our grief which will not end. I have been ill, confined to my room, and Stoddard has been miserable in health also, but we are better in health now. I try to feel resigned but I cannot, Stoddard is a Christian and dwells on the idea of Willy’s eternal happiness.4 I dwell on the idea of my loss, and am devoured by a longing love which continually cries to have him back.5 God knows however that I do not ask that, I know too well the miseries which fill life at the last, I could not 65

dare to choose anything for myself. Never was Willy so lovely and so bright as he was through the autumn—a little while before he died he seemed inspired by a warmer affection for us. He made us come to his bedside, and kissed us dozens of times before he would settle himself to sleep. “Where did my spirit come from,” he asked me one day. “Were you very happy when you found me?” He made a funny picture the last evening he was well, and printed over it A Joke. I found it on my table after his hand had lost his cunning—do you wonder that I value it now? Dear Lorimer I wish for Stoddard’s sake that you were here, he is trying to write, trying to make the time go forgetfully by, we sit here alone evening upon evening, silent now and now weeping together for our lost boy. Next month Bayard will be here with his wife, and we shall find some companionship. Wilson could only get off from his duties for forty-eight hours. He was stunned by the blow for Willy was dear to him. Do you feel the darkness of the times where you are—Things are at a stand still. Suspicion, impatience, doubt fill the public mind. Let us hear from you. Dear Josie is your health better, if it is I feel that you have not travelled off in vain. Stoddard says he has written you today. I hope we have not made your hearts ache, but I must ask you for your loving sympathy in this, the darkest season of my life. Yours affectionately, Elizabeth DBS

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Willy Stoddard died on December 17, 1861. According to a letter written by Richard, the Stoddards thought he had the measles, contracted during a visit to the Five Points Sunday School. After Willy and two other children died, the disease was believed to be scarlet fever (Letter to James Lorimer Graham, January 28, 1862, Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). On January 3, 1862, Lorimer Graham wrote to Richard, telling him that he had “received the sad news of dear little Willie’s death” (Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 2. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. See Letter 20, note 7.

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3. Launt Thompson (1833–1894), Irish-born American sculptor. Thompson made a medallion of Willy’s face in the summer of 1861, and after his death, made a cast of his hand. In his Recollections, Richard wrote, “That cast, the medallion, and a lock of curly golden hair, are all that remind me that my son Willy ever lived; only these, and a sorrowful but immortal memory” (297–298). 4. In his own letter to Graham, Richard says that he has been weeping every day “for myself, for I do not weep for him, he, God love him! is happy in the life everlasting” (January 28, 1862, Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 5. In a letter to Stedman written on January 24, 1862, Stoddard reflects similarly on her inability to be consoled by the promise of eternal life. She adds, “I am perplexed as to what I shall do, my occupation is gone, the sweet anxious cares and observances that have filled my life for six years and a half have vanished. My brain is smaller than my heart and I can do nothing with the former. I feel so little interest in life now, that my hands fall dully by my side, and my eyes are dim with staring into the blank where Willy is not” (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University).

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Letter 25  To Edmund Clarence Stedman March 20, 1862 New York City, New York

March 20th 1862 Dear Stedman, You must blame Stoddard for the delay in not answering your letter, written so many weeks ago to us. As I see no indication that he will ever write you, I will wait no longer. I have read all your late war letters with pleasure, they are very good, written with ease and spirit1—I like the tone of the World in regard to McLellan,2 and Oh how I detest the Tribune!3 If it were right, I should hate it, it is so mean, so coarsely malignant. We get furious, but we still read. Bayard said he saw you in Manassas talking to McLellan—he, B, cannot help feeling the pressure of the Tribune agencies.4 He also says that you have not much to do in your office, I beg you to write some poems, do my friend, for you are a poet. Stoddard is hard at work on the King’s Bell,5 and hopes to finish it. Alas, what has happened since he began it—disaster to us in birth and death.6 We can afford now to be poor poets, since we have no child whose future depends on us. I have written several poems about Willy which made me cry bitterly in the writing, and I think they will touch you.7 My book has gone to print, and will be published before long.8 Can you notice it in some paper your way? I shall be horribly disappointed if Carlton9 is not paid for his venture, I expect to make nothing. Ludlow has got into the CH at last.10 I saw him yesterday at his desk, chewing tobacco at a fearful rate. His wife is sick and his wife’s sister has been spitting blood.11 Aldrich12 comes here seldom, once in two weeks perhaps, he likes fewer and fewer people and will finally end like Timon, without being able to get up the dishes for a mock banquet even.13 The Grahams are in France. Stoddard and I are much by ourselves, as far as society goes, we have but a dreary time. Wilson writes me as often as he can, he appears to be happily placed, but what will he do after the wars 68

are over? Jerome Bonaparte’s14 dinners will then be a Barmecide feast to him.15 He has been a comfort to me this winter and I trust he will continue to be—for how can he disappoint my bereaved heart? Had I money I would go to Baltimore and Washington to see him and you. If only some newspaper would engage me to write a few feminine seat-of-war letters! I could do them well I know. But there seems to be no luck for me—Do you know that I have fallen so low as to have a story in the Leader?16 I got ten dollars for it! It was not a tremenjous story but it was worth more than that. Are you bored nowadays? Tell me what I can do to fill up the hours that are made hollow by my grief. Will you write me? I hope your wife and children are well—farewell— Yours ever EDBS17

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Although Stedman continued to write war correspondence for the World, he also secured a position in the office of Attorney General Edward Bates (1793–1869) in January 1862. 2. Stedman played a large part in bringing the World to support the general-inchief of the Union Army, General George B. McClellan (1826–1885), and his correspondence benefitted from having access to McClellan and members of his staff. 3. Unlike the World, the New York Tribune was critical of McClellan and questioned his commitment to suppressing the rebellion of the southern states. 4. Taylor went to Washington in early March 1862 to report for the New York Tribune on the opening of the Union Army’s Peninsula Campaign. Along with a number of other correspondents, Taylor examined the abandoned enemy position at Manassas, only to find that the Confederate fortifications were weak and should have been easily occupied after the First Battle of Bull Run (July 21, 1861). On March 15, 1862, he published a letter in the Tribune that criticized McClellan’s reluctance to take the advantage in the field. While in Washington, he was asked to testify before a Senate committee on the conduct of the war. 5. The King’s Bell (1862). 6. Stoddard seems to be alluding here to the deaths of both six-year-old Willy

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in late 1861 and the Stoddards’ unnamed infant in 1859. This is the only reference to that child in her letters after 1859. 7. Stoddard’s poems about Willy’s death include “Willy’s Song” and “One Morn I Left Him in His Bed” (a version of which was later published as “Childless” in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in May 1865). She later wrote and published “Unreturning,” a poem that appeared in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in January 1868. 8. The Morgesons. 9. George W. Carleton. See Letter 15, note 11. 10. Fitz Hugh Ludlow began working at the New York Custom House in late 1861. He left the position to accompany the artist Albert Bierstadt (1830–1902) on a journey to California in May 1863. 11. Rosalie Osborne Ludlow (1841–1893). Although Rosalie had a sister named Mary, it seems likely that Stoddard is confusing her here with Ludlow’s sister, Helen W. Ludlow (??–??), who lived with Fitz Hugh and Rosalie while Rosalie was sick in the spring of 1862. 12. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. See Letter 20, note 7. 13. An allusion to Shakespeare’s The Life of Timon of Athens. A formerly wealthy man who has given away all of his money, Timon hosts a banquet for those who have betrayed him. When the covers are removed from the serving dishes, the guests find only rocks and water. 14. Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte (1805–1870) was the child of Napoleon’s youngest brother, Jerome Bonaparte (1784–1860), and an American named Elizabeth Patterson (1785–1879), the daughter of a wealthy Baltimore, Maryland, merchant. He grew up in Baltimore and married Susan May Williams (1812–1881) there in 1829. 15. A Barmecide feast is a feast where there is nothing to eat, or a pretended hospitality. The phrase comes from a tale in the Arabian Nights. On December 10, 1861, Wilson wrote Stoddard about “a grand dinner” that he attended in Baltimore at which Bonaparte and his wife were also guests (Wilson Barstow Papers, Library of Congress). 16. “Eros and Anteros” was published in the New York Leader on February 22, 1862. The Leader was allied with Tammany Hall, the dominant Democratic Party political machine in New York City. 17. Richard added his own letter to that of his wife, in which he complained of the New York Tribune’s “attacks” on McClellan and insisted, “I have not been shaken in my faith, though I feel sometimes that the Manassas affair may be a blunder” (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University).

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Letter 26  To Bayard and Marie Taylor April 1, 1862 New York City, New York

April 1st 1862 Dear Bayard & Marie My props are knocked away! I am glad you are going, for your sakes, for it seems to be a good scheme—though I do not think that Lincoln’s nod is proof that you will be minister, but the travel and the new book will be the same.1 I am grieved to lose you you are so much to us—you are always making beginnings and we make endings. Can nothing be done to break us from our isolated life? We are too much alone, we are in such bad health, we never have any means to do anything pleasant. Our days are not festive. All this however is nothing to the grief we almost continually suffer for our boy.2 Heaven shows little mercy to organizations like ours, after it has afflicted them. There has not been a day since he died, that my soul has not cried out to the Lord God in the excess of its misery. Do not, I charge you, forget Willy’s life. I cannot go to Kennett 3 now, I dare not, I have just had another violent ill turn, and though I may be well from this time, my health is not to be trusted. Shall you not come here? Can’t you come & get ready? Miss Swift’s rooms are empty—those you had.4 Do come and let me have the last spice of you. Can I do anything for you? I have been agitated since I saw in the Tribune your appointment, I thought you would go, bring me a hunk of Malachite will you, and a “rugged Russsian Bear.”5 I am busy writing a long story 6—am correcting proof, or rather Dick is7—and I have just made an engagement with a San Francisco paper—through Mr. Ewer—to write three letters a month—$10 each.8 By the way you owe Dick $15—yet on that ancient sum. He will not ask you for it, but I do before you go—for myself—(out of that prospective $1200). You will be detained on board the steamer unless you pay. Do write me about your coming right off— Marie—what shall I say to you my dear love—I will not trust myself 71

to mourn here—I have cried a little about you going already—how can we part for so long? Ever yours dear B & M Taylor EDBS9 Manuscript: Bayard Taylor Papers, Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University

Notes 1. In 1862, Taylor was appointed secretary of legation and then acting chargé d’affaires in St. Petersburg, Russia, with the understanding that the current chargé d’affaires, Simon Cameron (1799–1889), would soon resign, leaving the appointment open for Taylor. When Cameron did not resign, the Taylors returned to the United States in the fall of 1863. Taylor had written to the Stoddards from Washington on March 30, 1862, asking if they had seen the notice of his appointment in the Tribune, and insisting that “my most unwelcome necessity will be the separation from you two” (ed. Wermuth, Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor, 199). 2. Wilson (Willy) Stoddard. See Letter 24 in this volume. 3. Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. 4. Prior to and immediately after the construction of Cedarcroft in the summer of 1860, the Taylors lived with the Stoddards at Miss Swift’s boardinghouse in New York City. 5. The Russian bear was often used by Britain and the United States as a national personification for Russia, indicating its size, strength, and frequent brutality. The quote is from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 3, Scene 5, when Macbeth addresses the Ghost: “What man dare, I dare. / Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, / The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; / Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves / Shall never tremble.” 6. Stoddard published three stories in the next year, all in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine: “A Partie Caree” in September 1862; “Tuberoses” in January 1863; and “Lemorne versus Huell” in March 1863. It is not clear which of these, if any, she refers to here. 7. For The Morgesons. 8. Ferdinand C. Ewer (1826–1883) worked for the Daily Alta California as a reporter during Stoddard’s tenure as the Alta’s “Lady Correspondent.” He returned to New York in 1862. The engagement that Ewer facilitated for Stoddard was with the San Francisco Bulletin, edited by James Simonton (1823–1882). In the ten months that she wrote her “Gossip from Gotham” column for the San Francisco Bulletin, Stoddard published twenty-two letters. 9. A postscript by Richard reiterated Elizabeth’s sense of the benefits of Taylor’s appointment, as well as the doubt that he would actually receive “the full ministership” (Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University).

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Letter 27  “Gossip From Gotham” San Francisco Bulletin May 12, 1862 New York City, New York

Gossip from Gotham. [FROM A LADY CORRESPONDENT.] New York, April 11, 1862. The War Correspondent of These Days. On account of the Palmetto,1 the palmy days of the ordinary newspaper correspondent are over for the present; he cannot expect to hold his own in the face of the War Correspondent, who advances in the columns of his paper red-handed, and who makes his readers to smell the battle afar off as if it were near, and who clothes his pen with thunder, instead of the cheap steed with which his chiefs furnish him to ride afield. The War Correspondent may be called the prosetroubadour. With his “pass” he wanders everywhere, and though faithful to the proclivities of his journal, into what regions does his imagination soar when he recounts his adventures! He tells us that Mrs. Gen. McClellan2 distributes tracts to the army of the Potomac, with her name written in every one; that Mrs. Gen. Fremont3 dresses her boys in Federal uniform—that she insists upon knowing everything, and makes her exclaim that the “daughter of Benton and the wife of Fremont cannot be afraid;” that to Mrs. Gen. Lander,4 the news of her husband’s death was broken in a tender manner by Mr. Stanton;5 that Gen. Banks’s wife6 goes into camp to visit him, and that Gen. Butler’s spouse7 is a regular campaigner. He sings of the heroines he discovers at windows, pistol in hand; or in the hospital or in military offices, crying for passes. Before every battle, he divulges plans and sends diagrams of the same, with geographical localities, all wrong. After every battle he describes interviews with persons who were “eye-witnesses” on the other side. He worms into the enemy’s earthworks and sees Quaker-guns8 ad libitum. If his paper is conservative, he affirms that things are “all right”; if radical, that they are 73

“all wrong.” Notwithstanding his imaginative flights, his contributions to the history of the day are most valuable. It is to be hoped that Bancroft 9 has on file Stedman’s letter on the battle of Bull Run,10 Alcott’s first letter from Port Royal,11 the Tribune correspondent’s letter on the battle of Newbern,12 Bayard Taylor’s letter on the evacuation of Manassas,13 etc. Mentioning historians, reminds me that Charles Mackay14 is here, having been sent over by a London publishing house to write a history of the United States. He is to bring it down to the present crisis. If his friend and companion, Hiram Fuller,15 has returned from Europe, and has ceased his lectures on The Beauty of Negro Slavery—its Affabilities as an Institution—which should be sustained for the sake of its affecting picture of the paternal relation, poetically assumed by the master— we may conclude he will assist Mackay to recognize the merits of Secession. To continue the subject of correspondents, it was gratifying to me to hear from an official friend16 the other day, in the Middle Department, that Russell of the Times had applied to him for a pass to Fortress Monroe, and that it was refused.17 On the strength, however, of letters from every body, except Mr. Stanton, he started for Fortress Monroe, but was put ashore at Alexandria with his horses, carriage and portfolio. His passage is taken for England. It is expected that he will cross the main with feelings unlike those of Jupiter, when his Bull-ship ran off with Young Europa.18

The Present Writer—How the War Affects the Pursuits and Pleasures of Women. You perceive that, although this contribution to the columns of the Bulletin is offered by a person of sedentary habits—a knitter-up of odds and ends of threads which drop from the great web woven daily by the brains of men, and called Life—it contains reflections of its hues, which are martial. If, in despite of different tendencies, this, or these letters have a Joan d’Arc,19 or a Maid of Saragossa20 atmosphere about them, it is hoped that it will be overlooked. Not only the interests of the mind and heart are abstractly called out by the war, but the material issues of each are greatly controlled by it. We 74

shop for military and railroad maps, by reference to which strategic points can be seen, for The Soldier’s Companion,21 to send through the Central Relief Committee,22 “something useful,” for the boys, who do not prize the “useful” as they should, but who throw up their caps and say “God bless the women!” We buy the only complete Life of George B. McClellan,23 and Harris’s Prison Life in the Tobacco Warehouse at Richmond,24 and all the lying extras, especially those of the Herald,25 at sixpence each; and tickets for concerts for the contrabands, and tickets for Dr. Bellow’s Trip to Manassas,26 and Professor Mattison’s Trip to Bull Run.27 On Sundays we go to church, and hear sermons on the taxes, “The Doom of Slavery,” “Moral elements of the War,” The Possibilities of National Peace.” The minister who preached a discourse on “The Horrors of Peace”28 should have had a New York audience instead of one in a quiet country town. He would have been applauded here as loudly and as theatrically as Dr. Cheever 29 is when he preaches one of his raid-sermons against slavery.

Dr. Bellows and Professor Mattison. Though we are one in National hopes, the differences of opinions exist in them that exist in all the elements of human nature. No two men see, no two women feel precisely the same. For instance, Dr. Bellows (Unitarian) gives an interesting account of his trip to Manassas, and asserts that he saw no “Quaker-guns” in the rebel fortifications. Prof. Mattison (Methodist) gives an interesting account of his trip to Bull Run, and affirms that he counted eleven Quaker-guns in the rebel fortifications. The Professor cards Dr. Bellows in a public print, and Dr. Bellows answers him in another; and both gentlemen go on with their lectures. I heard Dr. Bellows, and what is more, saw a skull which one of his party had taken from a pole in a rebel tent at Manassas. It was a carefully cleaned skull, and once held the brain of a Northern boy, 18 or 19 years old, who fell on the fatal field. Did the rebels salute it when they heard it rattled by the winter winds, which pierced their tents with, “Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment?”30 I was lost in wonder at the vindictiveness that could endure the horrid preparation of it. 75

The “ Tribune” and Greeley. Difference of opinion, it is said, among the stock-holders of the Tribune regarding its late policy, has led to the retirement of Mr. Charles Dana, its conductor, who has long filled the place with trenchant and dogged ability.31 The Tribune’s roundabout attacks on McClellan have ceased; it contains no hypocritical hopes for the success he has never won; and no slurring interpolated editorial innendoes find place among its communications. The Tribune of the 8th of April quotes in one of its leading columns the praise of McClellan, given by a London paper, and on the 9th it copies what Russell32 says in his vindication of him in the Times. Perhaps one great Republican organ is going to be magnanimous, so that if Gen. Fremont should turn a Breckinridge-Democrat 33 while holding his command, it will not call him a bad general or intimate that his accounts still wear a cloudy aspect. We all know that the chief of the Tribune, Horace Greeley, is capable of real magnanimity, for we have had candid avowals over his name. It may be, that it stands ready to let loose its dogs and cry havoc again with an animated pack of politicians in advance, nosing the next President. Let us hope not.

Running Notes of Books and Authors. The spring book-trade sale opens this week. It has no representative from the South. It is not strange that the rebels should feel exasperated, if they are confined to their own authors, and their authors confined to their own MSS! There is a languishment among our own publishers at present. We have few re-prints, besides serials. Among these is another volume by “The Country Parson,” from the Atlantic Monthly, which contains a portrait of said parson, by name Boyd.34 He looks like a Scotch linendraper, and not like a parson. His early essays in Frazer’s Magazine35 were excellent, especially that On the Art of Pulling Things; but the later ones seem to be not so good. His mannerisms begin to be tedious at the end of the second or third volume. Bulwer’s Strange Story has moved from the columns of Harper’s Weekly into the “Library of Select Novels.”36 I consider it ingenious, artificial, superficial, affected. The English Reviews do not 76

praise it greatly, Bulwer’s atmosphere is lead; but its leadness varies, as he varies his creations to suit what he supposes may be the taste of the day. Wilkie Collins’s new serial in Harper’s Weekly, No Name, promises well.37 Its opening chapters are admirable. He is the Prince of Plots, and a mystery is already begun. Miss Mulock’s Mistress and Maid now running in Harper’s Magazine is also interesting.38 Charlotte Bronte inaugurated a new school of novels—the circumscribed—and some of our fictionists improve upon it, making books, which, in comparison with Walter Scott39 and Thackeray,40 remind one of the Chinese gardeners who make oak trees grow in small pots. The last reprinted book of late is Isaac Taylor’s Spirit of the Hebrew Poetry (Carleton).41 It is too fine a work to have merely a casual notice, such as I must give; but I hope a mention of it may suggest to some one its reading. Its ground is this: That there is a human character to the Bible, as well as a divine one; that as men, the Hebrew poets are not beyond the pale of criticism, whatever they may be as seers and prophets. Some years since, Mr. Taylor’s History of Enthusiasm42 was reprinted, but I believe he has not been known here by any other work till now, although he is quite a voluminous writer. The Appletons have republished a novel by Miss Younge, The Young Stepmother.43 Her books are too much alike; all are subservient to Church-of-England nature. Indications of human nature are promptly battled with and suppressed. Still, her stories are bright, agreeable and attractive. Young people may read them to advantage, for they are devoid of bad taste, and aim to express the highest principles. Our native authors pine for encouragement. Mr. Putnam,44 however, has the temerity to continue bringing out Irving 45 and Bayard Taylor, first one and then the other, but always one of them. The new edition of Taylor’s work is printed on fine tinted paper and enclosed in handsome green covers with the mysterious words printed on them, “Caxton Edition.”46 They are also well illustrated. Many of Mr. Taylor’s prose books will not outlast his generation. Some, however, are pleasant, agreeable reading. His last letters from California, written during a lecture trip in 1860, are good for their description of the natural advantages of the country independent of its gold and its politics. Until I read them I was ignorant of its 77

picturesque vaine. No one has written of California with the eye of a painter and the heart of a poet, as he has. His account of its vegetation in flowers and fruits and forests, including the big trees, is full of splendid color. His constant enumerations of the atmospheric effects in the scenery are charming. It is one of his dreams to embower himself in a spot already chosen, where a wilderness of vines flourishes, where the flowers are blooming and the fruit growing to a monstrous size. At present he is turning his attention to Russia,47 having accepted the place of Secretary of Legation, with the expectation of having Central Asia thrown open to him. The project of traveling there has long been in his mind, and to accomplish it one of his ambitions.

Source: San Francisco Bulletin 14.30 (May 12, 1862): 1

Notes 1. The palmetto is a tree grown primarily in the southeastern United States, but associated specifically with South Carolina. Stoddard is referring to the important role this state played in the early days of the Civil War. 2. Mary Ellen Marcy McClellan (1830–1915), wife of Union General George B. McClellan. 3. Jessie Benton Frémont (1824–1902), daughter of Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton (1782–1858), a well-known and outspoken U.S. senator, and wife of John C. Frémont (1813–1890), who served as the Union Commander of the Western Region during the Civil War. 4. Jean Margaret Davenport Lander (1829–1903), wife of Frederick W. Lander (1821–1862), a Union Brigadier General who died from pneumonia on March 2, 1862, about five weeks before this column was written. 5. Edwin M. Stanton (1814–1869), American lawyer and politician who served as Secretary of War during the U.S. Civil War. 6. Mary Theodosia Palmer Banks (1819–1901), wife of Union General Nathaniel Prentice Banks (1816–1894). 7. Sarah Hildreth Butler (1816–1876), wife of Union General Benjamin F. Butler (1818–1893). 8. A Quaker gun was a fake cannon made from a wooden log and used to mislead an enemy as to the strength of a military emplacement. See Letter 25, note 4 regarding Taylor’s report of the Confederate use of Quaker guns at the First Battle of Bull Run, which he discovered while serving as war correspondent for the Tribune.

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9. Hubert Howe Bancroft (1832–1918), American historian and ethnologist who, in 1859, began collecting books, journals, maps, and documents recording the history of California and the western states and territories. 10. See Letter 21, note 2. 11. Louisa May Alcott (1832–1888) published letters in a Boston newspaper, the Commonwealth, while serving as a nurse in Washington, D.C., not in Port Royal, South Carolina, as Stoddard mistakenly claims here; these letters were eventually published as Hospital Sketches (1863). 12. The Tribune correspondent writing from the battle of New Bern remains unidentified. 13. See Letter 25, note 4. 14. Charles Mackay (1814–1889), Scottish poet, songwriter, and journalist who served as a Civil War correspondent for the London Times. Mackay’s columns were sympathetic to the Confederate cause. 15. “Colonel” Hiram Fuller (??–??), former editor of the New York Mirror, managed Charles Mackay’s speaking tours during his time in the United States. Fuller gave frequent lectures on his support for the Confederacy and the institution of slavery. 16. Stoddard’s “official friend” is her brother, Wilson, from whose personal correspondence she directly quotes throughout her engagement with the Bulletin. 17. William H. Russell (1821–1907), correspondent for the London Times. Prior to reporting on the Civil War, he had become well known for his coverage of the Crimean War (1854–1856). His account of the First Battle of Bull Run, first published in the London Times and eventually reprinted in American newspapers, was not well received because of its harsh critique of the Northern military. When Stanton replaced Simon Cameron as Secretary of War in 1862, he and Russell clashed over the correspondent’s access to the army. He returned to England in April. 18. In Greek mythology, Zeus (or Jupiter) turns himself into a bull in order to seduce Europa. When she mounts the bull, Europa is carried to Crete, where she becomes the island’s first queen. 19. Joan of Arc (c. 1412–1431), a peasant girl who led the French army to several important victories during the Hundred Years’ War. 20. Agustina de Aragón (1786–1857), a professional officer in the Spanish army during the Spanish War of Independence. 21. The Soldier’s Companion was a compilation of patriotic and religious songs and selections from the Bible, published by the American Unitarian Association and distributed to soldiers throughout the war. 22. The Women’s Central Association of Relief was founded in April 1861, just after the fall of Fort Sumter. Branches of the parent organization were formed during the war in cities throughout the North and focused on meeting soldiers’ everyday needs by sending such diverse articles as blankets, food, and sewing materials.

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23. Probably Orville J. Victor’s The Life of Major-General Geo. B. McClellan (New York: Beadle & Co., 1862). 24. William C. Harris (??–??) published Prison-Life in the Tobacco Warehouse at Richmond: By a Ball’s Bluff Prisoner in 1862. 25. The New York Herald, which was sympathetic to both the Democratic Party and the Confederacy during the war. 26. On March 12–14, 1862, Rev. Dr. Henry Whitney Bellows (1814–1882), pastor of All Souls Church in New York City and president of the United States Sanitary Commission, lectured at Irving Hall in New York City on the “Field of Manassas,” which he visited soon after the battle. As Stoddard explains later in this piece, he paid particular attention in his lecture to the desecration of the skeletal remains of Union soldiers. Rumors of the mutilation of battlefield dead were widespread on both sides of the Civil War. 27. Professor Hiram Mattison (1811–1868), minister at St. John’s Independent Methodist Church in New York City, was active in the antislavery movement. 28. “The Horrors of Peace” is possibly a reference to a sermon preached by Moncure D. Conway (1832–1907), a Unitarian minister in Cincinnati, Ohio. 29. George Barrell Cheever (1807–1890), pastor of the Church of the Puritans in New York City, was the author of The Fire and Hammer of God’s Word against the Sin of Slavery (1858) and God Against Slavery: and the Freedom and Duty of the Pulpit to Rebuke It, as a Sin against God (1857). 30. From Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 1, in which Hamlet addresses the skull of Yorick, the king’s jester. 31. Charles Anderson Dana (1819–1897), managing editor of the New York Tribune from 1849 until 1862, when the board of managers asked for his resignation. Despite a long association with Horace Greeley (1811–1872), the editor and publisher of the Tribune, temperamental differences had made it impossible for the two to work together. 32. William H. Russell. 33. John Cabell Breckinridge (1821–1875), a pro-slavery candidate, was nominated by the Southern faction of the Democratic Party to run against Abraham Lincoln for the presidency in 1860. 34. Leisure Hours in Town by Andrew Kennedy Hutchinson Boyd (1825–1899) was published by Ticknor and Fields, the publishers of the Atlantic Monthly, in 1862. 35. Fraser’s Magazine for Town and Country, a British literary magazine that ran from 1830 to 1882. 36. Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s (1803–1873) Strange Story ran in Harper’s Weekly from August 1861 to March 1862. In March, Harper & Brothers published the serial in book form. 37. William Wilkie Collins (1824–1889) serialized the novel No Name in Harper’s Weekly beginning in March 1862. 38. Mistress and Maid, by Dinah Maria Mulock (Craik) (1826–1887), was serialized in Harper’s Weekly beginning in March 1862.

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39. Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832), Scottish historical novelist and poet. 40. William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863), British novelist. 41. Isaac Taylor (1787–1865), British writer, artist, and inventor. The Spirit of the Hebrew Poetry was published by Rudd & Carleton in 1862. 42. History of Enthusiasm was originally published in 1829 and was reprinted in the United States in 1830. 43. Charlotte Mary Yonge (1823–1901) published The Young Stepmother; or, A Chronicle of Mistakes in England in 1861; the American edition was published by Appletons in 1862. 44. George Palmer Putnam. 45. Washington Irving (1783–1859), American author. 46. Putnam issued a special subscription edition of Taylor’s travel writing in 1861–1862. Called the “Caxton Edition,” in honor of the first English printer, William Caxton (1422–1491), the book itself was intended to be aesthetically superior to Putnam’s other publications. 47. See Letter 26 in this volume.

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Letter 28  To Edmund Clarence Stedman June 22, 1862 New York City, New York

June 22d, 1862 Dear Stedman I am confined to my bed & cannot write you much. I am now under the influence of brandy and Assafoedity1 & have sat up “in end” to send you a word. Do you know how I have suffered in the last six months? This time I have been ill five weeks.2 Nervous prostration the Dr calls it. I call it Life, it is too much for me. He says I shall get well, I hope so for I dread suffering & the act of dying, not death. I have had many blows the last year. All my friends are away, if they were here now, I should feel different I know—we are deserted. Come back can’t you? The horrors of the war affect me deeply, when will it be over? As for my book3 did you like it? I feel dreadfully nervous about it, it seems very poor to me now. I indeavored to make a plain transcript of human life—a portion as it were of the great panorama without tacking on a moral here or an explanation there—perhaps I have failed. Indications are that it will be misunderstood. One thing is true—I can never write as I have written—Willy’s death has produced a revolution in my mind—the blood has all gone out of me—and something whiter has come in its place—something better let me hope. How are you in health? Dear friend I know you can comprehend something of the misery and distress I have now to endure. Only sufferers can. Often I have wished it were well over. Thank you for your kindness, thank your friend Piatt4 for me, remember me to your wife. I hope your boys are well. Write me if you can a letter will be so acceptable. Goodbye Yours Ever EDBS5

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Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Probably asafetida or asafoetida, an herb that was commonly prescribed in the nineteenth century for nervous conditions, such as mood swings or depression. It was also used as an abortifacient because it induced miscarriage and brought on the menstrual cycle. 2. On June 9, 1862, Richard wrote to Stedman, telling him, “EDB is sick, and has been for a month, confined to the room most of the time. We went to Mattapoisett a week ago, but she was too unwell to go even so far as her father’s house, say a quarter of a mile from ours. The death of Willy has nearly killed her” (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 3. Richard sent the proofs of The Morgesons to Stedman along with his letter of June 9. 4. John James Piatt (1835–1917), American poet and journalist. Piatt seems to have written an early review of The Morgesons, but it is not clear where he published it. 5. Richard added a letter to that of his wife (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University), expressing his hopes for the success of The Morgesons. He also discusses his own work on The King’s Bell and his support for General George B. McClellan.

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Letter 29  To James Lorimer Graham September 14, 1862 New York City, New York

Sept 14th 1862 My dear Mr. Graham, Stoddard is drawing towards being ready to write you, and I have a word to say, which I will say now. I send you a copy of the medallion head, the dearest thing I can send.1 I do not think it is like Willy, it lacks his delicacy of face. The more I look at his photograph, and at this, the less it is like his sweet noble face. I also send you a carte de visite of Wilson who is Capt. now.2 He has been home on sick leave, and we enjoyed his visit so much. He has met and meets all the generals and powers that be and writes home capital letters, with private information which interests us much.3 To Josie I send with love and sympathy a carte de visite which I hope will please her better than the “woman in white.” 4 To both again, I send a copy of The Morgesons. I do not understand you well enough to guess whether it will please you. In a literary point of view it is a success. No American novel has been better noticed, with perhaps the exception of Mrs. Stowe’s Log Cabin.5 But the times are too bad and too sad for it to do well in a money point of view. I suppose you heard of my long illness. The last break down with me began on the 11th of May four days after the Taylors sailed, and it is only within a month that I feel like my old self. While I was at the worst, the book was published, and I was so thankful for it—for the excitement of it kept up poor Stoddard, who was suffering with me from sympathy. He took the book more to heart, than anything he ever published for himself. If a word was said against it he was enraged. It will be of no use for you to tell him that you do not like it—he will rail at you, and tell you you are mistaken.6 We were much pleased at your letter of introduction to the Booths we have already spent three evenings together.7 Booth and Stoddard fraternize both of them seem to have the same neuralgia pains. Booth 84

is enthusiastic on your behalf. Your health has been drank by us, and how we have wished you were here! It strikes me that Booth is a man of genius. His bearing and his manners affirm it at once. What a countenance he has! We like Mrs. Booth too—she looks very delicate indeed and complains of not being well. He begins playing on the 24th and we are going to see him often.8 Stoddard and I went to Mass. the other day, and on the boat met Harry Porter,9 who was going to Newport. He never looked better, nor appeared so well. Stansbury10 we do not see often, he is in a state of fume respecting McClellan and the behavior of the administration. We staid in his house two weeks in July. I went there to get a hilly atmosphere. Otherwise, we do not meet people who know you. It is just as well. You are silent in our minds, but firm and stedfast. Now that we see the Booths however we talk about you. Mrs. Booth says Josie is as industrious abroad as she was at home. I am glad you like Germany. You will say with Byron by the time you return. “I’ve taught me other tongues—and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger; to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with—ay, or without mankind.”11 Stoddard will write you about the book of German poems which he was delighted to get, and about other things which I may have omitted to mention. Believe me yours and Josie’s affectionate friend. Elizabeth DBS

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. The medallion of Willy Stoddard’s face was done by Launt Thompson. See Letter 24, note 3. 2. Wilson Barstow Jr. was promoted to captain on June 20, 1862. 3. Stoddard used some of the “private information” in Wilson’s letters in her San Francisco Bulletin letters.

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4. A reference to The Woman in White (1859–1860) by Wilkie Collins (1824–1889). Anne Catherick, the titular “woman in white,” is simple-minded and always dresses in white. Stoddard had presumably sent another image of herself to Josie Graham that had not met with approval. This may be the carte de visite that Stoddard refers to in an October 16, 1861, letter to Josephine Graham (Allison-Shelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 5. It is not clear why Stoddard compares the reception of her novel to that of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852). She may have been influenced by the review in the Boston Saturday Evening Gazette, which, according to Richard, “praised its Yankee dialect as being superior to Mrs. Stowe’s!” (Letter to Manton Marble, June 26, 1862, Manton Marble Papers, Library of Congress). 6. When Richard found Boker’s review of The Morgesons, published in the Philadelphia North American, less enthusiastic than he would have liked, he immediately wrote to him and scolded him. Boker responded, “What in the name of all the gods, has put it into your foolish head to suppose ‘from the tone of my letter’ that I do not like the ‘Morgesons!!’ I do like the ‘Morgesons’—I swear that I do! . . . You must have used some ingenuity to twist anything in my note into the suspicion that I do not like the book. Damn your soul! What do you mean? You have made me as angry as a hornet, cuss you!” (July 3, 1862, George H. Boker Collection, Princeton University). 7. The Grahams met the actor Edwin Booth (1833–1893) and his wife Mary Devlin Booth (1840–1863) in Europe and when the Booths returned to the United States, recommended that they meet their friends, the Stoddards. The Booths quickly became intimate with the Stoddards and were absorbed into their social circle. In a letter written to Graham on September 20 and concluded on September 24, Richard wrote, “I am very obliged for your note to the Booths. It would be a long story to tell of our calling and not finding them in, leaving the note, etc. . . . The conclusion, which is that both myself and my wife have met them five or six times in a week or ten days, and like them very much. The liking seems mutual; . . . Mrs Stoddard and Mrs Booth take together, just as Booth and I do” (AllisonShelley Collection, Pennsylvania State University). 8. Booth’s engagement was at the Winter Garden Theater on Broadway in Manhattan. 9. Unidentified. 10. Edward A. Stansbury (1811?–1873), a Vermont journalist and insurance broker, who worked with Lorimer Graham at the Metropolitan Insurance Company in New York City. 11. From George Gordon Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, fourth Canto, stanza 8.

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Letter 30  “Gossip From Gotham” San Francisco Bulletin December 13, 1862 New York City, New York

Gossip from Gotham. [FROM A LADY CORRESPONDENT.] NEW YORK, November 11, 1862. Sad Thoughts on the Times—The Astronomer-General. The exigency of my mind demands from my pen what it is unable to perform—to wit: an essay on the aspect of the country. Had I the power of that too-ready writer, the author of the Essay Concerning Veal,1 I might be able to do justice to the thoughts which trouble me, by expression. The present estimate at the Surgeon-General’s office, of the number of the sick and wounded soldiers in hospitals and camps, is a good starting for melancholy. There are 35,000 in the former and 35,000 in the latter. The death of Gen. Mitchel2 is another text. About the time of the breaking out of the rebellion, I remember hearing a friend read a letter from him regarding the death of Mrs. Mitchel.3 He had offered his services to the country, advised and urged by her, and had started for Washington, but was recalled before he had been gone two hours, by the news of her second and fatal attack of paralysis. This letter was full of sad, manly grief; he spoke of her companionship with him in all his astronomical studies; of her assistance and her appreciation. Though he died by fever, instead of falling in the field, and though his military life has been short, he will be remembered as a brave and able general.

The Epidemic Imbecility. But it is not suffering death and loss which so troubles me; nor the wickedness of faction, the lust of partisans, nor the removal of Gen. McClellan.4 It is the facts behind all this chaos which sickens and disgusts my soul. It is the fact of imbecility, and not only that 87

which makes me woful, but that no one is able to discover where the imbecility is. Now it is here—now there—but it is never reached. It is Lincoln, it is Stanton,5 it is McClellan; it is the Democrats, it is the Republicans! Never before in the history of the throes of Empire has Empire so long waited for a great man. What is the logic of our position? The great man may be on the other side! God may be vexed at the North, as Victor Hugo said that God was vexed with Napoleon, and he lost Waterloo.6 From the beginning we coerced Providence, and declared that Providence was on our side. We have had the heaviest battalions too, the most powder, the terrible munitions of war, the long boots, the overcoats, the quinine, and Washington. How we have hung Jeff Davis7 in effigy; how we have derided at Wigfall, Toombs, Yancey! 8 How we have howled over Southern ignorance, at its crimes, its baseness! Has it helped our cause? But a few days ago I saw extracts from an article in the Cornhill Magazine 9 by a secessionist, who detailed his experience in running the blockade with ammunition for the Confederates. How well he told his story; how simple and honest appeared his cause from the point he viewed it; how blind, decided, farcical seemed the whole of our expensive blockading squadron!

“Winter and Rough Weather” 10—Cloaks and the Fireside. The winter season has forced itself upon us in the shape of a snowstorm; to-day is nasty, sloppy, blue-devilish.11 How ugly is the city when half-whitened by snow! Its condition at present reminds me of Fernando and Ben Wood.12 The mention of the latter recalls to my remembrance that I heard a friend say the other day that he was well acquainted with the man who wrote Ben Wood’s novel of Love and Secession—published about a year since. Despite the snow, it was but yesterday that I saw the willows waving green over the basin in Union Square,13 and heard some one say that the country was still glorious; but after this Nature’s mantle will be russet color. The winter mantles for human wear are very pretty, but very dear; the handsomest are made of a kind of beaver-cloth which resembles velvet. But why is it taken for granted that women do not need to have their cloaks lined and wadded as men’s overcoats are? The fashion of the last two 88

years in cloaks is a cruel and murderous one. In looking through the various “emporiums” to find a garment warm enough to suit me, my failure caused me to exclaim with Amiens (tinkered): Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude. Freeze, freeze, those bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh—I As beaver-cloth unlined! 14 But if I did not procure a cloak I got a bonnet, all in the present style, and when I wear it I feel like Miss Mills, in David Copperfield, under a pyramid of despair.15 The base of the milliner’s operations astonished me. It was in front—the filling in, I mean. First, there is a row of plaited ribbon, trimmed with two rows of plaited lace, and a velvet ribbon down the middle of the other ribbon. Second, a silk lace ruche, four double; then a velvet band. Lastly, another row of ribbon plaited, with lace on it, and the velvet ribbon down the middle separated. To my mortification there is still a cavity between my “foretop” and the rim of the bonnet. In vain does its black and white cock’s plume nod like Hector’s crest16 to blind people to the fact the cavity is there. I know of nothing that will fill it up, unless I get the ashman to dump in his morning debris. I think the colors that are worn now are very beautiful. The new purples in Empress cloth and Merino are especially handsome. By some caprice, it is now possible to appear in these fabrics where silk dresses were once indispensable—that is, they answer the idea of “dress” more than formerly. It is a happy caprice for the economical. If I have changed the tone of this letter it is because “time and the hour”17 have worn through this rough day. The flag on the tall spire of Grace church, the putting up of which a man was given $50 for, points from the North.18 The stars shine, the sky is as blue as steel, and the wind is roaring like mad. My coke fire burns con amore—the smoke of the tobacco pipe ascends, puffed by the one I engage to do my smoking, the gas shines with a friendly light upon my pages, and I think it better to forget the anarchy and misery outside these walls. The portraits of Shakespeare, Milton, Walter Scott, and Mrs. 89

Browning, hang within my vision. Souls who rest in heaven, may the shadow of their divine peace fall on me! Yet why should I cry “peace, peace, when there is no peace!”19

A Gathering of Artists—Deeds in the Doing. If I must go outside my domain to finish my letter, let me recall a pleasant evening I lately spent at the Studio Building in Tenth street, where some of our best artists do congregate.20 We had a “spread” of oysters in Bierstadt’s21 studio, and were surrounded by a quantity of Rocky Mountain trophies, skins of animals, weapons and Indian costumes, to say nothing of numerous sketches, the germs of future pictures. Bierstadt, by the way, is one of our enterprising artists, and purposes a trip overland to California, intending to start next June, I believe. Launt Thompson the sculptor,22 a pupil of Palmer,23 was our host; he sat at the head of the table, and was the dispenser of oysters to Calvin Vaux the architect,24 Palmer the sculptor, Aldrich the poet,25 Stoddard another poet, Fitzhugh Ludlow, the author of the Hashish Eater, Gifford the landscape painter 26 and Edwin Booth. There was a flow of bowl, but I did not discover the feast of reason.27 There was wit; there was mirth. We were in the presence of some of the finest exponents of art in our lamented country; but there was no flavor of Locke on the Understanding.28 We had no politics; there were firebrands among us, but the match was not applied. Palmer was the oldest representative of art present. He is a tall noticeable man of 45, with a long white beard and very splendid teeth. There is no doubt but that he is a genius; that must be dis­­covered from him, even if one has not seen his works[.] At present he is engaged on a work which he calls Memory.29 Thompson is engaged on a series of bas-reliefs from Tennyson’s Idyls of the King, and has finished, of the series, Elaine.30 Calvin Vaux is planning bridges for the Central Park.31 Stoddard has in the press a poem—The Kings Bell—which will be published in December. There is a story in one of Duran’s32 books of a king, who, when he ascended his father’s throne, caused a bell to be hung near his palace, which he should ring whenever he 90

was happy. He lived a long life, but the Bell never rang. As the story runs in Duran, it is bold and grotesque; but Stoddard has taken the theme and made it a story of human life, its desires, its successes, and its disappointments. The career of Felix—for that is his name for the king—as king, lord, husband, father, all that a man can be, is depicted with a happy, poetical Grace, which reminds one [of ] Leigh Hunt’s33 fascinating story poems. I did not learn what the rest of the goodly company are laboring upon, unless I except Edwin Booth. He informed me that he had broken his shins in stumbling over the balcony in Don Caesar de Bazan,34 the night previous; and that reminded me how well he played it, and how well he plays all his characters—for he has an earnest desire to be an ornament to his profession.

Source: San Francisco Bulletin 15.57 (December 13, 1862): 1

Notes 1. “An Essay Concerning Veal” was included in Leisure Hours in Town by Andrew Kennedy Hutchinson Boyd. See Letter 27, note 34. 2. Ormsby MacKnight Mitchel (1810–1862), American astronomer and Major General in the Union Army at the time of his death from yellow fever. 3. Louisa Clark Trask Mitchel (1805–1861). 4. George B. McClellan. On November 5, 1862, President Abraham Lincoln (1809–1865) ordered McClellan to turn his command over to General Ambrose Burnside (1824–1881). 5. Edwin M. Stanton. See Letter 27, note 5. 6. In Les Misérables (1862), Victor Hugo (1802–1885) describes the battle of Waterloo, fought on June 18, 1815, and argues that God was the driving force behind Napoleon’s defeat. 7. Jefferson Davis (1808–1889), President of the Confederacy. 8. Louis Trezevant Wigfall (1816–1874), Robert Augustus Toombs (1810 –1885), and William Lowndes Yancey (1814–1863) were all major proponents of Southern secession from the Union. 9. The Cornhill Magazine was a British literary journal founded in 1860 by George Murray Smith (1824–1901). 10. From “Under the Greenwood Tree,” a song sung by Amiens in Act 2, Scene 5 of Shakespeare’s As You Like It. 11. A blue devil is a demon thought to cause depression and melancholia. 12. Fernando Wood (1812–1881), mayor of New York City in 1862, was a Con-

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federate sympathizer. His brother, Benjamin Wood (1820–1900), bought the New York Daily News in 1861, turning it into the mouthpiece of his brother’s Democratic administration. Stoddard implies that Benjamin Wood did not actually write Fort Lafayette: or, Love and Secession (1862). 13. See Letter 10, note 7. 14. From Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Act 3, Scene 2, sung by Amiens. The replacement of “thou” in the original with “those” in the fourth line seems to be a printer’s error. The final line of the original is actually “As benefits forgot.” 15. In David Copperfield (1849/1850) by Charles Dickens, Julia Mills facilitates David and Dora’s courtship. It seems likely that Stoddard was confusing “Miss Mills” with “Miss Mowcher,” the dwarf who serves as hairdresser and manicurist to Steerforth. She wears a bonnet that is too large in proportion to her body. 16. A reference to Book 6 of The Iliad by Homer. Hector initially wears his bronze helmet that is capped by a horsehair crest or plume. When he says good-bye to his infant son, the baby is scared of the glittering helmet, and Hector removes it. 17. From Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 3: “Come what come may / Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.” 18. Grace Church, at the corner of Broadway and 10th Street, is a Gothic revival structure that was consecrated in 1846. It was considered the most fashionable church in the city in the mid-nineteenth century. 19. From Jeremiah 6:14: “They have healed also the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly, saying, Peace, peace; when there is no peace.” 20. The Tenth Street Studio Building was constructed in 1857 and was the first modern facility designed solely to serve the needs of artists. 21. Albert Bierstadt, German American painter best known for his landscapes of the American west. See Letter 25, note 10. 22. Launt Thompson. See Letter 24, note 3. 23. Erastus Dow Palmer (1817–1904), American sculptor. 24. Calvert Vaux (1824–1895), British-born landscape architect who, along with Frederick Law Olmstead (1822–1903), designed Central Park. The park opened in 1859. 25. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. See Letter 20, note 7. 26. Sanford Robinson Gifford (1823–1888), one of the leading members of the Hudson River School. 27. A reference to Imitations of Horace (1733) by Alexander Pope (1688–1744): “There St. John mingles with my friendly Bowl, / The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.” 28. A reference to “An Essay Concerning Human Understanding” (1690) by John Locke (1632–1704). 29. Probably Palmer’s full-length sculpture of a woman titled “Memory” (1860– 1861). According to James Carson Webster, the sculpture depicts a thoughtful “woman seated on a cushion, leaning with her right elbow and arm on another cushion” (Erastus D. Palmer, 160).

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30. Although the bust of Elaine is one of Thompson’s best-known works, he appeared not to have completed any of the other bas-reliefs inspired by Tennyson’s Idylls of the King (published between 1856 and 1885). 31. Vaux eventually designed thirty-six bridges for the park, no two of which were alike, and all of which used natural materials familiar to New Yorkers. 32. Unidentified. 33. James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784–1859), English critic, Romantic poet, and writer best known for The Story of Rimini (1816). 34. The Comedy of Don César de Bazan, a French play by Philippe M. Dumanoir (1806–1865) translated into English in 1844.

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Letter 31  “Gossip From Boston” San Francisco Bulletin January 10, 1863 Boston, Massachusetts

Gossip from Boston. [BY OUR NEW YORK LADY CORRESPONDENT.] BOSTON, December 1, 1862. A lady who edits a Western newspaper says that the popularity of her journal is due to the fact that people are always expecting she will say something she ought not to. It seems to me that I have a like provocation to make these epistles more piquant, especially this present one, which I am able to date from Boston,1 from the fact that at this moment I see the Common on my right and Boylston street on my left, which means that I am in a hotel between the two. Owing to the weather, for the first twenty-four hours after my arrival I was doomed to watch the cars, which ran by my window—like everything else in Boston, one way only, for there is but one track. Twenty different destinations are painted on the cars, but they point to the same quarter, and I was told that they always come round again after passing the designated points. But when the weather cleared and I was able to go out my views changed; I found crooked Washington street lively enough, with ladies going every way, and most of them wearing camel’s hair scarfs of red, green and black. A camel’s hair shawl is there, I take it, a still more positive criterion of respectability than it is in New York. I discovered that Boston has grown very much since I was last here—whole streets and houses with bulging fronts and bay windows above the door, stand on ground that has been made by Celtic industry. Somehow I do not smell Faneuil Hall as strongly as I expected; whether that cradle of liberty is being rocked at present I do not know.2 Charles Sumner 3 may not be in town; and, by the way, I have heard gossip concerning the said Charles—that he is not, after all, adored by the city, as outsiders suppose. He is not, in spite of his ideas being the ideas of the Government, so popular as he 94

has been. I even heard a wretched man say that he had never forgiven Brooks4 for not making a finish of Sumner when he pounded him on the head; but the man was a blighted Democrat in whom such a speech must be excused. But to continue the subject of gossip: I believe that the conformation of Boston is most favorable to gossip—its narrow streets, so full of abrupt turns, its courts and alleys, are provocative to the invention of mystery. People are expecting something to turn-up round the corner, and if it does not turn up in fact, they guess that it does in imagination. They can look into each others’ windows darkly, and see vague shapes flitting to and fro, who may be all right, but it is by no means certain that they are. I have never learned that we are “talked about” in New York, I can already see that “they say” is much in use here as a prefix to gossip relative to one’s position, moral character, and means. Boston is too small for magnanimity, but of the right size and build to be picturesque. It must be the handsomest city in America. In my walks I catch architectural glimpses, the like of which flat-bottomed Philadelphia and oblong New York have never dreamed of. I came unexpectedly, in one walk, upon the beginning of a little street, and looking up through it, saw the State House,5 like a roe’s egg with trimmings, upon a terrace, which was situated upon nothing. It was delightful. In another walk I came upon a row of iron posts, which apparently guarded a small block of houses that had diverged from the regular street, and stood sideways from it. Beyond this block, and on lower ground, I saw another street, handsome and airy, situated exactly as the streets of some city of the imagination are situated— Pilgrim progress city,6 or one of that ilk—and the iron posts were there to indicate it. In Charles street there are a row of houses whose back drawing-room windows face the Charles river. It is impossible, with the view of the river, its bridge, and the country beyond, to believe that one is in a city. The quiet ripple of the mimic waves wash the brick walls of the little yards. In one of these houses Fields,7 the publisher, lives; and in one near his resides Oliver Wendell Holmes,8 who often goes a rowing on the Charles. Holmes by the way has a paper in the December Atlantic entitled My Hunt after the Captain.9 The Captain is his son, who has been twice wounded in different battles,10 and twice has his father brought him 95

home. If I had the proper classical knowledge, I have no doubt but that I could mention a Homeric parallel, but as I have not, I can only present to your mind’s eye the veteran poet searching the battle-field for his heroic son; and state that his article in the Atlantic is so long that it must have more than paid the expense of his journey. The time-honored house of Ticknor & Fields have at last issued that volume of poems by Bayard Taylor which they have had in press for more than a year, The Poet’s Journal.11 It seems to me that the Journal was written for the sake of its being a framework of the small poems which are introduced as if they were a portion of the story which the frame-work dramatizes. Ticknor & Fields have very improperly advertised it as the “history of Bayard Taylor’s domestic life in verse.” Although the poems are addressed to his wife, and although the name of his place in Pennsylvania is Cedarcroft, I take it upon myself to say, that he has depicted little or nothing of the drama of his life. The volume contains the intellectual results of certain experiences— nothing more. The advertisement, however, may sell the book, and I believe that the first edition sold in a very few days.12 It is not the thing for so respectable a house to put out clap-traps,13 as it has in this case. I have visited that institution, the Boston Museum,14 to witness a play relative to another institution that Boston has its finger in—to wit: Slavery. The play was called Magnolia.15 It is said to be from the French, but I do not think that Warren’s delineation of “Bije,” the Yankee, was imported. Warren,16 who is immensely popular, is a well-personed man, who looks extremely well in the role of a private gentleman. According to the bent of my mind, the play of Magnolia— with its abused Quadroons and Octoroons, and faithful, intellectual Dinahs and Tobys, and it’s besotted, sensual young planters, who have never had any sensation except one concerning this or that slave girl, according to the caprice of the moment—made me look into the other extreme. This lop-sidedness in ethics is dreadful; but I believe that Massachusetts will rebound from its own fanaticism in time. I have also been to the Boston Theatre, or the Academy of Music17 on the occasion of Edwin Booth’s appearance there. I had a splendid opportunity of seeing an immense audience, but none for seeing the stage, for I was in a stage-box which was the size of a slab of wedding 96

cake, and afforded me no more chance than is afforded the cake in its box. Afterward I saw the stage from the front of the house and must confess that its appointments are much finer than in any theatre I ever saw. The Bostonians love the theatre, and love Mr. Booth. Since his arrival his friends and admirers send him anonymous letters requesting him to cut off his hair—so much for Buckingham,18 it is thought he might do—or to change a reading in Hamlet, or to play this or that. He has large audiences who listen to him, and look upon him as their exclusive property. Indeed, Booth in Boston is a hero to his valet.19 I must close my epistle with a compliment to California, which I discovered and exhumed from a Providence paper. It begins thus: Turpentine in California! What is there not in California? Discovery follows discovery there. The squatters find gold; the goldhunters find silver; the silver miners stumble on quicksilver; fruits of every kind grown there; in short, no sooner is anything wanted by the world than California furnishes it. Now that North Carolina has stopped sending forth her naval stores, California comes to the rescue and tells us that she is getting turpentine and rosin for us. And, besides all this, she puts into the service a regiment that offers $30,000 for the privilege of coming East to get a shot at the rebels. Is she not a sister worth having? Having all these possessions, I offer this charming epistle with a contrite heart, to add to your embarrassment of riches.

Source: San Francisco Bulletin 15.79 (January 10, 1863): 3

Notes 1. In late November 1862, Stoddard joined Edwin and Mary Booth and their one-year-old daughter Edwina (1861–1938) for a two-week visit to Boston, where Edwin was engaged to play the Boston Theatre. She returned to New York on December 6, but the Booths remained, having been advised by Mary’s doctor that she needed rest. They rented a house in Dorchester, Massachusetts. 2. Faneuil Hall was completed in 1742, but nearly burnt to the ground in 1761. James Otis Jr. (1725–1783) spoke at the reopening of the hall, dedicating it to the

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cause of liberty; it was thereafter widely referred to as the “Cradle of Liberty.” Faneuil Hall also became an important meeting place for the abolitionist movement, who borrowed the phrase for an abolitionist newspaper, the Cradle of Liberty (1839–1841). 3. Charles Sumner. See Letter 9, note 9. 4. Preston Brooks. See Letter 9, note 9. 5. The Massachusetts State House, built in 1798 and located across from Boston Common at the top of Beacon Hill. 6. Probably a reference to the Celestial City, representation of Heaven in The Pilgrim’s Progress from This World to That Which Is to Come (1678) by British minister and writer John Bunyan (1628–1688). 7. James T. Fields. See Letter 3, note 10. 8. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. (1809–1894), American physician, professor, and author. 9. “My Hunt after ‘The Captain,’” was published in the December 1862 issue of the Atlantic Monthly. 10. Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (1841–1935) left Harvard to join the Union Army in 1861. He was wounded in the chest at the battle of Ball’s Bluff and in the neck at Antietam, after each of which his father located him and brought him home. 11. The Poet’s Journal was published by Ticknor and Fields in 1863. 12. Richard apparently complained to Taylor of the advertisement for The Poet’s Journal. Taylor responded, “You are quite right about the advertisement of the book. I am very much vexed and mortified, and have written so to Fields. Heretofore his announcements have been unadorned by such sensation traps, and I did not think it necessary to warn him in advance. The adv’t is not only in bad taste, but it is false. Ernest is only 3/4 myself, and Edith is scarcely Marie at all. My object was simply to represent in poetry the moods of such an experience as mine, not the experience itself ” (December 23, 1862, ed. Wermuth, Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor 199). 13. Claptrap is a term derived from theater, where it referred to gags intended to prompt applause. 14. The Boston Museum was located on Tremont Street and contained a theater as well as a gallery of curiosities. 15. According to the Boston Museum playbill, Magnolia: The Planter’s Daughter was translated by Charles Barton Hill (??–??) from the French text by Jules Barbier (1825–1901). 16. William Warren (1812–1888), American actor who was a member of the Boston Museum almost exclusively from 1847 to 1883. 17. The first Boston Theatre, also called the Federal Street Theatre, opened on February 3, 1794. The original structure, located on Federal and Franklin Streets, was razed in 1852, and the second Boston Theatre opened on Washington Street in 1854. It later became known as the Boston Academy of Music and was thought to be one of the finest theaters in the country.

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18. A reference to a line from Richard III: “Off with his head, so much for Buckingham.” This line was not originally written by Shakespeare, however; it was added by Colley Cibber (1671–1757) in his 1699 adaptation of Shakespeare’s play, which was the standard version performed throughout most of the nineteenth century. 19. A reference to the saying “No man is a hero to his valet,” attributed to Mme. A. M. Bigot de Cornuel (1605–1694).

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Letter 32  To James Lorimer Graham March 6, 1863 New York City, New York

Confidential March 6th 1863 My dear Lorimer The day I received your letter of Dec 24th from Florence, I talked over with Stoddard the happiness we enjoyed in our friends. Back then everything appeared so fair—You had given us the hand and heart of friendship. Bayard and Marie were thinking of us in Russia1 & Edwin and Mary2 were identified with our daily lives and interests. The month of February I had especially arranged for. Edwin was to play at the Winter Garden,3 Mary was to come in from Boston, after he had begun to play, and Wilson was to come up from Fort Monroe4 on a visit. Our friends Thompson,5 Aldrich,6 the McEntees,7 Palmer 8 from Albany, Osgood from Boston9 and several others were expecting a great deal of enjoyment at our rooms and at the theater. The Saturday before Edwin left for New York, the first jar in my programme happened. I received a telegraphic dispatch for me to come to Fort Monroe, for Wilson was very sick. Stoddard and I started that night for Baltimore. Sunday night he left me on board the boat which went between Fort Monroe and Baltimore, to return to NY and I went on alone. I staid there till he was able to be brought here, I had a very trying journey home, and could not have got him along but for the services of Col Alford10 who accompanied us. Now he is able to sit up nearly all day, and will be out soon. Meantime, while I was at the Fort, Edwin came on alone and began playing, and also began to drink too much.11 The scenes which Stoddard passed through with him, for he never left him except for the Custom House hours, surpass my powers of description. When I got home with Wilson Monday night, a week after Edwin had been playing, I found Stoddard worn out with excitement and Edwin almost deranged. Our first night .

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here was a dramatic one. Wilson was on my bed exhausted. Edwin came here after the theatre, and was so much excited and troubled by his appearance—that we could hardly keep him from his bedside— but at last he went to bed downstairs. Stoddard went to sleep on the floor, I upon the sofa. Edwin was in the room in the night, and again at daylight. Tuesday we heard that Mary was very sick at Dorchester.12 The telegraphs were passing between us all day. Edwin was distracted with anxiety. Wednesday and Thursday she was telegraphed as better, and did not wish Edwin sent for, but on Friday evening while he was playing Richard Stoddard came into my box at the WG13 and told me that he and Edwin had been telegraphed for that Mary was sinking, Edwin was not told till after the play was over.14 He came here, and at eight the next morning Stoddard and he started for Boston. At eleven o clock that day Stuart of the WG15 was telegraphed that she was dead. She died about the time they left NY. Stoddard staid with him till Wednesday night and then came home. We have heart breaking letters from him almost daily—it will be two weeks tomorrow since she died—he is crazy with grief. “Write Graham,” he says in one of his letters, “that little B.16 is dead—he will weep for he loved her too.” Her last letter, which I received while at Fort Monroe—gave the details of her plans for the summer—we were to pass it together, at Mattapoisett, and in the vicinity of New York.17 She was devoted heart and soul to us—She depended on Stoddard’s influence over Edwin and upon his friendship. I, dear Lorimer, am cut adrift again—I had attached myself strongly to the lovely, affectionate, intelligent girl. It is only within three months, that I have come back to life again.18 Edwin and Mary’s love, and care for me made my heart beat warmly once more. When they were with us they occupied both Stoddard and myself completely. I never knew Stoddard to love any woman as he loved her. She knew how faithful and loyal his soul was. Her last letter to him was full of pathos,19 she knew that Edwin was in danger. I should say that there is no fear for him now, his self-reproach for his folly is deep. He will be sober, sane now I trust. Mary, you know, had been under medical treatment at Dorchester for some internal trouble, but the doctor said she was gaining rapidly when Edwin left her. Her death blow was inflammation of the bowels caused by taking cold, in going out when she should have staid in. 101

She was buried at Mt Auburn.20 Her death awakened a very great interest. Obituary notices, containing a summary of her life have appeared in all the papers nearly. I enclose you one with the beautiful poem of Parsons appended and I send you my poem also, not because I think it fine, but because I know you will like to have it.21 I hope Stoddard will write a poem upon Mary—the subject is as beautiful as Milton’s Lycidas.22 I have no heart to write you upon anything else— when your last letter came and I read it, it seemed as if you felt the shadow of our trouble. If it were possible, what a good thing it would be if Stoddard, Edwin, and I could start for Italy tomorrow, and you. Edwin has a noble soul—it is proved by the love so many bear him. He is so child-like, so confiding, so simple—he is a genius, in short. We have letters from Bayard to the effect that he will be at home in July. Would that we could hear of the Grahams coming. In regard to the medallion photograph23 I am troubled that I cannot get one. This very morning, I asked Thompson,24 when he came in to see Wilson and smoke a pipe, if he could not hurry the man up—the head I have not had for months—Thompson has promised me again and again that I should have it. He has made a fourth promise this morning and as soon as it is done, you shall have it. I have had myself done in crayon—Kiss Josie for me, and you give her my affectionate remembrances—yours ever EDBS P.S. The portion of your letter which concerned the leaf of the Kings Bell25—I read to an admiring tea party in our room—which consisted of the Ludlows,26 McEntees, Calvert Vaux,27 Mrs. Vaux,28 Thompson and Mrs. Bell.29 They thought it very good. Do you keep a regular diary? I hope so—it seems to me that you are seeing Europe in the best possible way. Have you not met at Florence Mrs. Kinney30— Stedman’s mother, she is a [flazing?] kind of woman, but I believe the Kinney’s see the best society there. Is James Jarvis31 there—but you are away, I remember before this.  E—

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

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Notes 1. See Letter 26 in this volume. 2. Edwin and Mary Booth. See Letter 29, note 7. 3. Edwin Booth returned to New York City to prepare for the opening of Hamlet at the Winter Garden Theater on February 9, 1862. The Winter Garden had opened in 1850 and quickly became a showcase for American dramatic arts. It burned down in 1867. 4. Fort Monroe was a military installation in Hampton, Virginia, which remained in Union hands. 5. Launt Thompson. See Letter 24, note 3. 6. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. See Letter 20, note 7. 7. Jervis McEntee, American landscape painter, and his wife Gertrude Sawyer McEntee. See biographical note. 8. Erastus Dow Palmer. See Letter 30, note 23. 9. James R. Osgood (1836–1892), clerk for Ticknor and Fields. In 1864, he became a partner in the firm, although it wasn’t renamed Fields, Osgood, and Company until 1868, after the death of William Davis Ticknor (1810–1864) and the retirement of his son, Howard M. Ticknor (1836–1905). 10. Probably Lieutenant Colonel Samuel M. Alford (??–??) of the 3rd New York Volunteer Infantry, stationed at Fort Monroe in 1863. 11. Booth was known for his excessive drinking, but had restrained himself since his marriage to Mary. 12. Dorchester, Massachusetts, where Mary remained after Edwin returned to New York City. 13. The Winter Garden Theater. 14. According to Lilian Woodman Aldrich, Richard, Thomas Aldrich, and Launt Thompson took turns accompanying Booth throughout the day and night, in an attempt to prevent him from drinking. On one of these evenings, Booth evaded Richard and became so intoxicated that Elizabeth evidently wrote to Mary, “Sick or well, you must come. Mr. Booth has lost all restraint and hold of himself. Last night there was the grave question of ringing down the curtain before the performance was half over. Lose no time. Come” (as quoted in Aldrich 35). Mary was too weak to make the journey and died soon after, on the morning of February 21, 1863. Writers commenting on this scene have condemned Stoddard for writing in this way to Mary; Lilian Woodman Aldrich calls the letter “cruel” (Crowding Memories 35), while Eleanor Ruggles insists that although it had been “written by a friend [Booth] trusted,” it “had not been a friend’s letter” (Prince of Players 149). Edwin Booth is said to have broken off his friendship with the Stoddards when he found out about Elizabeth’s letter. Because all of Stoddard’s letters to the Booths were destroyed, we cannot validate Aldrich’s claims about Stoddard’s letter. 15. William Stuart (1821–1886), lessee and house manager of the Winter Garden. 16. A common nickname for Mary Booth.

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17. While many of Mary Devlin Booth’s letters to the Stoddards are extant, this final letter has not been found. The last extant letter from Mary to Elizabeth Stoddard is dated January 29, 1863. See Oggel, ed., The Letters and Notebooks of Mary Devlin Booth 102–103. 18. Stoddard is referring here to the death of Willy Stoddard on December 17, 1861. 19. This final letter from Mary Devlin Booth to Richard does not appear to be extant. 20. Mount Auburn Cemetery in Watertown, Massachusetts, was founded in 1831 as one of America’s first garden cemeteries. 21. “Mary Booth” by Thomas Williams Parsons (1819–1892) was published in the New York Evening Post, though it is not clear on what date. Stoddard’s poem of the same name appeared in the Post on March 2. 22. Lycidas (1638) by John Milton (1608–1674) was a pastoral elegy dedicated to the memory of a friend who had drowned. 23. Probably a photograph of the medallion Launt Thompson had made of the head of Willy Stoddard the summer before his death. See Letter 24, note 3. 24. Launt Thompson. 25. Richard published The King’s Bell in December 1862 and dedicated it to James Lorimer Graham. 26. Fitz Hugh Ludlow and his wife Rosalie Osborne Ludlow. See Letter 21, note 3. 27. Calvert Vaux. See Letter 30, note 24. 28. Vaux married Mary Swan McEntee (1830–1892), sister of Jervis McEntee, in 1854. 29. Possibly Helen Olcott Choate Bell (1830–1918). 30. Elizabeth Clementine Dodge Stedman Kinney (1810–1889), poet and essayist who lived in Florence with her husband William Burnet Kinney (1799–1880) and socialized with such literary luminaries as Anthony Trollope (1815–1882), Alfred Tennyson, and the Brownings. 31. Probably James Jackson Jarves (1818–1888), U.S. vice-consul in Italy, author, and art collector.

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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 Piatt 6 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 105

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 Attorney General’s office, until August 1863, when he accepted a position with a banking firm in New York City.

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4. Stoddard seems to have left a word missing here. 5. See Letter 29, note 7. 6. John James Piatt. See Letter 28, note 4. 7. Wilson was appointed aide-de-camp to General John Adams Dix (1798–1879) in the fall of 1861. He was stationed at Fort McHenry in Baltimore, Maryland, until late May 1862, when he went to Fort Monroe in Hampton, Virginia, with Dix. 8. Killed in the Battle of Gettysburg (July 1–3, 1863), Charles Frederick Taylor (see Letter 15, note 2) was the youngest brother of Bayard Taylor. The funeral was held in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. 9. Fred’s fiancée was Alice Bowie Green (1839–1870). See Charles F. Hobson and Arnold Shankman, “Colonel of the Bucktails: Civil War Letters of Charles Frederick Taylor.” 10. Charles Frederick Stedman (1835–1863) died of consumption on May 13, 1863. 11. Possibly Stephen Ryder Fiske (1840–1916), war correspondent for the New York Herald. 12. Two Men. 13. Stedman’s review of the novel was published in the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin on June 24, 1862. Stoddard must have reassessed her opinion of the review, as Stedman later wrote to Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “I wrote an elaborate notice of The Morgesons—trying to penetrate its best meaning and to put its author’s genius fairly before the Phila-my-delphians; yet I’m afraid E. D. B. S. didn’t half like what I said” (September 15, 1862, Thomas Bailey Aldrich Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University). 14. According to Matlack, Stoddard received $45 for “Osgood’s Predicament” (627).

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Letter 34  To Wilson Barstow Jr. [April] 16, [1865] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

16th Monday 1 Dear Wilson— I expected so anxiously to hear something respecting the astounding fact of Lincoln’s assassination, and his assassin John Booth:2 I never was more overwhelmed by any outside matter than by this. We get telegrams all the time & hear the news as soon as you. I can hardly keep away from N.Y., for I am half wild, & to be so pent up, having Eliza B.3 & Father 4 to exclaim to only, it is too much to bear. Your news of Edwin’s marriage is about as astounding as the rest.5 Is it Laura Edmonds6 or Maty Woodman? 7 Do find out. Two or three nights ago I had a dream of him. He will undoubtedly go to the devil sooner or later. All the elements that make up life are in his composition, except one—that of courage. John B. has brute courage. Do you believe at all in human fidelity? Think of Edwin’s marrying again. I pity the woman, unless she has a dramatic genius superior to his and then she can overpower him. I shall be most curious to learn who the person is. His family will have to retire again, but won’t this business break it up. What does Dick think now of the business I have heard him advocate—“that of killing a tyrant”? 8 I beg you to write me all you can—I never felt so great a disgust and impatience at being here as I do now—I curse my chances. I am devoured with anxiety to be in the excitement & am compelled to remain as inert as dead matter or Freeman Clark 9 who still sits under the shed. Lorry is splendid—his face is well, so he is handsome. He grows cunning every minute. Eliza B. sends her love to you—She is devoted to Lorry & I. Yours in confusion and disgust, ennui, and a painful arm. EDBS No more stamps—no money 108

No nothing— I’ll write you better by and by. Excuse my want of philosophy—Is anything more going to turn up amongst our set?

Manuscript: Edwin Booth Collection, Hampden-Booth Theatre Library

Notes 1. Stoddard writes only “16th Monday” as a way to date this letter, but she is clearly writing just days after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. April 16, 1865, fell on a Sunday, not a Monday. 2. John Wilkes Booth (1838–1865), actor and brother to Edwin Booth, fatally shot Lincoln on April 14, 1865. Lincoln died the next day. Booth fled, but was tracked down and killed by Union soldiers two weeks later. 3. While serving at Fort Monroe in Virginia, Wilson sent a “contraband” or escaped slave to live with and work for Elizabeth. “Eliza B.” may be this woman, or she may be Eliza Barstow, a relative whose father purchased the former Wilson Barstow Sr. family home in Mattapoisett. 4. Wilson Barstow Sr. 5. Booth was engaged to Blanche Hanel (??–??) of Philadelphia; after the assassination, Hanel’s father forced her to break the engagement. Stoddard is unsure of the facts surrounding Booth’s engagement because she and Booth had been estranged for more than a year. See Letter 32, note 14. 6. Laura Edmonds (??–??), trance medium, was the daughter of John Worth Edmonds (1816–1874), politician and lawyer who resigned his position as Justice of the Supreme Court of New York after making his beliefs in spiritualism public. Stoddard may have believed that Booth was romantically involved with Laura Edmonds because he had visited her after Mary’s death in order to contact his wife’s spirit. 7. Mattie Woodman (??–??), sister of Lilian Woodman (Aldrich); both were good friends of the Booths. Lilian married Thomas Bailey Aldrich in November 1865. 8. Richard Stoddard was a pro-Union Democrat and a severe critic of abolitionists and the Republican Party. The phrase “killing a tyrant” refers to Thomas Aquinas’s (1225–1274) proclamation that “one who liberates his country by killing a tyrant is to be praised and rewarded” (Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, Book II, Distinction 44); Richard seems to have shown public support for such a sentiment. Despite his pronouncements prior to the assassination, Richard published Abraham Lincoln—A Horatian Ode in 1865. 9. Freeman Clark (1825?–1883), laborer and house painter from Mattapoisett.

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Letter 35  To Edmund Clarence Stedman April 18, 1865 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

April 18th. 65. Dear Stedman Stoddard writes me that you are not well, that you suffer. From the fact I infer that you are as much, and more alone than I am, for nothing so invests a person with solitude, as sickness—the true Robinson Crusoe1 is Pain. I feel it acutely whenever I know that you are ill, I myself dread and hate physical suffering, and then I am afraid I shall lose you, before you lose me, and I shall be left in the solitary and waste places of life with one fine, keen spirit the less. I have been in hopes that You Dives, and Laura Dives would send me, Elizabeth Lazarus, a crumb of comfort from the tables that are always set in New York.2 My absence has caused you one misfortune, that of seeing the Author of The Babes in the Wood often.3 Pray beg him to confine his attention exclusively to that class of Babes—they are better and cheaper in the wood. No not better—for my Lorry promises to be a glorious child, he grows so cunning every day that I am in a misery of delight because he does not present field enough for me to express my love. Oh what a day is this! The sea is flowing dark, the rain beats on the windows, and the wind groans at every door. I am chafing in my confinement, there is no chance of any surprise in the monotony of my time—I do all that I can to be respectable, I read Emerson,4 I work on canvass, I wash myself, I take long walks, keep my premises in order, watch the baby, have an eye on the operations of my mind, but I do not arrive at the proper degree of philosophy. I consider myself a poor specimen of a human being with a soul chucked into it. Like the man in Locksley Hall I am inclined to cuss it all, and then take it back, but alas, with the mighty wind that rises, roaring seaward I cannot go, and that is what ails me.5 I am comfortable, a delicious maple wood fire is burning on my hearth, and I expect 110

stewed lobster for my supper, but I would exchange these delights for a cantankerous dinner at Miss Swift’s6 and no fire at all, if I could have the pate-de-fois-gras sandwich of Sted, Stod, Wilson, & others with them. Sometimes I contemplate going on my knees to pray for patience, vowing not to rise till patience comes, but I suppose I should be apt to cuff those angels who go up and down the ladder between earth and heaven, and so I must fight on with myself, and do the best I can with turbulent material I am endowed with.7 If you feel inclined, write me how you are, tell me just in what state your health is. How is business? Have you any summer plans? I hope to come on to NY for a few days at least, in June, you will then be in the town of course. Were you not overwhelmed at the news concerning the assassination? I am still excited over it, especially as the assassin’s name is Booth. The father, that is the old actor, had the most Satanic elements in his nature a man ever had.8 They have descended to his children. Edwin9 is a coward, he lacks physical courage, and that enfeebles all his intentions, and reduces him to common-place limits, before the world. When he is drunk, he is the most of a man, and then approaches the natural in himself, which normally is something terrible. Give my love to Laura, I wish she would write me, though she does not care much for me, of course she cant, or she would. Love to yourself, biled and clarified—Ever your own EDBS

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. A reference to Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe (1719). 2. In Luke 16:19–31, Jesus tells a story in which a beggar named Lazarus longs to eat the leavings from the rich man’s table. The beggar soon dies and goes to heaven, while the rich man, Dives, dies and goes to Hell. Dives begs Abraham to allow Lazarus to comfort him or to return to his father’s house to warn Dives’s brothers of Dives’s fate, but Abraham refuses. 3. In 1865, Richard Henry Stoddard published The Children in the Wood, Told in Verse with Hurd and Houghton. 4. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882), American essayist, lecturer, and poet.

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5. Alfred Tennyson wrote “Locksley Hall” in 1835 and published it in his 1842 volume of Poems. The final line of the poem, spoken by a soldier who has returned to his boyhood home, is “For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.” 6. Miss Swift’s boardinghouse, the Stoddards’ residence in New York City at the time this letter was written. See Letter 21, note 4. 7. Stedman apparently responded to this letter with concern for Stoddard’s state of mind; in her next letter, she insisted, “Don’t chew over what I write you, if you do, you will deprive me of the pleasure of complaining & making the worst of everything” (April 22, 1865, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 8. Edwin and John Wilkes Booth’s father, Junius Brutus Booth (1796–1852), was a well-known actor. He was also an alcoholic who often took his temper out on Edwin, who was required to travel with his father and tend to him when he was drunk. 9. Edwin Booth. See Letter 29, note 7.

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Letter 36  To Edmund Clarence Stedman [May 1865] [Mattapoisett, Massachusetts]

Dearest Steddy You need not answer this, I know what a burden letter writing must be to you, when everything is a burden. Don’t be discouraged. You will rally, it has seemed to me sometimes, ever since Abby 1 died, that you have suffered from a nervous shock. I know what that is remember. I wish the climate here might suit you for the summer. There are several empty houses you could hire, with a good water view, and keep house for a small sum. Dick’s books are here for you, and there are one or two boats. Wilson & Stod would come down, and we might live in peace, provided I should not hurl you into confusion dire. I wish I could like a good child say, “Ill mind please” but I cant, there is something in me stronger than myself: “Friends, as literary friends.” Do you think that we have lost much in Aldrich2 and Taylor on those grounds? I would not give one cent for the culture of either. As for Taylor his perception hurts like a hoe. He has hurt me so with his stupid, malignant, accusations made in the interview he had with us, when he told you afterwards—that “it was being settled” or something to that effect—that I can never get over my disgust and amazement. He said what Caliban might have said, had he been an American author, to Miranda, when he got mad with her, and had the male vanity of wishing to crush her.3 My darling Steddy, that Leviathan4 tried to flap me down—he brought up things against me that had been going in his mind for years. Is that being a “tried comrade.” All that I ever did against him was to decry his immense vanity—to say that he was not a great writer—worse than that—to say in prose he was without Merit.5 Steddy my love, dont tell me to exert my wifely influence on the side of friendship. That is “puppet” bosh. Do you not know, as I know, that Stoddard never liked Marie? Do you not know how Taylor 113

has, by his want of delicacy outraged Stoddard’s finer sense over and over again? Do you share with Graham, the belief that I am the grey mare6—that but for me, Stod would be all right &c. I could take my oath that Taylor preaches that doctrine too.7 A Teutonic woman8 by the force of her temper terrifies him into abject but clumsy submission. Of course I, with my devilish implacability rule Stoddard. Don’t you think so. I rule him as much as Laura rules you. Poor old Fitz-Hugh9 he is such a pitiful ass—as most men are in such affairs— Now do get better—let me know if you are worse—so that I can feel worse too. Both Stoddard & Wilson write about you to me—they feel for you truly. Give my love to Laura. Yours ever EDBS P.S. Do me the favor if you ever have a chance—to help my friend Graham, for I do love him, to have a clearer estimate of myself. He told me some time ago that I was the means of Stoddard’s losing his best friends &c. I should like to have him believe in me a little further.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Abby Woodworth (18?? –1865), Laura Stedman’s younger sister, suffered from poor health for many years before she died in February 1865 at the Stedmans’ home. 2. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. The Stoddards were close friends with Aldrich during the early 1860s, though their relationship had soured by 1865. 3. Caliban is the slave of Prospero in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. He tries to rape Prospero’s daughter, Miranda. 4. A leviathan is a large sea monster; the word is also used to indicate something unusually large of its kind. 5. As Stoddard implies here, one of the most heated conflicts between her and Taylor focused on their novels, particularly The Morgesons and Taylor’s Hannah Thurston (1864). See Taylor to Stoddard, November 21, 1862, for Taylor’s critique of The Morgesons (Wermuth, ed., Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor). In August 1864, Graham wrote Stoddard about his upcoming lunch with Richard and Taylor: “We will then discuss the living Novelists and the young Poets, The Morgesons

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will scratch Hannah Thurstons eyes out, and the embryo novels—unfinished & unnamed will probably have black eyes.” (August 2, 1864, Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard Papers, New York Public Library). 6. A reference to a folk song called “The Old Gray Mare,” which is ostensibly about horses, but can also be interpreted as a reference to an aging and therefore cantankerous woman. 7. Stoddard’s suspicions appear to be correct. In May 1865, Taylor wrote the following to George W. Curtis (1824–1892), an American poet, journalist, and editor: “I think (entre nous) that his [Richard Stoddard’s] wife’s influence is not fortunate. She is very clever, and has fine qualities, but there is a disagreeable morbid streak running through her, and she is absurdly proud and suspicious. She has managed to estrange many of his former friends, and I am anxious that he should not lose any more” (May 20, 1865, Wermuth, ed., Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor). 8. According to classical histories, in 102 b.c., three hundred Teutonic women killed their children and then committed mass suicide rather than be handed over to the Romans. 9. Fitz Hugh Ludlow. See Letter 21, note 3. Fitz Hugh and Rosalie Ludlow separated in the spring of 1864 and divorced in May 1866. Fitz Hugh’s drinking and drug addictions grew progressively worse over the course of their separation. In November 1866, Rosalie married Albert Bierstadt (see Letter 25, note 10).

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Letter 37  To Wilson Barstow Jr. June 21, 1865 [Mattapoisett, Massachusetts]

Jail. Wednesday 21 June 65 Dear Wilson. The only noise I have noticed here is the buzzing of the flies in the pane—and a slight noise from the harbor. The stillness of the grave prevails in and out of doors most of the time. The air is sweet however with new hay—think ye of clover blossoms in unholy Bleecker street!1 It is cool and comfortable and I should find all things delightful if there was companionship. Father was at the depot and very glad to see me. I have had the pleasure of seeing him at the table once since I arrived. He is taking the census. Pauline 2 is in a flurry and I don’t know how the matter will end—she has annoyed me with her great foolishness about Eliza B.3 I think you had better try Middleborough way.4 I had to wait two hours at the Fairhaven depot.5 I unlocked my trunk, got out my thick shawl wrapped myself up and laid down on the duty sofa where I took several unhappy cat naps and so the time passed. What a terrible good time I had in New York barring my sickness. At heart I believe I am a Literary Bohemian and the city suits me—but I like to be a Bohemian in good society. Nice things suit me—the best, dont they you? Everything that is beautiful, graceful, full of luxury? Oh yes. Of course you are stifled and tired this morning. The whiskey that you drink gives you a whir in your nerves, your cigar gets very wet at the end, and you lay it down—your wristbands are hot and rough—it is all vanity and yet the evening of the second day will be like that of the first—and life goes on with the measure that we choose to tread—though we know that its notes are bogus. Well good bye. I wish I was a sitting in the gutter in Bleecker St, or 116

at an apple stand, or where Mrs Sedley Brown6 is, but no [illegible] if you please, or at the Custom House with my old lover Stoddard the true one—if ever you stop at [Modena?] you will see it—or at anywhere—except in the country alone. I can hardly wait for you to see our Lorry. His eyes are all right. He is dreadfully passionate throws things about with the temper of a giant—I know he’ll govern me—but there is something about him winning and sweet. He smiled so when he saw me yesterday and stretched out his arms to me—and appeared to be agitated all day by my coming, crying after me, and begging me to hold him to show him pictures. He laughed very much over the dancing men you sent him but he likes books the most. I have no news to write—haven’t seen Freeman Clark7 yet—but Frank Barlow 8 has passed. Yours ever EDBS

Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

“Old Barstow House” with Wilson Barstow Sr. standing in front. From Mattapoisett and Old Rochester, Massachusetts (New York: The Grafton Press, 1907).

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Notes 1. Bleecker Street in Manhattan connects Abingdon Square with the Bowery and was the center of nineteenth-century American bohemianism. 2. Pauline was a servant shared between the Taylors and the Stoddards. She accompanied Stoddard to Mattapoisett in the summer of 1865. 3. Possibly Eliza Barstow, one of Stoddard’s Mattapoisett relatives, or an African American ex-slave named Eliza. See Letter 34, note 3. 4. Middleborough, Massachusetts, served as a major railroad hub for southeastern Massachusetts in the mid-nineteenth century. 5. Fairhaven, Massachusetts. 6. Mary Sedley Brown (c. 1830–1917), American actress, who made her debut in New York in 1861. She performed primarily in burlesques and musicals in the Bowery district. 7. See Letter 34, note 9. 8. Edward Franklin Barlow (1842–1864), soldier from Mattapoisett in the 18th Massachusetts Infantry who was taken prisoner on May 4, 1864, during the Battle of the Wilderness and died of scurvy at Andersonville, a Confederate military prison in Georgia, on September 3, 1864. His father, Franklin Barlow (1819–1875), was a near contemporary of Stoddard’s.

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Letter 38  To Richard Henry Stoddard June 23, 1865 [Mattapoisett, Massachusetts]

June 23rd—65 Dearest Yours of yesterday arrived just before supper, by a new mail arrangement from Boston, so that if your letters now escape the morning’s mail I may still hope to get them at night of the day after you send them. Did you, as I did forget that last Monday was Willy’s 10th birthday? What an infirm thing the soul is. I know that somewhere in my being that child’s being is intense—that I love him, mourn for him, shall never get over the loss of him, and yet I forget the day of his birth. I went today into the old wood where1 and I used to go so often, and sat down a moment on the rock where I used to sit while he played round me, and asked him to forgive me. Oh he would soon learn if he should come back how I have missed him and how I love him. Would to God that absent as he is, I could see him as plainly as I see Lorry. I took Lorry with me and softly said to him—“You are his little brother.” You cannot imagine how charming and happy Lorry has been this afternoon. I wish you could see him with his straw hat trimmed with buttercups and clover blossoms, and with a trident of grass in his hand. I have strained my eyes watching his beauty. His face grows sensitive and delicate all the time. You poorest dear how you seem to feel the heat. I wish constantly for you—it is pleasant now—haying is all over the land and the air is filled with sweet scents. I observed today that hay, haymaking, hay makers, hay carts, hay cocks &c make the roughest and rudest country picturesque. You will be glad to hear that I feel more contented than before I went on—reason unknown. Sat am It does take long for us to exchange communications. You should have had my Thursday’s letter before answering in your Friday’s. I 119

used to get Father’s in 10th2 early next morning. I shall write every day if you desire it—I am sure it is as much of a solace to me as to you. Lorry is as well as well can be. Oh how I long for you to be here. Cant you come? Storm the powers that be for a leave. Josie3 has gone to Newport did you not hear her talk about going to the Bradfords4 there? I am mad with Mrs Martin5—she has made a fuss about a small matter and embroiled me with Gifford6 perhaps. Gifford lied either by mistake or on purpose—I cant think the latter. I have written him a note which I told her to give him. I happened to be able to recall just what we did say when I saw him. The idea of her writing me that she should like to have me “exonerated”—I should have taken her between my teeth and shaken her breath out if I had been with her. She is more foolish than I supposed, but I like her—only [blast?] them all.7 It is very warm for here. Will you stop at Miss Knox’s8 & ask her why she don’t send that dress to you—it must not be hustled about her rooms— Yours with deep love my old deary— EDBS Manuscript: Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Stoddard appears to have left out the word “he” here. 2. Miss Swift’s boardinghouse on Tenth Street in New York City. 3. Josephine Graham. See biographical note. 4. Possibly Seth Bradford (??–??), who built several homes in Newport, Rhode Island. 5. Elizabeth Gilbert Martin (1837–??), wife of the artist Homer Dodge Martin (1836–1897). The exact nature of the quarrel between Stoddard and Martin is unclear. 6. Sanford Robinson Gifford. See Letter 30, note 26. 7. Stoddard apparently sent an accusatory letter to Elizabeth Martin, who responded on June 26, 1865: “I think your anger just & natural. My blunder was an egregious one into which nothing but my habitual respect for Mr. Gifford could have forced me. . . . Nevertheless, I remain unalterably your friend, though in compliance with your wish, I remain as far from you as you please” (Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard Papers, New York Public Library). 8. Stoddard’s dressmaker in New York City.

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Letter 39  To William Dean Howells [Late November/Early December 1865] [New York City, New York]

“ T WO M E N.” A Novel. BY ELIZABETH STODDARD. S E C O N D E D I T I O N. “WHEN YOU HAVE READ IT YOU FEEL AS IF YOU HAD BEEN AT THE PLAY, AND THOUGH YOU ARE EVER SO DULL A MAN, YOU ARE CONSCIOUS THAT HIDDEN SPRINGS OF EPIGRAM HAVE BEEN TOUCHED IN YOUR NATURE, AND THAT IT IS IN YOU FOR THE MOMENT TO TALK BRILLIANTLY. * * * “IN PLOT, IN CHARACTER AND TREATMENT, ‘TWO MEN’ IS ONE OF THE MOST ORIGINAL BOOKS WRITTEN BY AN AMERICAN WOMAN; IT IS ORIGINAL IN ITS GOODNESS AND IN ITS BADNESS.” —The Nation. One volume 12me, cloth. Price $1.50. Mailed free of postage on receipt of price.

———

BUNCE & HUNTINGTON, Publishers No. 459 Broome Street, New York1 My Dear Mr Howells— Did you ever see yourself in big letters before? I shall be the cause of celebrity in my friends, and I expect gratitude, for a week at least. Have you seen the Tribune’s review? 2 It scared me, but it is dreadful just—the truest review yet I guess. I write things as I see and feel them, and the things are like surgical specimens preserved in bottles! Isn’t that good? You must read it & tell me what you think out. The writer has found out my mind there is no doubt of that. I must inform you that both Stoddard & myself were ill all through yesterday from the effects of the tin revel, and that I have once or twice thought of your goodness, and the mysterious celerity with which you cut up that quail. Stoddard is opposite me writing up Round Table3 work, 121

while I, making myself useful as Dora did when she held the pens for Copperfield4 indite this epistle to you— Drop in when i th’ vein (Aldrich)5 and believe me Yours truly EDBStoddard PS—I have had my second application for an autograph. Come before I get prouder.

Manuscript: Howells Family Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. Stoddard clipped this advertisement and pasted it at the top of her letter to Howells. The advertisement makes use of Howells’s review of Two Men, published in the Nation on October 26, 1865, soon after the novel’s publication. 2. The New York Tribune review of Two Men was written by George Ripley (see Letter 3, note 6) and was published on November 16, 1865. Ripley commended Stoddard’s originality, as well as her fidelity to “reality” rather than “the representation of ideal beauty.” He continues, “Her aim has been to clothe her conceptions in the form and coloring of truth, to depict with fidelity the images of her mind, to reproduce the scenes, or rather the forms of passion, that her fancy has created, instead of beguiling the soul of the reader by suggestions of enchanting excellence or seductive grace.” 3. Henry E. Sweetser (1837?–1870) and Charles H. Sweetser (1841–1871) founded the Round Table in December 1863 and hired Richard as a subeditor and frequent contributor. The Round Table published a less than favorable review of Two Men, written by Charles Sweetser, on November 11, 1865. Because Stoddard discusses the Tribune review of Two Men in this letter, which appeared after the Round Table review, it seems clear that she was either unaffected by or simply chose to ignore the critical review from the magazine her husband helped run. 4. Here Stoddard compares herself to Dora Spenlow in Charles Dickens’s David Copperfield (1850), who asks David if she can hold his pens so that she can sit with him while he writes. Stoddard seems to be making a joke here, as she refers elsewhere in the letter to her own success as a writer; perhaps her lack of activity is the result of the continued effects of the “tin revel” with Howells. 5. Possibly a reference to a poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

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Letter to William Dean Howells, late November/early December 1865. ms am 1784 (460), Houghton Library, Harvard University.

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Letter 40  To Louise Chandler Moulton December 16, [1865] New York City, New York

Dec 16th 19 East 4th St. My Dear Mrs Moulton I expected to hear from you before this concerning “Two Men.” It may be all you think it is, but the “particulars not in the book” are not yet discovered. I am surprised at the profound impression the book makes—it cannot be resisted even by those who condemn. I failed in my conception of an important character, Philippa,1 and was in consequence somewhat disheartened while I was writing and lost faith in myself. The round devil in the book is Sarah,2 she impressed me so much that I believe she is round the corner under her gravestone. Why is Boston a cussing me? Did you see a notice in the Daily Advertiser3—I will give Mr Moulton4 something if he will learn who wrote it. Did you see any just review of me out of New York? I haven’t— I am inclined to visit you wish I could this winter, if I had any new clothes I might indulge in a hope of coming. At present I am distressed with our high rent and [illegible]. We have sherry, champagne & claret for dinner one day and hashed mutton the next. We live in the 3d story of this house—[keep?] house. My hall is furnished with a trunk and an ice box—there is a cook stove in my chamber but there is wit in the parlor where we eat, write, read &c. Have you seen the splendid three books out this week by Stoddard—His illustrated King’s Bell, Melodies & Madrigals, and the Late Poets?5 His hair is all grey with work. My boy is awful smart and handsome. Kiss little Flory 6 for me and tell her I am sorry she is ill—regards to Mr Moulton. Write me again Oh woman of the handsome handwriting. Yours ever EDBS Stoddard who sits at the same table with his knees in his face & his face on his paper sends his remembrances— 124

Manuscript: Louise Chandler Moulton Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. Philippa Luce is the central female character in Two Men. 2. Sarah Parke Auster, the matriarch of the primary family in Two Men. 3. The review in the Boston Daily Advertiser appeared on October 26, 1865, and insisted that Stoddard “has fairly enrolled herself in the ranks of the authors who worship at the shrine of the paradoxical.” It went on, “‘Two Men,’ as a novel, has unity in one respect,—in that it is difficult of comprehension from its title to its two hundred and ninety-first page.” The reviewer believed that Stoddard’s characters were unrealistic and their dialogue incoherent. 4. William Upham Moulton (1825–1898), husband of Louise Chandler Moulton and editor and publisher of the Boston True Flag. 5. The King’s Bell, originally published in 1863 by Rudd and Carleton, was reissued as a standalone volume by Bunce and Huntington in 1866. Richard also edited two volumes, The Late English Poets (1865) and Melodies and Madrigals, Mostly from the Old English Poets (1866), both of which were also published with Bunce and Huntington. 6. Florence Moulton (1859–??), Moulton’s daughter.

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Letter 41  To William Dean Howells August 31, [1866] [Mattapoisett, Massachusetts]

Aug 31st Dear Mr Howells. The harvest is ended, the summer is past, and you are not saved. I am however much obliged to you for your note. I am satisfied to believe that I deserved it. It is a shameful thing, wasted feeling. I was rather enthusiastic towards you, and wholly sincere. Now let us sit upon the ground and tell good stories of the fame of writers. My good opinion of you is sustained then, by your critics! I know no writer standing a better chance than yourself. Your qualities of a hard intellect, hard character, and a certain patient tact ought to butt down the American Public, and they will. By the way I met Mr Godkin1 after you left town. I found him a contracted prig in an irreproachable coat. He spoke well of you, but to my amusement and surprise, he patronized your mind. I gave Stoddard, who was then struggling on the Nation, a summary of his character, and afterwards, my noble hearted husband who minds his ps and qus more than he does men, agreed with me. Would that I could crack the joints of Godkin’s intellectual frame, and let in new light through chinks which I might make. I am writing a novel & shall call it Temple House. Concerning it, I pass from the height of a sublime admiration, to the depths of a profound disgust. Sunday I could have sworn it was trash, Monday it seemed to me that no human being had so revealed the subtle mysteries of soul and sense. Do you not think there must be a good deal that is trivial in a novel? Poetry does not own that necessity. If I could push the course of my lives in a hundred pages, I could make them cut like a scythe, but a novel must not consist of a hundred pages. I have been much hindered in my avocation, by company, housekeeping and the care of my remarkably vivacious child, who says “I wont” with the force of a tidal wave. I have a delightful situation 126

here, I have come no nearer contentment for years than I have under this sky and before this sea. Give my remembrance to your wife and pull Winnie’s2 yellow hair for me, and knit your own eyebrows over a pair of eyes, which Mrs Howells3 comprehends—Yours EDBS.

Manuscript: Howells Family Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. Edward Lawrence (E. L.) Godkin (1831–1902), the Nation’s founder and editor. Richard wrote for the Nation from July 1865 to May 1866 when the Stoddards had a falling out with Godkin. 2. Winifred Howells (1863–1889), Howells’s daughter 3. Elinor Mead Howells (1837–1910).

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Letter 42  To Jervis and Gertrude McEntee October 14, [1867] New York City, New York

NY Oct 14th 75 East 10th St Dear Jervis and Gertrude, Thanks be to the energy, courage, and enterprize of Mrs. Vaux! 1 This summer I resolved to remain passive in order to test my friends—the consequence was I heard from nobody! I shall for the future blow that conch shell instead of playing the role of a hermit crab. I have had an absorbing summer from the fact that my family have had severe sicknesses, beginning about the 10th of July and getting well about the last of September. We are recovered now and established at Miss Swift’s—quite a colony. The Stedmans, Wilson, & Altol2 have rooms in the new house, and we have those we occupied in the spring. I have announced that I intend to be jolly, but it is a lie. The announcement was based on a vision. Our pauperism has assumed a more elegant aspect from the fact of one room being papered and painted at the expense of the landlord. I am having a bureau and sofa built by a man who said he would wait a good while for his pay. You needn’t mention this brother and sister in arms, but this is the abominable truth. I am glad Gertrude has got something to “turn.” Will she pack her duds in the dyspepsia you mention? My friends let us be merry. So long as death does not cross our threshold let us seize and hold which is best in ourselves and each other. We are most fortunate in many respects—we, (apples) stand on the top round of the social ladder; in Art, poetry, NOVELS who beats us? None, and nary I reply. The heels of what jackass can 128

kick us? Nein and nix I answer. For my personal part I am in a state of exaltation. I have made a hundred dollars by two weeks hard work. I have sold to Harpers the following works. “Lucy Tavish’s Journey”3 “Unexpected Blows”4 “Unreturning”5 The latter is a poem which I am sure you will like, because I do. I love Nature Jervis, and you painters have helped me to understand her, and paint her in my fashion. We are reading the proof of my book “Temple House” which will be published next month. I trust you will approve of it. I did my damndest on it, and if it isn’t good I shall weave myself into a web and be heard no more. I have dedicated it to the patriarch Gifford,6 and the dedication is about as good as the book—you don’t perceive any conceit in me do you? The minute you get down Dick is going to bring his friend Osgood,7 of the firm Ticknor & Fields to you, he wants a picture of you. We do not know where the Taylors are & have not heard from them or the Grahams for a long time. Stod and Wilson left just as your letter came, they are glad to hear you want to come back to our welcoming arms. Wilson had a severe illness—he after being sick abed ten days here, went to Mrs. Tyler’s,8 was taken again and had to stay abed there ten days, then he rose up & came down to Mattapoisett. Tell Gertrude that Mrs. Tyler has got her case and that I mis-apprehended it—the contest was not for the whole estate , but for the personal property which the mother gave Mrs. Tyler, the rest is to be divided among the heirs.9 That business is an ugly cloud to me, whether it will blow over I can’t say. Darn old women I say, and widders. I have another disappointment about that lovely old place in Matta it is to be sold in a week, and a price is asked for it which we can’t pay. Where it stands today, just as I left it, full of my loved household treasures, but as I said there is a new bureau & sofa coming. I hope you will behave about coming to see us this winter. I am going to be agreeable. Ever yours, EDBS 129

Manuscript: Jervis McEntee Papers, Smithsonian Archives of American Art

Notes 1. McEntee’s sister, Mary Swan McEntee Vaux. See Letter 32, note 28. 2. Altol Barstow (1835–1869), Stoddard’s youngest brother. 3. The short story “Lucy Tavish’s Journey” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in October 1867. 4. The short story “Unexpected Blows” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in December 1867. 5. “Unreturning,” a poem about Willy Stoddard, was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in January 1868. 6. Sanford Robinson Gifford. See Letter 30, note 26. Stoddard’s dedication in Temple House does not mention Gifford by name, but only the initials “SRG, Artist,” which in later editions became only “artist.” The dedication consists of a sonnet by Stoddard about the power of landscape painting. 7. James R. Osgood. See Letter 32, note 9. 8. Julia Gardiner Tyler (1820–1889), widow of President John Tyler (1790–1862). Wilson Barstow befriended Mrs. Tyler during the Civil War. 9. In 1867 there was a well-publicized court case involving the will of Julia Tyler’s mother, Juliana McLachlan Gardiner (1799–1864). Julia Tyler’s brother, David Gardiner (1816–1892), claimed that she defrauded their mother into signing a will.

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Letter 43  To Caroline Healey Dall December 27, 1867 New York City, New York

75 East 10th St NY. Dec 27. 67 Dear Mrs Dall, Your letter saddens me, because like some other readers, you are led to my personality.1 This I think wrong for a critical starting point. Instead of feeling about the mind to learn what I am not, why not be contended with what I am, so far as my poor power goes? The literary history of Byron2 and Voltaire,3 the most memorable See-Saws of the critics, that I can now recall, should be remembered. When I said, I thought you might aid and explain me I meant in no possible literary sense—my path is one I have dug, and must continue to dig by my own small lantern & pick ax.4 Trust me, Nature is all right, my men and women live, suffer and enjoy— Does not Roxalana5 love tulips. Does not the passion worn Sebastian love Georgey.6 I’ll tell you what my aim was in Temple House especially. To make human life respected however mean, isolated, restricted its conditions. I can point to you more than one family in our New England whose life resembles that of the Gates family. It is these family histories that are handed down—impressing following generations, while everybody else has died well and smoothly and are forgot. For Gods’ sake Mrs Dall, keep out of the rank and file of my musquitos. Thanks for your good pleasant letter. It is agreeable to me after all. I will send you my book by mail the first of the week. I will also read what you wrote7—you may even be-sphinx me 8 & then we shall be square. Mr Stoddard would send his regards to Miss Dall 9 & yourself if he were here. I hope she is better. Mrs Martin10 writes me that Temple House crushed her—if so, it 131

is because she, like Sampson,11 is blind. You see I am disposed to defend myself— Ever yours EDBStoddard

Manuscript: Caroline Wells Healey Dall Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society

Notes 1. Dall was reading Stoddard’s third novel, Temple House, which was published in October 1867. 2. George Gordon Byron. 3. François-Marie Arouet (1694–1778), French historian and philosopher who wrote under the pen name “Voltaire.” 4. In a letter written to Dall on December 24, 1867, Stoddard offered to send her a copy of Temple House and added, “I am convinced that I am on the track of some underlying element (emotional) in men and women which has not been expressed by those who have described men & women in novels. It seems to me such minds as yours should aid and explain such minds as mine” (Caroline Wells Healey Dall Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society). 5. Roxalana Gates is the primary matriarch in Temple House. 6. Sebastian Ford is an outsider figure who joins the Gates family at Temple House and becomes enamored with the infant Georgey. 7. Probably Caroline Dall’s most recent publication, The College, the Market, and the Court; or, Woman’s Relation to Education, Labor, and Law (1867). 8. Possibly a reference to Dall’s forthcoming Egypt’s Place in History (1868). Dall sent a copy of the book to Stoddard in the summer of 1868. 9. Probably Dall’s daughter, Sarah Keen Dall (1849–1926). 10. Probably Elizabeth Gilbert Davis Martin, wife of the artist Homer Dodge Martin. See Letter 38, note 5. 11. According to the Bible, Judges 16, Sampson is blinded after he is captured by the Philistines and they gouge out his eyes.

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Letter 44  To Caroline Healey Dall February 11, 1868 New York City, New York

75 East 10th St Feb. 11, 1868 Dear Mrs Dall. I was this very hour about to write you that I had received your book,1 and your letter has just come to disturb the peaceful monotony of my intended thanks. I have had no time to read your book so far. Mr Stedman looked into it, and from what he says of your chapter on Prostitution I think I should, if I could be made animate, contend with you.2 Prostitution of all kinds—namely excess is inherent to the race—just as much in the civilized being as in the savage. It is narrow nonsense to make systems that do not contain this fact. I shall read your book and admire it, because I have found something admirable in you. As for Temple House—I wish you would drop the Chinese Classics and take a dip into those commonly known as Grecian,3 and you might recall some bald truths which would be of service to me in the way of your opinion. I venture to say this since you credit me with artistic power. Otherwise I should not speak of the mighty isolation of human beings who are a law to themselves. As for fear in speaking freely—I like to hear you—only you have followed the exact track of Ripley in the Tribune4 who is possessed to analyse my mind instead of my books. I hoped that you would see the truth of my books, but you dont. How can you though. You never will. I am accustomed to disappointment however. The compensations I have do not always atone for these disappointments. The most beautiful and carefully nutured woman I know, came to me a few days after Temple House was published and told me with tears and kisses, that no book ever came so near her as that book, that Virginia, so beautiful, so real, so 133

faithful was most dear to her. But her feelings did not quite pay off The Nation’s score.5 And after her, one of our best critics, a man of genius came to me and said—I know those people, I have lived on the New England coast. My father was a sailor. There is nothing more powerful in literature than some of the chapters in Temple House—But this does not quite pay off your incredible question—Are there really women like Virginia & Tempe? 6— I see there is danger of my growing an egotist—I am bound to defend the structure of my novel and to assert the truth of my experiences. Or, shall I let myself go out like a farthing rush-light stuck in a broken bottle?7 You say as much with your Rembrandt story— Do you not know that the subject of that picture is continually repeated in Art— Life has other ends than love and happiness—Have you to learn that? My theory is to know all that is dark, doubtful, mysterious—and then like the family in Temple House let us sustain each other, live for each other, and die together. Oh, Oh I am glad I do not see you—for you have hurt me, not [your?] criticism that is good and fair, but because you cannot feel my life. Let it all go— EDBS

Manuscript: Caroline Wells Healey Dall Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society

Notes 1. The College, the Market, and the Court: Or, Woman’s Relation to Education, Labor, and Law (1867). 2. Although we do not know what Stedman conveyed to Stoddard, Dall argued that prostitution was a result of the wage labor system, insisting that women entered prostitution because the market devalued their other forms of paid work. Here, Stoddard seems to argue that regardless of the economic system, prostitution will always exist. 3. Chapter 26 of Temple House opens with a comparison between the incomprehensibility of modern life with the “unity” of Greek tragedy: “Jove does not thunder at the right moment; the chorus have fallen asleep; the toga has not come home

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from the tailor’s; the train was delayed at Pottsville. . . . In our time the tragedy is as mournful, but different; it is dull, complex, prolonged; it is environed by moral necessities, and the analysis of opinion; it is apt to exist without beauty or dignity, but it still exists, because the principle of tragedy is an immortal heritage” (247). 4. George Ripley’s review of Temple House appeared in the January 27, 1868, edition of the Tribune. Ripley said that Stoddard looked for her raw material in “unpromising sources” and insisted, “She is so strong in the possession and exercise of rare faculties, that she has neither sympathy nor pity for those who are frail enough to be repelled by the picture of coarseness and vulgarity. It is enough for her that such beings are born in her fancy, and she delights to bring the resources of art to their delineation.” 5. An unnamed reviewer in the January 23, 1868, edition of the Nation sharply criticized Temple House, writing, “We may as well secure the reader of the story from a possible disappointment by informing him that Temple House is a story that has no end. Properly enough, too, for it has no plot, and should have no catastrophe—no ultimate result to which various actions tend.” 6. Two central characters in Temple House. 7. A rushlight is an inexpensive candle made from the rush plant in which the wick is soaked in fuel. In one of Aesop’s fables, a farthing rushlight boasts that its light shines brighter than the sun, moon, and stars, but it is humbled after its flame is extinguished by a light breeze.

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Letter 45  To Helen Hunt (Jackson) April 7, 1870 [New York City, New York]

April 7, 1870 Dear Mrs Hunt. I had seen the report, but it did not fasten either eye or thought, for I am not such stuff as dreams are made of.1 I read Weiss2 again however to please you. There are two points I much hang on, or pivot rather, and on the two I’ll have to swing like a poor old imprisoned parrot. The spring of my life has twice been broken and I am 46 years old! My physical powers are turned into one engine of suffering, and my mental powers are a medium for darkness and unbelief—these are my pivots. I swing from one to the other so beautifully and so evenly, the transition is so easy, that I hardly know which is which— It would give me pleasure to have you read my poems—Did you see my last blank verses in Putnams—Memory is Immortal?—or farther back the Sea Side Idyl, and older yet in Harper’s Unreturning.3 I am sure Miss Eliza Barstow 4 has those with her in Washington. Are you a woman’s righter? I hope not I am still boiling with wrath because Laura Bullard5 has just told me that she went with that Apostolic humbug Theodore Tilton6 to a meeting of the 5th Avenue, to make a “movement” towards joining the two branches of women’s rights.7 Heavens! How humiliating to our sex all this business is! I can do all that is necessary in this world provided I have original power enough, and if I have not of what use is it to attempt to bolster up imbecility? If I had more brains than I have I’d go into a crusade against these egoists, and quell them, but alas, I am not logical. Bethlehem8 looms up in my mind since you spoke of it—“Once on the raging sea I rode” 9—that is, all the time, and I ought to go there. Let me know about it in time. Thanks for your friendly note, I too am glad that we have met. I 136

adore clever women, and should worship them if they were thieves and swindlers. Much more if they are all that the unities require. Yours, EDB Stoddard

Manuscript: Helen Hunt Jackson Papers, Tutt Library Special Collections, Colorado College

Notes 1. Reference to William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Act 4, Scene 1: “We are such stuff / As dreams are made on; and our little life / Is rounded with sleep.” 2. Possibly Reverend John Weiss (1819–1879), noted New England abolitionist and women’s rights activist. Helen Hunt (Jackson) mentions reading an article by Weiss in the newspaper while in Germany in her collection Bits of Travel at Home (1872). 3. “Memory Is Immortal” was published in the December 1869 issue of Putnam’s. “A Seaside Idyl” seems to have been published in two places simultaneously: Putnam’s, as Stoddard reports here, in July 1868, and the Aldine in June 1868. “Unreturning” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in January 1868. 4. See Letter 34, note 3. 5. Laura Curtis Bullard (1831–1912), American writer, editor, and women’s rights activist. When the National Woman Suffrage Association was founded in May 1869, Curtis Bullard and Ida Greeley (1848–1882) became the first corresponding secretaries. In July 1870, Curtis Bullard purchased the weekly women’s rights newspaper, the Revolution, which she edited until October 1871. 6. Theodore Tilton (1835–1907), American editor and poet. From 1863 to 1871, he was editor in chief of the Congregationalist weekly the Independent. He was also an active participant in the women’s rights movement. 7. The Revolution briefly served as the official publication of the Union Women’s Suffrage Association (UWSA), a failed attempt to unite the National Woman Suffrage Association (NWSA) and the American Women Suffrage Association (AWSA). Tilton was president of the UWSA. 8. Bethlehem, New Hampshire. Hunt (Jackson) was planning to vacation in Bethlehem with her friend, Sarah Chauncey Woolsey (1835–1905), a children’s author who wrote under the name Susan Coolidge. 9. From “The Star of Bethlehem,” a poem by Henry Kirk White (1785–1806) that was later turned into a hymn. The poem describes the star of Bethlehem guiding the narrator out of the raging sea and into a safe port. Stoddard is implying that Bethlehem, New Hampshire, would provide a similar refuge for her from her chaotic life.

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Elizabeth Stoddard. From Richard Henry Stoddard, Recollections, Personal and Literary (New York: A. S. Barnes and Company, 1903, Limited Edition).

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Letter 46  To Whitelaw Reid May 9, 1870 Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

Mattapoisett Mass May 9th ’70 Dear Mr Reid I do not know Mrs Runkle’s1 address. Please send the enclosed to her. How sorry I was not to bid you farewell! Your last words to me at the Century2 were— Be a good woman! Oh my friend, what a world of ignorance that speech revealed to me! It is an excellent general text, but I have no time to preach a sermon out. If you live long enough you will give me the affection I ask for, which will be a help to you—for when a man loves a woman in the shady side of life, one who is a woman of sorrows, who is capable of understanding the evil and the good, he can but be sustained by her sympathy and friendship— I wish you could drop in upon us; to my delight, our Stoddard is well and happy his beautiful library here is such a satisfaction. We are not in our own little house but at my father’s, an ancient domicile built by my great Grandfather. We have a wood fire in our little paneled parlor and look out upon the sea from little panes of glass. To me it is the place of graves, for I am the last of my brothers and sisters unburied.3 I mean however to write here. The atmosphere is always a heroic rude tonic to my mind. Here, I am natural, and strong the city makes me weak and whimpering. There I want hot house flowers and flounces. Here I am contented with those feelings which come from quiet contemplation. Understand me more, and believe in Stoddard’s and my friendship for you. If you go to Boston do come here, it’s only two and a half hours 139

[illegible] ride to this station by rail. We have the remains of the General’s4 claret, and the fish are plenty. Ever yours, EDB Stoddard

Manuscript: Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. Probably Lucia Isabella Gilbert Runkle (1844–??), editorial writer and contributor to the New York Tribune. Reid was managing editor of the Tribune under Horace Greeley at the time this letter was written. 2. The Century Association, often referred to as the Century Club, was founded in 1847 by William Cullen Bryant and other New York City men to promote appreciation for the fine arts. Richard Stoddard became a member in 1863, and the club’s first permanent headquarters were built in 1869. Although the Century Club didn’t admit women until 1989, Stoddard seems to have been there and spoken to Reid. Their conversation, and Stoddard’s comments in this letter, may have had some connection to the trial of Daniel McFarland for the murder of Albert Deane Richardson (1833–1869), a friend of Reid’s and a writer and editor for the New York Tribune. McFarland had shot Richardson in the Tribune offices in November 1869 because Richardson was living with his estranged wife, Abby Sage McFarland (1838–1900). The trial began in early April and concluded on May 11, 1870, when the jury found McFarland not guilty. 3. Wilson Barstow Jr. died on March 16, 1869, and Altol Barstow, Stoddard’s last surviving sibling, died on August 19, 1869. 4. Probably Wilson, who was a general when he died. See biographical note.

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Letter 47  To Helen Hunt (Jackson) September 21, 1870 Kennett Square, Pennsylvania

Cedarcroft Kennett Square Penn Sept 21st 70 Dear Impossibility That Is A Female Sonnetteer. That ever you should make a fuss over the Dinks business,1 when you have had a book of mine unread by you for months! I shant forget you, we are something alike, that is, we have as decided opinions, and as forcibly express them. I do not know my match as a contradiction except yourself. I hope you wont keep travelling round in feeble provincial towns, but come to New York, and in forgetting your stomach by your stomach be forgot. It is so funny to see you careful to the uttermost of your health while expressing a readiness to die. You remind me of Mr Bounderby,2 who roared and thundered at everything in creation and all the time cherished and fondled a mite of a Canary bird on the top of his head, or on his fingers.3 Oh dear Pain is dreadful though. I have been so ill with the worst cold I ever had catarrhed and everything else.4 Stoddard has the same thing. We have been in this lovely spot ten days. Here is a country to feed the eye on beauty. Taylor has two hundred and twelve acres round the house5—every point and combination of tree shrub & meadow are perfect. Each room has enormous windows commanding all these views. I wish I could give you the effect of the one view from the window where I write—a [binder?] of noble primitive woods; inside uplands, vales, groups of trees—near me a garden—a picturesque covered stone wall on one side, then a wide smooth mall at the end 141

of which, are two of the largest oldest chestnut trees in Penn. In front of the house is a natural lawn dotted with cedar trees—then a fringe of Virginia pines, oaks, tulip trees &c—a fine terrace with flowers and beautiful shrubs at the bottom of the lawn a still white pool. But here is not the atmosphere, that, I cannot send you—it is quiet, sweet beauty. On this soil grows the Southern vines and plants. Sweet tatoes are digged everyday for us, & havent I revelled in the golden meated peaches, pears, grapes &c? What weds you to Bethlehem,6 because you have abstracted nine pounds from its thin dismal air? Never did I fall upon such an ugly spot. I mean the neighborhood of Barrett’s.7 I did not taste, smell nor see any thing good or beautiful there—there was an entire dearth of all that my sensuous soul loves. Laura Bullard got the horrors as soon as I left and went to Littleton.8 I took a repast at her house by the way the Sunday before we left and met Tilton9 and Reid.10 I believe that she will grow entirely sick of the task she has undertaken.11 We are tolerably literary here—Taylor is writing up his notes to Faust.12 Stoddard has written a fine poem Caesar,13 that is L. Napoleon,14 who has lately been tossed out of his throne. He, Stod, read me this poem last night and I perceived that it was a greater and stronger poem than he has written for a long time. You shall see it. I am trying to pule out a tale for filthy lucre. Trowbridge15 sent back the 3rd Dinks story said it was a delicious picture of mother and child, but he feared the little folks might not understand and like it!16 I would be much pleased to have you by in one of the occasional tussles I have with my friend Bayard. The other day he said it was such a delight to him to read his proof. I replied that he must feel very satisfied with his book, whereupon he told me that I had not the true author’s temperament. Then I said cats foot, that he should not set himself alone and apart from every other writer, because he had certain traits &c and he answered thereto, Oh yes, you are all the time talking about your genius! Oh dear, am I a damned fool after all my pains? Yesterday he told me that he could have told me Temple House could not be popular the characters vexed one so, and one hated them so. Oh dear, again. Taylor by the way says he never saw you.17 Lorimer Lolly is far happier with his playmate Lily18 then he is anywhere else. He lives an idyllic life out of doors, I dread to up root him. He is very sweet, and 142

do you know that he is developing an angelic voice—I hear singing to himself in a tiny seraph style. Mrs Taylor 19 came to me [illegible] to ask me to listen to the child’s heavenly voice. I love that child with a pathetic passion. I am sorry it is going to be so long before we meet. We expect to be in Mattapoisett till 1st Nov—if you are in New York then, we’ll stop and see you between trains if possible. You are foolish to stay in Beth. Remember me to your friends, and to the Barretts.20 I will send off these dollars from NY, we have no spare cash here, also any of our works but you must read Two Men, or I reason no one will. Ever yours EDBStoddard Stoddard has come in and sends his love to you.

Manuscript: Helen Hunt Jackson Papers, Tutt Library Special Collections, Colorado College

Notes 1. Stoddard published “A Six-Year-Old Tale” in Harper’s Bazaar on June 11, 1870. The sketch focuses on a mother’s attempt to tell a story to her rambunctious young son, Lolly Dinks. With minor revisions, it would become the first story in Lolly Dinks’ Doings, a children’s book published in 1874. It is not clear whether Stoddard is referring only to this story or to the larger project. 2. Josiah Bounderby is a character from Charles Dickens’s Hard Times (1854). He is a powerful merchant and mill owner, whom Dickens exposes as a heartless man and a hypocrite. 3. Stoddard seems to be confusing Dickens’s characters. Mr. Boythorn in Dickens’s Bleak House (serialized 1852–1853) keeps a tame canary, which perches on his head. 4. Although Stoddard frequently discusses her poor health, biographers believe she suffered from one of her most serious bouts of illness, which might have been life-threatening, in the summer of 1870. 5. Cedarcroft in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. See Letter 20, note 1. 6. Bethlehem, New Hampshire. Helen Hunt (Jackson) returned from an extended European trip in January 1870. She often spent time in Bethelem during the summer months. 7. James J. Barrett (1823–1885), a prominent insurance broker in the nearby town of Littleton, New Hampshire, developed a significant portion of his estate so that less wealthy residents could build houses there. 8. Littleton, New Hampshire, located near the White Mountains.

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9. Theodore Tilton. See Letter 45, note 6. 10. Whitelaw Reid. See biographical note. 11. See Letter 45, note 5. 12. Taylor’s translation of Faust was published in December 1870. 13. Richard Stoddard’s poem “Caesar” was published in Appleton’s on October 22, 1870. 14. Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte (1808–1873), President of the French Second Republic and ruler of the Second French Empire. In September 1870, Bonaparte was captured at the Battle of Sedan during the Franco-Prussian War, and three days later his kingdom was overthrown in Paris. 15. John Townsend Trowbridge (1827–1916), American author and editor of the children’s magazine Our Young Folks. 16. After publishing “A Six-Year-Old Tale” in Harper’s Bazaar, Stoddard apparently sent at least one Lolly Dinks story to Trowbridge at Our Young Folks. This story was not published, however, until May 1872, when it appeared as “Boy and Bear.” It isn’t clear why she refers to it as the “3rd Dinks story”; perhaps she had submitted a second that was rejected or initially accepted but not published. As in “A Six-Year-Old Tale,” “Boy and Bear” features “Mrs. Dinks” telling her son a story. Trowbridge seems to have objected that the repartee between mother and son was too sophisticated for his young audience. “Boy and Bear” eventually became the second chapter of Lolly Dinks’ Doings. The rest of the Lolly Dinks stories were published in the Aldine after Richard became editor in 1871. 17. In her response to Stoddard, Hunt (Jackson) seems to have been critical of Taylor, insisting on the fact that she had met him twelve years earlier. On September 28, Stoddard wrote again, wondering at “the idea of your carrying a vital prejudice against a man twelve years, gained in one interview! Oh Helena tell me from the depths of your dear reason how much your judgement is to be relied upon? Twelve years ago, last month Taylor’s child was born in Germany, two years before that he was travelling in more distant countries. Why cant you be as free from prejudice and as reasonable as I am?!!” (Helen Hunt Jackson Papers, Colorado College). 18. The Taylors’ daughter, Lillian Bayard Taylor (1858–1940). 19. Probably Bayard Taylor’s mother, Rebecca Way Taylor. 20. Possibly the same family as in note 7 of this letter.

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Letter 48  To Helen Hunt ( Jackson) November 11, [1870] New York City, New York

75 East 10th St New York Nov 11th Dear Mrs Hunt I was torn with remorse at your reminder of my debt. I believe it is the first time I was ever so guilty, but I must have depended on Stoddard’s remembrance of it—and he has nothing to say for himself. We both rushed out within five minutes of the arrival of your letter and traced the wretched Gradot 1 to her secret lair. I hope they will suit you.2 I hate to buy things for anybody. We came here last Saturday from the Bay Shawl state3 and are in agonies of getting to wrongs. We are poorer than goats milk cheese and have got beautiful big rooms. Miss Wager 4 said last night that she knew Mrs Dodge5 got no 3000. Mr Putnam told me he paid female Ames6 5 a page for her serial—what do you think of that—of course Tilton7 did not lie to me about Mrs Ames, nor did Reid.8 You must let the mts tranquilize your contradictory spirit. The Independent is going to give me 15 for a sketch—liberal pay isn’t it? 9 Stoddard sends you his poem of Caesar 10—I vow it is grand, at any rate, for a wonder he made me admire him for once—it is a noble poem. I am going to send with this, the cuffs in another envelope. I got a letter from Mrs Moulton11 the other day, in a ps she asks— “What do you think of Helen Hunt.” What shall I say? With Thackery shall I answer—we dont think.12 But I do—I like your opinionated, obstinate, self—I never called you names, except in fun. Stoddard sends his regards and wishes, since you are to publish a vol. that you had taken that alesandrine13 out of a sonnet of yours, which he read. If you were near him he would help you as he has me. Whether I have any genius or not without him, I do not believe that I 145

ever should have written one correct poem, not in substance I mean, but in form. What ails women? their genius runs away with them—I swear mine does not in prose. If I live—I will write. Of course Taylor’s praise is stuff—and I have told him so and made his leviathan14 blood boil with fury. Now be good and write me. I have seen no one you know yet. Mrs Bullard15 has mis-carried, can you imagine so, with an editor of the Revolution—Tilton is at the Curtis house a great deal.16 She thinks him a noble, generous man—well-a-day. Ever yours EDBS

Manuscript: Helen Hunt Jackson Papers, Tutt Library Special Collections, Colorado College

Notes 1. Unidentified. 2. Stoddard seems to be referring to the “cuffs” that she mentions later in this letter. 3. A bay shawl is a twilled woolen shawl with plaid patterns that was made in Massachusetts in the nineteenth century. 4. Unidentified. 5. Probably Mary Mapes Dodge (1831–1905), American author and editor. At the time of this letter Dodge was working as an associate editor at Hearth and Home, where Stoddard had published four sketches in early 1869. 6. Mary Clemmer Ames (1838–1884), American journalist, poet, and novelist. From January to November 1870 she published a serial novel, A Woman’s Right, in Putnam’s Magazine. The novel was published as Eirene; or, A Woman’s Right by G. P. Putnam & Sons in 1871. Ames also wrote for the New York Independent and the Brooklyn Daily Union, both published by Henry C. Bowen (1813–1896). In 1871 Bowen reportedly paid Ames $5,000, which was the largest salary ever paid to a newspaper woman at that time. 7. Theodore Tilton. See Letter 45, note 6. 8. Whitelaw Reid. See biographical note. 9. There is no evidence outside this letter to indicate that Stoddard wrote for the Independent before 1885. 10. See Letter 47, note 13. 11. Louise Chandler Moulton. See biographical note. 12. Probably a reference to The Newcomes (1855), by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863), in which an artist figure reflects on a letter he has received

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from a young woman: “You see she says she shall always hear of me with pleasure: hopes I’ll come back soon, and bring some good pictures with me, since pictures I will do. She thinks small beer of painters, J. J.— well, we don’t think small beer of ourselves, my noble friend”(222). 13. Probably a reference to “alexandrine,” a line of poetic meter consisting of 12 syllables. 14. Stoddard calls Taylor a “Leviathan” in an earlier letter as well; see Letter 36, note 4. 15. Laura Curtis Bullard. 16. Stoddard alludes here to rumors about an affair between Curtis Bullard and Theodore Tilton. Although the newspapers did not report such gossip until January 1871, their relationship was clearly the object of speculation.

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Letter 49  To Whitelaw Reid March 10, [1871] New York City, New York

Thursday am March 10th Dear Mr Reid What a lovely grist note I have received from the Tribune! “Statement of Account with Mrs. Stoddard.”1 Ha! Let no Demagogue from Tammany or Manhattan,2 e’er approach me more. I am astonished to receive money for that letter. If you want me to sell principle don’t fail to ask. Perdition catch my soul, but I love the venal.3 Our friends are very good to us these times. The other day I gave Conant 4 a story for Harpers, which I rated as one of my fifty dollar stories and they sent me a hundred.5 I madly worship Conant. N. B. The hundred is gone. The [illegible] has not yet taken flight, on account of its Not being Collected! 6 Stoddard is an industrious being, at present is whispering over an article on Leigh Hunt. There seems to be a small God in Israel7 now-a-days. Marble 8 wrote him yesterday there had been no papers like his Homer and The Grail anywhere—and Stoddard was told at the World Office the other day of a thing that never happened before to him—that the day after the Homer was published, there was an actual run for the paper. A little one, it must have been, but an intellectual [stroke?] shows which way the brains blow. 148

From page to page we beg our bread From mag. to mag. we pine, While Reid doth at his banquets sit And drains his cups of wine! Stoddard says your dinner was lovely, one of the best that he had been to for years. At 1/4 past 2 am on that evening or morning, I rose from my bed as Nemesis9 to behold Stoddard vainly endeavoring to decide which was the front of his night shirt, and which was the back. He eyed me with a doubtful fierceness, while trying to get it on, that was most complimentary to the potency of his potations. Of course I would not help him, I wouldn’t help any man under the circumstances. Next Sunday evening Mrs Bullard,10 Runkle,11 Eliza Greatorex12 &c are coming to us to tea—if you will come, I’ll give you something to eat, which you didn’t have last time you were here. Well, I didn’t mean to write you so much, I hope it won’t bore you. You know I like you, and as you do not care a Whit for me, Whitelaw I mean, I suppose I am tiresome, but I am old & soon shall die. Ever yours, EDBS Becky Putnam13 thought a part of my letter was splendid—how she knew it I know not, as I hinted it to no one.

Manuscript: Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. This is the earliest extant letter indicating a professional relationship between Stoddard and the New York Tribune. She seems to have published several items there in addition to the “letter” referred to here. See Stoddard to Whitelaw Reid, undated, and “Monday Eve,” in Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress. Stoddard’s writing for the Tribune, which seems to have been unsigned, remains unidentified. 2. A reference to Tammany Hall; see Letter 25, note 16. At the time of this letter, Reid and the New York Tribune, for which he served as managing editor, were aligned with the “Liberal Republicans.”

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3. An innovation on a line from Shakespeare’s Othello, Act 3, Scene 3: “Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee!” 4. Samuel Stillman Conant (1831–1885?), managing editor of Harper’s Weekly from 1869 to 1885. 5. Stoddard is probably referring to “A Dead-Lock and Its Key,” published in Harper’s Weekly on November 4, 1871. 6. Possibly a reference to “Collected by a Valetudinarian,” published in the December 1870 issue of Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. 7. A reference to 2 Kings 1:3: “Is it not because there is not a God in Israel, that ye go to inquire of Baalzebub the god of Ekron?” 8. Manton Marble, editor of the New York World. See biographical note. 9. According to Greek mythology, Nemesis was the spirit of retributive justice. 10. Laura Curtis Bullard. 11. Probably Lucia Gilbert Calhoun Runkle. See Letter 46, note 1. 12. Eliza Greatorex (1819–1897), American landscape artist. 13. Rebecca Kettell Shepard Putnam (1844–1895), wife of George Haven Putnam (1844–1930), son of George Palmer Putnam.

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Letter 50  To Whitelaw Reid June 7, 1871 New York City, New York

June 7th Dear Mr Reid I choose to trust you here, have asked you not to read the first irrelevant page of L’s note.1 It will prove no betrayal for our friend will tell the same to all her friends if not just now, with any opportunity. I wish that she could be propped up enough to have more selfsustaining power, that she might leave M,2 and have a prospect of earning money enough to live on. Her life is insufferable, it is one eternal nag on all and every possible ground of fault-finding. When I was in Boston, left alone a moment I pitched into him, in one instant he was whimpering, and if we had not been interrupted, I should have had him turned inside out. Afterwards, I wrote him a letter, sent it to her. Do you know that she declined to give it to him—she was afraid. He might think that she had been talking against him &c. This letter is the second he has found this winter. She is too careless. I have had her letter by me for some days—from the first I wished to send it to you. The burden of what may be called the dramatic part of my life, I feel so deeply and wearingly sometimes that I am inclined to drop off fragments of it upon somebody else, especially upon someone, who does not know me—who regards me as the common-place and retired middle-aged woman—in short a stranger like yourself. Do tell whether all men and women live as I do. Do they drift or dash in a hidden current where all that is strong and strange sweet and secret may be revealed. So many men and women come to me with their lives and honor in open hands to show me. Once they fasten upon me they will not let me go. The strangest results come about. Will you take my life for a serial? I should prove the most impossible of all my characters. If you choose read my letter to her, drop it in the post, and 151

return hers to me again. You will understand it all. Perhaps you can help her in some way. Mind, I consider that I have right to send these writings and should tell L so—only I shall not at present, you are to consider it confidential. Your far off, Elizabeth Stoddard

Manuscript: Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. The note referred to here was written by Louise Chandler Moulton (see biographical note) and is no longer extant. As she reveals later in this letter, Stoddard also appears to have sent Reid her reply to Moulton, which she wished him to mail for her after reading. Reid was Moulton’s editor at the New York Tribune, for which she wrote from 1870 to 1876. 2. Moulton’s husband, William U. Moulton. See Letter 40, note 4.

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Letter 51  To Whitelaw Reid July 21, [1871] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

July 21st Mattapoisset Dear Mr Reid Mrs Taylor 1 and I are hugely pleased with the idomatic article concerning Free Love.2 Excellent expressions in it—“if the race were like cherubs”3 &c “translating these words out of ecstasy into English”4 &c. I wish I had will enough to go into a contest properly— able to do justice to my own mind & to the subject but I am not. Mr Tilton5 asked me what I thought of the question, and I answered— “let us speak plainly. One fact is meant—what are you men to do, if you decide that a woman may preserve what you call her individual rights of course, you go to the wall.”(Exit Tilton, ideally speaking.) Mrs Davis is not so ignorant as your article premises, for years she has been a woman of society and her chances for observation have been good.6 The root of the matter with her as with Mrs Stanton7 & others, who are past the pleasure and sentimental period of life, is intellectual vanity. Am I not right—I too am an Arcadian, and I know. Since I have become a writer, and have attempted to dip into the emotional past of human-nature, many women seek me for advice and sympathy. I must say, that men are terribly in fault. They think the woman whose expenses they pay, belongs to them body and bones. Moulton8 for instance is a brute. He says now that his wife has had an illicit connection with you for the purpose of getting into the Tribune! 9 In view of all these facts, let us, as Pecksniff says, be mindful of our moral sponsibilities—and be just to both miserable sexes.10 You see that I like to write you, although, you are not good to me nor ever have been. I sympathize with your energy and your straightforwardness and offer you my respects, in time you will come to understand, and like the old lady Stoddard after you have had a 153

pounding sorrow. Your heart has never, never been reached. I would that I could speak as well of Haye’s11 poem. The Advance Guard12—it is a remarkable bathetic thing. By the smiles of women and God.13 Oh! And an eye like a Boston girls’14 Oh. Mrs Bullard15 wrote me a few days ago that she sometimes heard from you. She esteems you highly. I wish we could influence her to withdraw from the beastly, foolish conceited ignorant hand of women who are a disgrace to every sweet domestic title which belongs to one holiest word—Family.16 Ever your friend, Elizabeth Stoddard

Manuscript: Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress

Notes 1. Marie Taylor. 2. The article to which Stoddard refers is “Concerning Free Love,” which was published in the July 20, 1871, issue of the New York Tribune. This piece was a response to a letter from the women’s rights advocate Paulina Wright Davis (1813–1876), published in the same issue (“Free Love Once More: A Last Word from Mrs. Paulina Wright Davis”). 3. After calling the doctrine of free love “beastly,” the author of “Concerning Free Love” writes, “The good ladies who profess it may sit in their balloons, far above the things of earth, tossing up their half-dozen meaningless phrases like the gilt balls of a juggler, and laying down an unsubstantial law for men and women, which might suit very well if the race were like cherubs, with nothing but heads and wings.” 4. The author of the Tribune article quotes from Davis’s letter and then concludes, “Translating these words out of ecstacy into English, they mean that no marriage which can be violated is a marriage—that if people can exercise their free will they are not lovers, and must not marry—that if love is not free, it is not love.” 5. Theodore Tilton. Although it would not become public knowledge until 1872, sometime in mid-1870 Tilton’s wife Elizabeth Tilton (1834–1897) had revealed to him that she was having an affair with prominent Congregationalist minister

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Henry Ward Beecher. Tilton himself was rumored to be romantically involved with both Laura Curtis Bullard and the notorious free-love advocate Victoria Woodhull (1838–1927). See Letter 48, note 14. 6. In “Concerning Free Love,” the Tribune attempts to excuse Davis’s definition and defense of the doctrine, claiming that she and other “virtuous” women “do not know what they are doing nor whither they are drifting.” The author calls free love “the bare and revolting bestiality . . . which these good and pure women—misled and deceived by years of silly playing with phrases (and by one or two able and insidious leaders of their own sex whose purposes Mrs. Davis no more comprehends than she does the real meaning of their catch-words)—are now daily preaching to the world.” Davis responds to such patronizing language by insisting “I could be flattered by so much appreciation if it did not imply that I am better than my sisters, and that through my sheltered, shielded life, I am ignorant of what the world is, and of what it needs” (“Free Love Once More”). 7. Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815–1902), abolitionist and prominent leader in the women’s rights movement. 8. William U. Moulton. See Letter 40, note 4. 9. Louise Chandler Moulton became a regular correspondent for the New York Tribune in 1870. See biographical note. 10. Pecksniff is a character from Charles Dickens’s Martin Chuzzlewit who is known for his hypocrisy; in chapter two of the novel, he insists that he and his family “(however humble their sphere and limited their capacity) are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities.” 11. John Milton Hay (1838–1905), private secretary to Abraham Lincoln throughout the Civil War and editor of the New York Tribune under Reid from 1870 to 1876. 12. Hay’s “The Advance Guard” was written for the second triennial reunion of the Army of the James on July 19, 1871. The poem was printed in a report on the reunion published in the Tribune (“Veterans in Council,” July 20, 1871). 13. Line 24 of “The Advance Guard.” 14. Line 30 of “The Advance Guard.” 15. Laura Curtis Bullard. 16. Possibly a reference to “Concerning Free Love,” in which the author claimed that proponents “never come down from those nebulous heights . . . to tell us seriously what they propose to do with men and women when they have, by destroying Marriage, destroyed the Family.”

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Letter 52  To Whitelaw Reid August 23, 1871 New York City, New York

Office of The Aldine, 23 Liberty Street 75 East 10th New York, August 23d 18711 Dear Mr Reid We have returned to town, and are ready for any sort of fray. I wish you, through the columns of the Tribune, to propose me for the State Attornoyship.2 I feel within me that pure womanliness, and spirit of self-sacrifice which eminently qualifies me for the position. To prove this, I am willing to refuse all fees or salary for the space of five minutes, after I have attained it. With your help, and I need the help of all short-sighted, long-legged broad shouldered editors, our beloved country will prosper! I have a new combination, instead of fiddlestick it is Tiltonstick. T.T.3 does not know how good a thing he said, when he said The Tribune has no more moral mission &c. If it is true, I will begin to read that journal faithfully if it has outlived its youth, and attained the experience which all reflective individuals attain in regard to “missions” &c—it will be worth the trouble. Mr. Greely seems to me to be right, and clear minded on the question,4 but God help us women, there are frightful abuses in our lives—our husbands dare to neglect us, dare to rate us as they would no ordinary acquaintance in their outside lives—simply because they can. Miss Dunning5 turned up the other day, and told me her tale. Sad enough it is. She married Mr. [Paly?],6 according to his wish privately, and went to her own home—in the course of time she gave birth to his child. He denies that it is his. He has treated her shamefully and has deserted her, she does not know where he is. She came to Miss Swift the other day with the child in her arms, and penniless. The money 156

due her, had not come, as she expected, she could not pay her board at Earle’s Hotel, and she was obliged to leave, and her luggage was detained. Miss Swift lent her money, & then came home and asked me to see her, for Miss Dunning was doubtful whether I would wish to recognize her. I asked her about her work &c—she said she had been fortunate till lately, earning more than enough to support her. She spoke of your uniform kindness7 &—now think of this young, talented woman, nursing her boy, tending him alone, and writing for their dear mutual lives! You see a young, talented man with the same chance, does not have a baby tugging all night at his nipples, twisting, writhing, squealing in his arms all day—he has his sleep, his leisure his strength for himself—and he is not bound to a jealous being who has the law on his side! I was pleased with Miss Dunning’s bearing and all that she said & I hope you can give her employment. She thinks her husband is deranged & says his friends believe so also. See too, the muss and wrangle made about woman suffrage, as if we hadn’t enough to do with our own weakness, and the weakness and wilfulness of men, who fasten upon our natures, as parasites fasten (vide natural history). Did you see the slap at Bayard from Chicago? 8 Someone told me his letters were simply awful. I have not read one, for I never see the Tribune except when I borrow it. If I did, I might give you more of a deluge in the way of notes. So it may be God’s mercy. Stoddard you know is to edit the Aldine.9 I wish to write a novel this year—No Affinity—will you buy it for the semi-transparent weekly Tribune. Trusting that your hard heart will be smitten with an irrepressible longing to be once more in communion with that able but desolate and decaying pair of starlings who can neither get out or in—the Stoddards. I remain as ever yours EDB Stoddard.

Manuscript: Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress

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Notes 1. Stoddard uses Aldine stationery for this letter, crossing out the printed address and adding her own and the date. 2. Probably a response to Victoria C. Woodhull’s presidential campaign, initiated in April 1870 when she placed a notice in the New York Herald. Stoddard’s renewed interest in Woodhull may have been prompted by the publication of Theodore Tilton’s Victoria C. Woodhull, A Biographical Sketch in 1871. 3. Theodore Tilton. 4. Horace Greeley, editor of the New York Tribune, was opposed to women’s suffrage as well as their right to divorce. He believed that marriage was indissoluble and that sexual relations should be for the purposes of procreation only. 5. Susan Dunning Power (1843?–1922), journalist who began writing fashion and etiquette columns for newspapers in Chicago in the 1860s. Power wrote under the pseudonym “Shirley Dare.” It is not clear how Stoddard met Power or how well she knew her. Power later became editor of the women’s department at the New York Tribune. 6. Stoddard may be unaware of Susan Dunning Power’s married name. It also seems possible that Miss Dunning changed her last name after being abandoned by her husband. 7. On August 7, 1869, Elizabeth and Richard wrote a “Siamese-twin letter of introduction” for Miss Dunning to Whitelaw Reid, explaining that she had lost her engagement with several Chicago papers. “You will find her clear-headed, industrious and ready,” Stoddard wrote. “What more can a selfish, artful daily paper want? In short, it appears to me that Miss Dunning was born to be pressed upon by newspapers. I believe that she even respects editors, I don’t, editors and publishers are abnormal beings” (Undated letter, Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress). It is not clear why Miss Dunning lost her Chicago engagements, as she appears to have become pregnant in late 1870, after the Stoddards’ letter of introduction to Reid. 8. In the summer of 1871, Taylor wrote a series of travel letters for the Tribune while on a tour of the upper Midwest, which railroad entrepreneurs arranged for journalists as a way to advertise their newest lines. The last stop on his tour was Chicago. 9. Richard was editor of the Aldine from 1871 to 1875. The Aldine was founded in 1868 as the house organ of Sutton, Bowne and Company, a New York printing firm. It covered art, music, and new books, but did not include new fiction and poetry until Richard took over as editor.

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Letter 53  To Elizabeth Akers Allen June 7, [1872] New York, New York

7 June NY 329 E 15 Dear Elizabeth, I hope old Saco blows on you this arid pm. You dear soul, why have you hid away in Portland? I hate my memory of that place. There is a bad man there Lorenzo Sweat, and a pedantic vain prig his wife Margaret Sweat.1 They asked us in NY, years ago, to visit them— circumstances took us there, and we went to their house intending to stay one or two nights. It was the dead of winter. In our bedroom the pretence of a fire made it colder. We piled our clothes over us and kept awake. At dinner the first, there was a decanter of sherry on the table—Stoddard helped himself to a second glass (tiny glasses). You never saw such a cloud. Mr Sweat began to talk violently about indulgence, self-control, and that he would die before giving way &c. I was thunderstruck. Before dinner was over, I announced my intention of leaving the next train—and there was sudden access of politeness on their part. After I got home she wrote me an insulting letter, said I had attempted to get her husband from her. While I was there, I noticed she wore a pin, which Mrs Little 2 his mistress had given him. So our acquaintance ended. I could tell you much more about that Sweat. She wrote a stillborn novel.3 If at any time you have the power to hit them between the eye-brows do so for my sake. Your letter made me sad. Do you feel that your lot is exceptional? You need not. I can match you at every point. We have got our house to rights after a months confusion and labor.4 Stoddard himself moved dusted and arranged all his books from the basement to 2d floor. The house is lovely and we feel so free, but to keep so, Stoddard has to work so hard that I see he grows old every minute, his wrist is painful the whole time. If we can’t keep up I suppose we can sell his 159

books and pictures—but here we must stay, because all his chances with the publishers are here. I wish I knew how to save—but I see I am a failure—it already costs more than we can afford. I am wearing my winter stockings now & have had only a calico dress this season, yet to see us, nobody would guess we were poor. Everything for mere living is so dear. Mrs McEntee is to take Lorry to Rondout on Saturday5 I dare not keep him here he is so frail, and the hill country always helps him, but I have yet to give her 10 a week for the care of him. Lorry gave me a picture for Grace6 but I have mislaid it. Your poem was excellent. Pray how long do you expect to be mewed up where you are.7 Is not Mr Allen sick about you—he looks too delicate to battle with life. I know there is a sore spot about you, and when I find it I shall put a lancet in it. You are bruised, wounded, proud, wrong Elizabeth because you have suffered so. Dont shut your heart— there is goodness, truth, beauty—but God help us all. My health is most wretched. I cannot live long in this way. Write me. Stoddard sends his love to you. Yours Elizabeth If I seem cross, don’t believe that I am—but it kills me to learn the misery and disappointment of my friends who should have full swing for their powers, and then to see how fools get the best of it. That fool Louise Moulton,8 the Tribune gave her the column and called her mind subtle.

Manuscript: Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College

Notes 1. See biographical note. 2. Although the Littles are mentioned frequently in Margaret Sweat’s diary from the period, no evidence exists outside of this letter that Lorenzo Sweat had an affair with Mrs. Little. (See Diary, Margaret Jane Mussey Sweat Collection, University of New England.) 3. Ethel’s Love-Life (1859). 4. The Stoddards moved to 329 East 15th Street early in 1872. They seem to have left Miss Swift’s boardinghouse because of a disagreement with her. In a letter written later that summer to Stedman, Stoddard insists, “I feel as if I could

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never set foot in Miss Swift’s again, she behaved detestably before we left in various ways, her neglect was too much. But I have pitched into her, I suppose I have matched her brutality as no one did before” (undated letter, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 5. In the summer of 1872, the Stoddards sent Lorry to Rondout, New Jersey, with Jervis and Gertrude McEntee (see biographical note). Lorry apparently suffered from frail health, but a letter from Jervis McEntee to Bayard Taylor indicates that Elizabeth’s fears also originated in her continued grief for her brother Wilson: “She is dreadfully nervous about Lorry, and when I saw her yesterday she seemed to be so alarmed about this attack—she always thinks of Wilson and of his death, and she imagines no one else can possibly get well” (March 21, 1872, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University). Given the fact that Elizabeth was the only child of nine in the Barstow family to live past the age of thirty-eight, as well as the early deaths of her first two children, her concern for Lorry’s health seems understandable. 6. Grace Barton Allen (1867–1949), one of Akers Allen’s daughters. 7. Akers Allen lived in Greenville, New Jersey, with her husband and two daughters. Her husband, Elijah M. Allen (1838?–1912), was not working but was often in New York City looking for a position; Akers Allen seems to have been supporting the family with her writing. 8. Louise Chandler Moulton. See biographical note.

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Elizabeth Akers Allen (c. 1870s). Courtesy of Colby College Special Collections, Waterville, Maine.

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Letter 54  To Elizabeth Akers Allen March 28, [1873] [New York City, New York]

East 15th St 329. March 28 Dear Mrs Akers I have been very remiss in delaying to answer your letter, but I meant to return you something in kind and so waited. I am not well. As I get aged, letter writing is more difficult especially when I am wading over paper for print. My conscience compels me to enclose you my last screed, for I think you will believe I do not agree with you about revealing private matters. Indeed I have written a serious article in Appletons some time ago, The Whims of Authors,1 protesting against the frantic fear that authors profess to feel lest they get into print. I never believe them. I have had a pretty good run with the tribe. They all want to see every word that is written about them. I do, especially which is said against me. The book you refer to could not from the writer and the subjects be deeply interesting or profound. The pleasantest form of reading to me is literary biography. Look at Miss Mitford’s letters,2 and Leigh Hunt’s delightful auto-biog.3 In his “Day by the Fire” he says we are anxious to discover how these great poets and men appeared in common, which habits they loved, in which way they meditated or talked, nay in which postures they delighted to sit & “all charming.”4 To my private knowledge Tennyson has made of himself a transcendent ass, by his fury and anger because one of our friends private letters got into the papers—by a sad mistake5— Nothing was said, but which might have been said to the four winds of heaven. But I agree with you about petty personal revelations. My whole life and interest are in the different forms of art— and the artist belongs to his work. I hope I have not preached. I’ll tell you what made me mad—that notice by Holland in Scribners on Bulwer—it is so specious and false. Bulwer has faults enough but he belongs to the 163

century with its men of genius and should so be considered.6 I hate the everlasting introduction of morals where they have no business. We like your poem.7 Stoddard told me [days?] to tell you he had taken—he will send you a check in a few days. Aint checks nice. I am full of venality. I’ll sell my grandmothers high temper, my uncles drunkenness in articles. I think of taking Stoddard for a hero but he says don’t, your heros are so disagreeable. I wish you would muster courage to write again. Do live in the real country without society or are you suburban? Yours Truly Elizabeth D.B. Stoddard

Manuscript: Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College

Notes 1. “A Literary Whim” was published in Appleton’s Journal on October 14, 1871. 2. The Life of Mary Russell Mitford Related in a Selection from Her Letters to Her Friends (1870) was edited by Alfred Guy L’Estrange (1832–1915). 3. The Autobiography of Leigh Hunt was first published in 1850, but was reprinted throughout the nineteenth century. See Letter 30, note 33. 4. In A Day by the Fire, Hunt writes, “We are anxious to discover how these great men and poets appeared in common, what habits they loved, in what way they talked and meditated, nay, in what postures they delighted to sit, and whether they indulged in the same tricks and little comforts that we do. Look at nature and their works, and we shall see that they did; and that, when we act naturally and think earnestly, we are reflecting their commonest habits to the life” (28). Stoddard uses a version of this quote in “A Literary Whim.” 5. On March 11, 1867, Taylor wrote a letter to Stedman describing his visit to Alfred Tennyson, which Stedman then showed to Susan Dunning Power (see Letter 52, note 5). After copying or memorizing portions of the letter, Power published them in a New York newspaper two years later. Tennyson was offended at what he saw as Taylor’s breach of confidence, and Taylor begged friends such as Stedman and James T. Fields to write letters to Tennyson explaining the incident. Stoddard alluded rather clearly to this incident in “A Literary Whim”: “Through some carelessness, the letter of an American traveller, which described his visit to said distinguished poet, crept into the newspapers, and to his ears; whereat he grew violent, and wrote letters about the person who had sought him in the guise of a gentleman. The items of the letter could only have an innocent effect upon the reader, for they were about trifling domestic matters. There has been uproar

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enough upon the kind of separation which the author insists shall be continued between what he gives to the world, and what the public chooses to discover. The structure of his brain, and its operations, are at the mercy of every penny-a-liner; but no luckless individual may reveal the fact that he has dyspepsia, or mention the weight of his children” (441). 6. Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1803–1873), English politician and writer who published a number of bestselling novels. In “Lord Lytton,” published in the April 1873 issue of Scribner’s Magazine, editor Josiah Gilbert Holland insisted that the writer “had what may be called a very successful literary life, and, politically and socially, was a power in his day and generation,” but went on to claim “he had everything but the one thing needful to make him a poet. That one needful thing was a heart. No one ever accused or suspected him of possessing anything that could bear so precious a name. His neighbors tell us that he was a bad man; his wife affirms the same fact; and all that he has left to us of his enormous literary work sustains their personal testimony” (763). See also Stoddard’s letter to Josiah Holland, March 28, 1873, Holland Collection of Literary Letters (ms 168), University of Colorado–Boulder, in which Stoddard asserts, “The preaching element in Scribner’s appears more formidable than its criticizm. I despair of meeting with criticizm on its sole true principle—art. We do not have it in America and that is the reason our literature is so poor, so inane.” 7. Probably “Inconstancy” in the Aldine in March 1873.

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Letter 55  To Elizabeth Akers Allen [Fall/Winter 1873?] New York City, New York

Dear Elizabeth, Is it not borne in upon us all—that life is a waste—or, a vegetating platform for us all. My life is so welded a mass of black and white that I cannot separate it. No hour has been without its alloy—but a few even pleasant wholly. I perceive that you are like me, men love us more than women, because we are stronger than men, not as weak as women. This will not seem a horrible egotism to you, because you cannot help understanding me. I can speak freely and truly with you. When I went to see Mrs Dorr 1 the writer, this summer, whom I had never met—upon the second day, I think of my visit—she came close to me, and, said—“May I love you.” I blunderingly answered yes, and broke away. I could not reply that—I love you. I cannot even like people unless I know them. Love with me, means mutual understanding, experience, mutual sorrow, hope, interests. God knows I am sentimental—but it takes time for me to love, even my husband, and then it is forever. I already like and respect you, more, I admire you and so does Stoddard, if we can help you over the dark inevitable small moments of life we will. But, if you say again that you are poorer than we are, I won’t play with you anymore. Upon that lame right wrist of R.H.S our bread depends. We have never known how to prepare for that celebrated rainy day. Consequently, as the clouds have risen—we perceive we havn’t got any umbrella. But who can put us out of life because we are poor. Oh how I love power and luxury! how I would crush my enemies and reward my friends. It seems to me now that if I could have health, that I could do noble intellectual work. I think you ought to give your attention to prose. Not stories perhaps, but essays, and the numerous subjects which might come to any trained and reflective intellect. I do wish you might associate with your peers—I have been made the little 166

that I am, by my association with literary men. Keep up good heart. Stedman said the other day, when we were condoling about poverty, “Every year I grow easier in feeling, for years I have expected to be a disgrace to my family, to get into jail, lose all my friends for the want of money, yet every year I find I have lived in decency and comparative comfort, and maintained my relations.” Mr Allen2 was kind to come here today. He looks delicate—isn’t he good? Stoddard never speaks my name—old woman, that person, she mama. I hope to see you next week. If you make the least trouble to serve us, there will be another N Jersey murder.3 Yours Truly Elizabeth I have not half answered your letter. I am struggling to write a critical paper on the habits of Sir Walter Scott’s novels awful work & I am half alive.  E—

Manuscript: Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College

Notes 1. Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr. See biographical note. The Stoddard family visited the Dorrs at their home in Rutland, Vermont, during the summer of 1873. 2. Elijah Marshall Allen, Akers Allen’s husband. See Letter 53, note 7. 3. Possibly a reference to the “Jersey Murder,” which occurred in July 1873. A Russian immigrant named Mechella (??–??) stabbed Deputy U.S. Marshal John Stephenson (??–1873) in Jersey City, New Jersey. Mechella’s trial was ongoing in the fall of 1873, around the time this letter was likely written.

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Letter 56  To Elizabeth Akers Allen December 27, [1873?] New York City, New York

Saturday. 27th 329. East 15th Dear Elizabeth, Your hearing may be good but your eyesight as Lorry says must be awful. I wrote you that if it was pleasant we would visit you on Friday. As I do not rise early, Stoddard hopped out of bed that morning to see if the weather was good. “No Mrs Allen today” he said. About 1 am, looking out of Mrs Bradley’s1 window I spoke of the storm which prevented my seeing you, and she replied what a pity you did not go yesterday. I also wrote you that I could not promise you certainly when I could visit you. And now you “made ready” for me just as I told you not to, waited and felt vexed and disturbed just as I do when people dont come to me when expected. Now, I have a wish, which Mrs Bradley and Stoddard join in, that you should pass New Year’s Day with us, coming over with Gracie2 as early in the day as you can, to spend it, dine at 6 and return as late in the evening as you can make it easy. We do not “receive”—nor “dress”—perhaps eight or ten may drop in an artist, editor, author. It is a dull day unless I have a friend to stay between whiles. Stoddard will be here except an hour or two’s calls. If Mr Allen3 intends to make calls in your circle—he might come over later, following you in time for dinner. Mrs Hill, a talented woman and writer, Mrs Bradley’s sister,4 is here, and we will have a pleasant time, if you will consent to come, so don’t disappoint me. Mrs Bradley means to run a tilt with you on poverty. Remember that we do not dress, nor have even a biscuit to offer any caller. Your plain gray dress and my black stuff will match. Stoddard says he is going to give you rats and so shall I when he has done. You are too bitter. Let me tell you some time of our experiences, and you may not feel that your heart should be against every man, any more than mine. With me, 168

if you start in a friendship, you will have to begin and go on—with entire, perhaps disagreeable truth, candor, sincerity. There is not one particle of “nonsense” about me. I cannot stand blarney, roundaboutedness. As I have not many good qualities of disposition I feel sure of this, which as many a member of my family have told me, makes me often hateful. My father said once he never saw any human being with such a talent for the disagreeable. Will you come on? I am clever for the most part after all. Do drop me a line telling me you will pass Thursday with us. With regards to you and Mr Allen from us all. Yours truly, and in haste Elizabeth The children expect Gracie, and want to display their Christmas toys—they had lots, being so many. I had a real Turkish rug!

Manuscript: Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College

Notes 1. Mary Neely Bradley (1835–1909), American poet. Bradley was married to George Thomas Bradley (1824–??), the brother of Cornelia Richards (see Letter 6, note 3), and Stoddard met her at the Richardses’ home in the 1850s. During the 1870s, Bradley appears to have lived with the Stoddards from time to time, perhaps during extended visits from her home in Washington, D.C. A letter written by Bradley to Stedman on November 1, 1873, has 329 E. 15th Street (the Stoddards’ home) as its return address (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 2. Grace Barton Allen. See Letter 53, note 6. 3. Elijah M. Allen. See Letter 53, note 7. 4. Mary Neely Bradley’s sister, Katharine (Kate) Neely Festetits (1836–1900). Although Kate had published under the names “Kitty Neely,” “Miss K. J. Neely,” and “Kate J. Neely,” prior to her marriage to Albert Festetits in 1871, she soon adopted the pseudonym “Kate Neely Hill,” which she maintained until 1889.

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Letter 57  To William Winter [November 16, 1874] [New York City, New York]

Monday Dear Willy Stoddard and I are delighted with your Field,1 it is so kind, quite just, and inexorable. I am happy that I did not stand in those satin boots before your judgment. I was irritated all through the performance by Stedman’s attempt to shove her afloat, greasing the ways with flowers and clappings &c2—Miss F was so dull, so hard, so angular, so passionless. For what interior purpose was she in the Triplet’s attic? There was no links uniting the whole into harmony—suddenly we heard her sing, and saw her dance. After the performance, Mrs Stedman looked from her box and spoke to Mrs [Groot?] (one of the strong minded) and said—“It is a success, isn’t it?” Mrs [Groot?] for a second felt a hesitation, then with energy answered yes, and catching sight of my face, said yes in spite of Mrs Stoddard.3 There was not one person on the stage that did not act better than Miss F and for my part I felt humiliated before them, that a woman of my own profession should with sound and trumpet gather such an audience and take a lead before those trained and experienced actors. I should like to apologize to them. If Wheatleigh4 did prepare her for the stage why did he not tell her, what she could never be. Hope I have not bored you. In haste EDBS

Manuscript: Robert Young Collection, Folger Shakespeare Library

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Notes 1. Journalist and lecturer Kate Field (1838–1896) decided to begin a stage career in 1874 at the age of thirty-six. She debuted on November 14 in the role of Peg Woffington in Masks and Faces at Booth’s Theater on Broadway. William Winter, a friend of Field, published a largely negative review in the New York Tribune on November 16. “If Miss Field possesses the faculty for acting,” Winter asserts, “she did not largely display it upon this occasion. It is difficult justly to describe this performance. It might, perhaps, be said that Miss Field made both a success and a failure. The one was of the woman; the other was of the actress.” Stoddard corresponded briefly with Field, and they had several friends in common, but they don’t seem to have become close. 2. Stedman, who was an intimate friend of Field’s, invited a number of friends to her performance and seems to have promised Field his assistance in publicly supporting her endeavor. On November 18, he wrote a letter to the Tribune arguing that the critics had assessed Field as if she were “an actress of long standing, not a debutante, appearing under trying conditions.” 3. On November 22, 1874, Marie Taylor wrote her husband that Stoddard had behaved badly at Field’s debut. “The Stedmans had a box and besides Stoddards had invited a few other friends. Lizzie behaved herself immediately upon entering tactlessly and made this statement even before the curtain rose: ‘Well, Kate F. will be a dead failure.’ And she talked in this way the whole time. But still more. In the second act, Mr. [Edward] Smith paid her a visit in the box, sat beside her and remained until the end of the play, so that Stedman and the other guest whom he had invited had to take turns at standing up” (Marie Taylor to Bayard Taylor, November 22, 1874, Bayard Taylor Papers [ms am 1598], Harvard University). 4. Charles Wheatleigh (1823–1895) played Triplet in the November 14 performance of Masks and Faces. It seems likely that Stoddard is referring to William Wheatley (1816–1876), the director of the production.

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Letter 58  To Edmund Clarence Stedman [October 1874] New York, New York

Tuesday am Dear Stedman Stoddard is in bed, and the band in the street is playing a kind of dead march thing which sinks my heart into a lower hole. What is coming? It seems to me at times that Stoddard’s shadow grows longer so surely, so steadily, that I see it touching his grave. And what have I to call upon? Truly there are but two persons to whom I could go for advice and sympathy, which would be of avail to me. Yourself and Edward Smith.1 I should not hesitate to trust you. The latter has given me a friendship, so manly, so simple, straight-forward, that he has become an inestimable advantage to me. Stoddard is nearer to the giving up point than you think. The man is tired and discouraged with the fight. It crazes him, the constant demand upon him for money and his desperate inadequate efforts to obtain it. What a man he is—I never before acknowledged to myself that he was a great man, but he is, and I feel it, though I never so plainly felt his faults and weakness more. There will be a run on the Two Anchors2—Vaux3 came in this morning to tell him how exquisite it was—and Bayard praises it in a letter to me this morning. Alden4 sent me a check just now of $20, for a little poem I wrote in Mattapoissett and sent to Conant 5 but it is going in the Mag. The Difference 6 I call it—but my poems don’t amount to much in the face of you fellers.7 You know I have often thought that you and I would make a perfect hash and [illegible] together—I think we are hospitable alike. Dick and Laura are something like too in one respect—don’t think. We had such a nice evening with you that it made me quite lively and refreshed. The fact is I am bruised hearted now a days—these things crush me. Miss Woolston8 is a gentlewoman. But of the experiences of life as you 172

and I know them, life is a sealed book—seeing her makes me wonder the more at the little I have read. I have invited the Taylors here, and hope they will come by Sat. You and Laura must dine with us then. Your own EDBS I have a gorgeous amount of stationary, monogram &c you see at present.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Very little is known about Edward Smith (??–??), with whom Elizabeth Stoddard appears to have been intimate in the mid to late 1870s. The nature of their relationship is unclear. 2. Richard’s poem “Two Anchors” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in October 1874. 3. Calvert Vaux. See Letter 30, note 24. 4. Henry Mills Alden (1836–1919), editor of Harper’s New Monthly Magazine from 1869 until his death in 1919. 5. Samuel Stillman Conant. See Letter 49, note 4. 6. “The Difference” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in February 1875. 7. Stoddard’s modesty is interesting in light of a letter written by George Boker to Taylor in July 1874, in which Boker explains his lack of faith in his own artistic powers: “You may curse the author of my awakening for her needless and malignant intermeddling between my conscience and my God, but that you would do our waspish friend a wrong; for, after all, she spoke but the simple truth. Lizzy, Dick, one or two others and myself were sitting together one night in the rooms of the Pythoness, when suddenly she broke forth, in her usual oracular manner: ‘George, you, Dick, Bayard, Stedman, Aldrich, Read, the whole of you youngsters, have all been dreary failures as poets. Not one of you has won even a third class position as a poet. There is not one of you who can justly lay claim to popularity in any true sense of the term. . . . You are all failures; and the sooner you stop writing the things that no public will read, the better for your peace of mind. Is not this truth?’ she said turning to me very sadly. ‘God’s truth!’ my lips and my conscience cried with one voice” (July 30, 1874, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University). 8. Constance Fenimore Woolson (1840–1894), American writer who met Stedman in St. Augustine, Florida, in March 1874.

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Letter 59  To Elizabeth Akers Allen February 12, [1876] New York City, New York

329 E 15 12th Feb. Dear Elizabeth, What a wry world this is—If I did not know our own experience I could not possibly understand how a woman of your ability could be so situated as you appear to be. Did you ever think that our results may be owing to ourselves our idiosyncrasies, faults, that our misfortunes are not wholly due to circumstances outside us? I judge myself so in a degree and so I do Stoddard. With patience, charity unrelenting self-discipline, utter unselfishness high intellectual endeavor I see that to day all these forces kept in operation I should be much more a success. But I have been too high tempered, censorious, had a contempt for my kind, made people fear instead of love. I went to Dr. Holland’s1 day reception last week, the first time I have been out really and there I was conscious of being an object of curiosity and fear rather than affection. I do wish I could hear some good news from you. How is Mr Allen2—is he still unfortunate—you are both lonely. Your poem was excellent and your daughters sketch was creepy, weird.3 Let her turn her talent into the genial, because I think she shows power in a degree. We go on much the old way fretted by bonds that cord down nerves and muscles. S. is at work on A Century After 4 and doing a long paper for Harper.5 I cumber the ground. My husband and child love me I am that worth. By the way I never was in love with the former. I love him and am bound to him—perhaps his death would kill me, but to my ideal of my love, I never approached with him. Do write me when you are in the mood— would that I could lift the burden one inch. Ever yours Elizabeth 174

Manuscript: Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College

Notes 1. Josiah Gilbert Holland (1819–1881), poet, novelist, and editor of Scribner’s Monthly. 2. Elijah M. Allen. See Letter 53, note 7. According to an autobiographical document written later in life, Akers Allen’s husband had essentially abandoned her and their daughter Grace in 1874 because he felt unable to support them. After struggling to make a living from periodical publication, Akers Allen took an editorial position with the Portland Advertiser, where she worked until 1881, when she and her husband reconciled. (See “History of One Woman’s Financial Experience,” Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College.) During this period, Stoddard seems to know that Akers Allen and her husband are not living together, but she does not seem aware of their marital difficulties. 3. Akers Allen’s eldest daughter, born Florence Percy Taylor (1855–??), was also a writer. It is not clear whether or not she published under her own name at this time, however, as “Florence Percy” was also the pseudonym that Akers Allen herself used until the mid to late 1860s; Florence’s last name also seems to have changed each time her mother remarried. She published at least one poem in the Aldine late in 1876 as “Florence Percy Allen,” but by the 1890s was working as a journalist in San Francisco under the name “Florence Percy Matheson.” In 1905 she was married to fellow journalist Philip Willis McIntyre (1849–??) and moved back to Portland, Maine, where both of them had been born. 4. Richard edited A Century After: Picturesque Glimpses of Philadelphia and Pennsylvania (1876) for the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, held in Philadelphia. 5. Most likely “Lord Macaulay and His Friends,” published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in June and July 1876.

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Letter 60  To Emma Taylor Lamborn December 24, [1878] New York City, New York

NY 329 E 15th Dec 24 Dear Emma When we heard at Stedman’s that Reid 1 that very evening had heard almost fatal news of Bayard’s condition I wanted to write to some of you. I thought at least I might write to Charly,2 but I was told that it was best to keep anything concerning Bayard’s condition to ourselves. I see by your letter however that you must have felt as apprehensive as we were—but the news was a dreadful blow for all that, a surprise. It is impossible for me to realize that Bayard is dead3 and that I am alive. On first thought I felt that if you had been in Kennett 4 I would have gone down at once, but now I do not believe that I could endure to be there at all. The knowledge that Bayard could never return would make ill. Of course editors came for Dick at once, he had five applications to write about him. The editor of the American Quarterly came on from Boston and would not take no for an answer. He wanted Dick to write an article upon B. as a man of letters, but Dick refused. Howells5 telegraphed for him to write a paper on his reminiscences of B. for the Atlantic which he is now doing and is perfectly absorbed in the work.6 You would be surprised to learn how many letters he has of Bayards, beginning as far back as the time when Mary Agnew 7 was dying. Dick has it in his power to put to rest forever one lie about Bayard. Mr Bancroft 8 came to me with tears in his eyes to see me, among other things he told me that now, there were people in Bayard’s own country who believed he had hastened Mary Agnew’s death by his neglect! Dick has the letter that B wrote him upon Lily’s birth,9 a beautiful letter, indeed all his letters are so excellent that I could almost wish that his private correspondence could be made public, in place of his published prose. 176

Marie is to be pitied because of the solitude which the loss of Bayard has thrown her into. Her family life was so much to her that she never felt the need of friends and friendships, and therefore never went out of her way to cultivate such. I hope now that Lily will be drawn into a closer companionship with her mother. It is a loss that must grow upon them with time for he was an almost perfect husband and father—and how faithful in his friendships! As much as I vexed him and hurt him in not being any longer able to keep him upon the intellectual pedestal I started with, I believe he never in his heart was indifferent to me. I was to blame greatly as I have always been for a want of charity and for taking upon myself to insist upon my friends being perfect as if I were perfect myself, instead of being carbuncled with faults and weakness. Well it is over between me and him for the present. I shall never cease to feel a vital interest in his memory. He was a good man, and Charly did not say a word too much in his favor. I wish you would write me when you hear from Marie. I wrote her more than two weeks ago, and have written her since, I wrote Annie10 a few lines several days ago, but have had no reply, it seems to me as if mother 11 would break right down and die at once—do you remember those days of Fred’s funeral?12 You say Bayard was homesick, is it possible that homesickness was added to his other sufferings. The [illegible] day the news of his death came a cartoon of him appeared in the American Punch13 with him in bed drinking beer while the [polarized?] citizens were waiting for his help outside—it was very dastardly. A few weeks ago, my father was so indignant at the slings in the NE papers that he wrote a short defence of B’s character and published it in the Boston Post. I sent it to Bayard, but his eyes were closed in death before it reached Berlin. Lorry sent Christmas cards to your children to Colorado Springs. I suppose you missed them. What a trial you have—where can you go—what do? If you were here, how much we could say to each other. I think my whole life in Kennett is photographed on my brain, I can go over from the first to the last every incident—how much of life we had, how rich, and full in many ways! One thing, Bayard has had more enjoyed more than most men, he attained nearly all he wished for—By and by his place will be fixed—there is a question already raised—that he was not a man of genius—he was, or he was nothing. His fame will rest on his poems, 177

on his shorter poems at that. We were at a reception a short time since, and heard one of Mapleson’s opera troupe14 sing the Bedouin Song15—he sang it beautifully and delighted us. But B never seemed to care for his work that was done. It was what he was doing, and to do. Bless by many. We all send love. Kiss Charly and the children for me. Be sure and write me. Yours ever EDBS

Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. Whitelaw Reid. See biographical note. 2. Charles Burleigh Lamborn (1837–1902), Emma Taylor Lamborn’s husband. 3. Bayard Taylor died on December 19, 1878. The Stoddards had last seen him in April 1878, when they hosted a reception for him before his departure for Berlin, where he served as Ambassador to Germany. 4. Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. 5. William Dean Howells (see biographical note) was editor of the Atlantic Monthly from 1871 to 1881. 6. Richard Stoddard’s “Reminiscences of Bayard Taylor” was published in the Atlantic Monthly in February 1879. 7. See Letter 1, note 7. 8. George Bancroft (1800–1891), American historian and politician, was minister to Germany from 1867 to 1874. 9. Bayard and Marie Taylor’s daughter, Lillian Bayard Taylor (1858–1940). 10. Bayard and Emma’s sister, Annie Taylor Carey. See biographical note. 11. Taylor’s mother, Rebecca Way Taylor. 12. The Stoddards attended Fred Taylor’s funeral. See Letter 33, note 8. 13. The American Punch was a monthly illustrated newspaper, published in the late 1870s. It was modeled after the successful Punch magazine in England. 14. James Henry Mapleson (1830–1901) was a British singer and opera producer. In addition to the many opera houses he ran in England, his company toured cities in the United States intermittently from 1878 to 1886. 15. Taylor’s “Bedouin Song,” originally published in Poems of the Orient (1854), was one of his most popular poems.

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Letter 61  To Julia Ripley Dorr March 31, [1879] New York City, New York

March 31st 329 E. 15th Dear Julia, When your last letter came we were waiting for Marie Taylor to arrive and I concluded not to write you till after our return from Kennett.1 I have been skurrying about since, too much wrapped in my own small necessities, but now I will try to answer your questions. The Papyrus dinner 2 was a success, a novel pleasure to me. All the lady writers present except one EDBS were complimented in the toast given by our guests. You may imagine how gratifying it was to me to be so ignored and before women who were not my superiors. Mrs. Burnett 3 amazed me. She was all covered with new clothes, regardless of expense, ready made I should judge ever so many buttons to her gloves. She peeled them off at the table as if she were about to go into the suds. She has no style, poor manners, but she is a fine genius and whips the United States in novel-writing. Oliver Wendell Holmes,4 whom I never saw before looked like a superceded monthly nurse out of snuff. Miss Alcott looked old and not especially pleased, Mrs. Whitney5 looked amiable, self-satisfied, Mrs. Dodge6 stolid, Louise Moulton7 short-breathed and dazed, Rose Hawthorne, sweet and uncertain—there have I been ill-natured enow? Louise Moulton goes abroad again. She called on me a few weeks ago for the first time in four years, or since my separation from Laura Bullard.8 A mutual friend in Boston asked why she had not called before. She said when she was in NY before it so happened she could not have Laura’s carriage to come in! There’s friendship for you. Lorry is well and so growed,9 he is a great comfort to me for he is so good. We think now of placing him with a drawing teacher an artist. He has an ugly nose but a very interesting face and manner. 179

For the first time Stoddard is discouraged, he has lost almost the power and wish to struggle, at fifty-four a failure—he says. We cannot get away, we owe so much rent &c. and must stay to work it off. He has decided to contribute to Scribner’s a series of papers & has begun to read but the labor is very great, the work slow.10 He is also negotiating in regards to some biographies which will give him all the work he can do for the present.11 Stoddard has not taken any place on the Independent12 he sometimes writes book notices there. What a pity you should stay alone in your pleasant house. It is one of my ideas of the charity I would like to have the power to bestow— to have a house well appointed [illegible], with books and a good cook, and then invite cultured, [hampered?] lonely people to visit me, I would give them what they could not otherwise have. I would begin with Mrs. Akers Allen13 who has been shut up in the Portland Advertizer Office at the drudgery of a daily newspaper—I would fat her body and soul and send her back with all her physical and mental joints lubricated with the finest rites of hospitality. There are so many like her at large in the treadmill of poverty and work. We went to Kennett with a few of Bayard’s old friends. A car was placed at Marie’s disposal, and we went with her, Stedmans, Putnams,14 Boker, Whitelaw Reid, and several others. It was a trial to Marie to have a second funeral. Old Mrs. Taylor is almost helpless with rheumatizm and Old Mr. Taylor is childish, memory gone. There was an immense crowd in the Longwood graveyard but I felt no acute grief, too much bustle, too many curious people—I cannot make Bayard dead—he never meant to die and fought for life until the last day came. Marie says his determination was wonderful, he suffered dreadfully for weeks. He took with him the fatal disease which probably undermined his health for years. Did you see what S wrote in the Atlantic.15 One life is already published which is a great annoyance to Marie—a poor miserably written thing.16 Marie will not die of grief, her idiosyncracies stick out in spite of her loss—but she is a sincere mourner and I know no woman whose life is so much changed as hers. The Queen Deposed17 I kept repeating when I saw her. McEntee18 is broken hearted. I cannot bear to see him since his wife’s death19—our ranks are scored into—I find myself standing more and more isolated. I am much better in the last six months for 180

a year I have been slowly gaining ground and now I am stout having added 28 pounds to 94. I contemplate buying a long handled boot hook. Lorry is a great help to me in every way—trims my hats, dresses me, sets the table, “decorates” in all ways. I am always glad to hear good tidings of you and yours—long may you wave. Remember me to your husband20 and forgive my stupid neglect. I am punished for my distaste of letter writing for my friends will not write me without return forever, consequently I have not one regular correspondent. Yours truly EDBStoddard

Manuscript: Julia Ripley Dorr Papers, Middlebury College

Notes 1. The Stoddards attended Bayard Taylor’s funeral in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania on March 15. 2. In February 1879, the Papyrus Club, a Boston literary organization, hosted its annual “ladies night.” Prominent guests included Louisa May Alcott, Louise Chandler Moulton, and Rose Hawthorne Lathrop (1851–1926). Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849–1924) was the guest of honor. 3. Burnett, an English writer who had moved to the United States in the 1860s, had published three successful novels by the end of 1879. During her visit to Boston for the Papyrus Club dinner, she met Alcott and Mary Mapes Dodge, the editor of the children’s magazine St. Nicholas, and decided to write children’s fiction. 4. Probably Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. See Letter 1, note 5. 5. Adeline Dutton Train (A.D.T.) Whitney (1824–1906), American poet and writer of children’s books. 6. Mary Mapes Dodge. See Letter 48, note 3. 7. Louise Chandler Moulton. See biographical note. 8. Laura Curtis Bullard. See Letter 45, note 5. It is difficult to determine what caused the breach between Stoddard and Curtis Bullard. Taylor told Jervis McEntee, “She speaks of the loss of Mrs. Bullard as something of a mystery, and blows up that unfortunate lady in the true Morgeson style. To us, who know that no one ever gave so much, or was so patient with E. D. B.’s faults, as Mrs. Bl., this assumption that the latter was the formerly obliged and now ungrateful person, has something horribly selfish and mean” (September 30, 1873, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University). McEntee responded, “I only wonder that it didn’t occur long ago. Mrs. Stoddard has told me things which she said to Mrs. Bullard that I

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wouldn’t allow my best friend to say” (December 21, 1873, Bayard Taylor Papers, Cornell University). Stoddard’s letters to Reid make it clear that she felt betrayed by Curtis Bullard’s refusal to discuss her relationship with Theodore Tilton or admit Stoddard’s right to interfere in such matters. See July 22, 1874, Whitelaw Reid Papers, Library of Congress. 9. Probably a reference to a passage in Chapter 20 of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe. When asked if she knows who made her, Topsy tells Ophelia, “I spect I grow’d. Don’t think nobody ever made me.” 10. Possibly a reference to a series of articles Richard published in Scribner’s Monthly on various writers, including John Greenleaf Whittier (August 1879) and John Keats (June 1880). 11. Probably a reference to one or more of the three books that Richard published with A. C. Armstrong & Son in 1880: Lives of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover, with John Doran (1807–1878); Wit and Wisdom of the Rev. Sydney Smith, with Evert A. Duyckinck (1816–1878); and “Their Majesties’ Servants”: Annals of the English Stage from Thomas Betterton to Edmund Kean, with John Doran. 12. The Independent was founded as a Congregationalist journal in 1848; at the time this letter was written, it was being edited by Henry C. Bowen. 13. Elizabeth Akers Allen. See biographical note. 14. George Palmer Putnam Sr. was Taylor’s longtime publisher, but he had died in 1872. Stoddard probably means that one or more of Putnam’s sons—George Haven Putnam (1844–1930), John Bishop Putnam (1849–1915), and Irving Putnam (1852?–1932?)—and their wives accompanied the group to Kennett Square. The three children had inherited the family business and changed its name to G. P. Putnam’s Sons. 15. Richard’s “Reminiscences of Bayard Taylor.” See Letter 60, note 6. 16. Possibly Life, Travels, and Literary Career of Bayard Taylor (1879) by Russell Herman Conwell (1843–1925). 17. “The Queen Deposed” is the title of a poem published by Stoddard in her 1895 Poems. It is not clear when she wrote this poem, but it does not seem to have been published prior to 1895. 18. Jervis McEntee. See biographical note. 19. Gertrude McEntee died in October 1878. 20. Seneca R. Dorr (1820–1884), husband of Julia Ripley Dorr.

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Letter 62  To Edmund Clarence Stedman [Early December 1879] New York City, New York

Dear Stedman I understand now why people in our position are given to “damnable iteration”1— My point in writing is to tell you that I think Lorry should be taken from school and obtain some place to work in for wages—he is already more “educated” than half the boys his age, this week he is sixteen, and I am sure would at once do himself credit.2 Things are closing round us mighty fast. There is no money for any body. I have just read a letter from our grocer who justly says he cannot afford to carry so large bills, and incloses ours of over 200— If the agent and other creditors should close on us—where could we go, what do. I have had a letter from my father lately reproaching me for not paying the remnant of our summer’s board due him. That avenue is closed. All that I can do it appears is to go about looking respectable in another man’s clothes, of which, I do not see the money they cost—talk about the irony of fate! I could add some new items. For the past two months Stoddard has worked hard for Scribner Armstrong,3 NA Review,4 Brit Ency5—and Independent—and we cannot live by literature. 365 days work would not much more than pay the rent. Don’t worry, I intreat you, but be wise for me— Dont trust to appearances if you come, the blazing fire, the dogs on the rug, the grapes on the salver may hide, but they do not prevent the fact of my wretchedness—I am so crushed by the utter change in my husband that I am dazed, paralyzed, wild. Sat was our anniversary 6—not a reference to it—he has not even taken me by the hand for more than a year. My dear this is for you only—but it is awful hard to bear, for with all my faults my heart is an affectionate one—and it kills me not to be loved. Forgive me if I have 183

intruded upon your feelings, but I am so lonesome sometimes, that I feel like a lost child. Yours Elizabeth

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. From Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part One, Act 1, Scene 2. Falstaff tells Hal, “O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal—God forgive thee for it!” 2. In a May 1881 letter to Julia Dorr, Stoddard lamented the necessity of having Lorry work. “Be thankful every fibre of you, that you can let your boy choose which he chooses—Lorry ought to be apprenticed to Art—he has that within capable of the highest training—Without it he will not be what he might” (Julia Ripley Dorr Papers, Middlebury College). 3. From 1871 to 1878, Andrew C. Armstrong (??–??) was a partner in Scribner, Armstrong & Co. In 1877, Armstrong retired, but later returned to the publishing business as A. C. Armstrong & Son, with whom Richard Stoddard published three books in 1880. 4. North American Review. 5. Richard Stoddard contributed an article about Nathaniel Hawthorne to the prestigious ninth edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. The ninth edition, which consisted of twenty-four volumes and appeared between 1875 and 1889, was known as the “scholars’ encyclopeaedia” because of the high intellectual standards set by the editors. 6. December 6, 1879, was the Stoddards’ twenty-seventh wedding anniversary.

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“Edmund Clarence Stedman at 50” (c. 1883). Courtesy of New York Public Library, “The Pageant of America” Collection.

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Letter 63  To Julian Hawthorne November 12, [1883] New York City, New York

329 E 15th Nov 12 Dear Mr Hawthorne You are right, and very good to write me so1—Stoddard fears to write long letters, lest some idea might escape him which he could sell. “Little of that still harmony and blending softness of union which is the last perfection of strength”2 is in my mind and work. In Temple House I wished to prove that there was dignity and strength of passion in the most sordid elements. Also, that such individuals were the necessitous results of such a climate, coast, surroundings— as nobody perceives this—note another failure—I think I have scared folk by what you call passion. Mrs Henry Field (Duc dePraslin’s governess)3 came to me and asked me how I dared to write so about womens passions—and then told me her story. Another woman reviewer wrote me she was kept awake nights by me—but if I denied the illimitable, she was not going to, and damned me in the Nation, or got a man to do so, and would have none of me.4 I have been nicely mauled even by Higginson5— I do not agree with you about repression,6 although it must hold good sometimes. Argus in fact was a badman of powerful passions, who said he believed that no virgin was ever over ten years old, and who died insane with drinking—most of your repressed fellows are awfully selfish and bad all through— Dear Mr Hawthorne I do not know quite what the matter is with my mind. I certainly have one superior and different to many placed above me by popular approval—why should I be tormented by one intellectual devil? Not one of my race has had any sympathy or liking for my writings. Stoddard has tried hard to be interested in my prose, 186

but he isn’t—he believes in my verse—and yet I have had proofs from many afar, of an extraordinary personal influence from my books. Do you, as in Fortunes Fool 7 write your betweens, or padding as it is called, on theory, do you believe it adds to, or carries out the interest in the lives of your people. I do not mean descriptions of scenery, or [illegible] deductions, but the rest. Another thing which astonishes me—that where I have written absolute fact, there I have been called most improbable. You do not recognize the avowal between Angus & Sebastian.8 It is true—rare enough, but thank God with all my miseries and disappointments, and the terrible daily thrusting in of the commonplace. I have seen and known all the sublimity, abnegation, power truth, madness, isolation of all the emotions and possessions I have written of. Yea—how much, how many have mingled in my buried existence— Your father was my torment and my delight. I never will forgive myself, for not seeking him, but I was afeard. His grace, that ineffable touch, the light never seen on sea or shore—which shone between Arthur and Hester to their last hour, so heartrending, so true, so perfect 9—ah me—go thou and do likewise. And yet there is a something in human nature which if he knew he let alone, and which I believe you know— If this letter strikes you as slightly egotistic and incoherent ascribe it to the painters and paperers I am momentarily waiting for in a dismantled room. I sincerely thank you for your true and just letter— and am grateful. I wish you would visit us. Yours truly Elizabeth Stoddard

Manuscript: Box 2, Papers of Julian Hawthorne, Hawthorne Family Papers, Bancroft Library, University of California–Berkeley

Notes 1. On November 7, 1883, Hawthorne wrote Stoddard a letter after reading Temple House, calling the novel “a profound and grave analysis of the springs of life.” He was particularly struck by “the touch of feminine passion” in the novel. “The passion does not fully justify itself—it is not fully carried out; there is too

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much reserve, especially toward the last; nevertheless, the true passion is there: and I have met with it in no other book written by a woman, except on a page or two of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ and once or twice, perhaps, in George Sand. It is the most valuable quality in imaginative literature, and I cannot too much congratulate you on having been able to express it” (Hawthorne Family Papers, University of California–Berkeley). 2. From “Luther’s Psalms,” by Scottish writer Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881), originally published in Fraser’s Magazine for Town and Country in January 1831. 3. As a young governess in Paris, Henriette Deluzy-Desportes (1813–1875) had recently left the employ of the Duc de Praslin when his wife was found murdered on August 17, 1847. The Duc’s suicide a week later was taken as confirmation of his guilt, and suspicion also turned to Deluzy-Desportes, who was widely accused of having an affair with the Duc. After testifying before the Chancellor of France, Deluzy-Desportes won her freedom and moved to the United States, where she married Reverend Henry Martyn Field (1822–1907) of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, in 1851. In 1854 the couple moved to New York City where Henry edited the Evangelist and “Mrs. Henry Field” became known for her salon. 4. The “woman reviewer” was apparently Elizabeth Gilbert Martin. See Letter 38, note 5. The identity of the reviewer for the Nation, whose critique of Temple House was published on January 23, 1868, is unclear. 5. Thomas Wentworth Higginson (1823–1911), American author and editor. None of Stoddard’s reviews have been identified as the work of Higginson. 6. About Argus, the hero of Temple House, Hawthorne wondered “whether men who suppress themselves too much have, in reality, so much to suppress. They deceive themselves and others: there is, in fact, no volcano within them. They are conscious, affected, histrionic, actors of a part,—in a word, humbugs” (Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard Papers, New York Public Library). 7. Julian Hawthorne’s novel Fortune’s Fool was published in 1883. 8. Angus and Sebastian are the two primary male characters in Temple House. 9. Stoddard refers here to Arthur Dimmesdale and Hester Prynne from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter (1851).

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Letter 64  To Edmund Clarence Stedman July 19, [1885] New York City, New York

Jul 19th 329 E 15th Dear Stedman I thank you for placing my name with Dicks in the vol you sent here. But of course thinking of Stoddard as a poet as I do, you must know that I do not like what you have said of him or why you should have given him so inferior a place.1 I am thankful as I grow older that I have learned to realize his worth far more than I did in my green and salad days2— You must understand me when I say that I have often felt when you have spoken of his work, that you had no heart for it, or as Shakespeare would say no “stomach.”3 I find no fault with you, I never cared for Dante,4 and never believed in Walt Whitman, he is a smelly man. Yours Sincerely EDBS

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. The volume sent to the Stoddards was Stedman’s Poets of America (1885). While Stedman devoted entire chapters to William Cullen Bryant, John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Edgar Allan Poe, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Walt Whitman, and Bayard Taylor, he limited his assessment of Richard’s poetry to several pages. Placing Richard in “the artistic or cosmopolitan group” of American poets, Stedman insisted that his work was uneven: “few have more plainly failed now and then. On the other hand, few have reached a higher tone, and a selection could be made from his

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poems upon which to base a lasting reputation” (58). He included Elizabeth as part of a “sisterhood of song” and said that her poetry “had the condensed power and vivid coloring that render it difficult to mistake the source of anything from her hand” (445). 2. A reference to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, Scene 1, Act 5, in which Cleopatra refers to her “salad days, / When I was green in judgment: cold in blood.” 3. In Act 4, Scene 3, of Shakespeare’s Henry V, King Henry tells Westmoreland to announce “That he who hath not stomach to this fight, / Let him depart.” 4. Dante Alighieri (c. 1265–1321), author of The Divine Comedy. In Poets of America, Stedman praised Longfellow’s 1867 translation of Dante as “one of the most signal results of American labor in the department of translation” (209).

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Letter 65  To Laura Stedman July 12, [1887] Sag Harbor, New York

Sag Harbor July 12th Dear Laura Don’t worry about answering my letter, only drop me a line to keep me advised about your condition. We understand each other very well in some ways, and sympathize with each other, for here is this fact in our lives, there is a place unfilled, we lack something to suit us—in one way we are as much alone as if we had neither husband nor child. Perhaps everybody feels so, but I do not think so. I am bored, nor interested enough where I should be, to forget and go out of myself. This may seem ungrateful, selfish and wicked, but so it is— We had a dreadful time in NY, ten days of sickening heat. I had a severe ill turn two or three days before we left and we did not get here till the 8th had to wait for money and Dick’s work. I am afraid we shall not be able to afford New Castle or Scarboro1—the cry of “wolf ” is louder, more imperative than ever, and even Dick owns that he does not know where to turn for money. We are delightfully placed here,2 large comfortable rooms with a fine family. We go to the hotel for our meals at one end of the village, at the other the Hawthornes are stationed some fifteen in all, more picturesque than ever. Mr Hawthorne3 knows everybody and everybody seeks him—nabobs, millionaires, literary men, people of all classes—so it makes it interesting for us. Lorry is a great favorite with them, and that makes it pleasant for him—he is with them most of the time—while I sit by my old man, who has simply changed his place for work. All day he writes. When I hear Stedman sometimes speak of his work, I wonder if he ever thinks of the incessant drudgery of Dick who rarely speaks of it. I perceive it myself more here—he writes from 9 am to 12—then 2 till 4—then a short nap— 191

then till 6—then tea—and again then in the evening either early or late—with an occasional recess and I can do nothing. I know how you feel about letters for I feel so, about taking my pen for literary work. I dread it, and feel as if I could not do it, and feel as if I must, to save him something he is so unselfish so generous to me. He is as good a pill as I ever saw, there is not a drop of black blood in his veins. I hope Stedman can be with you this month. I thought he looked uncommonly well the other day. Your place must be lovely now—the draw back here is we are not in immediate sight of the sea. Our house is surrounded by trees and birds—but the sea scenery is fine all about here, on the Atlantic side and the sound side too. The monstrous booming Atlantic filling the air with dim fierce spray, and the sound breaking into coves, with necks and islands and sand bars, and curving beaches. The very woods seem to grow out of beaches. I like it much, the old town and all. I make friends of all sorts everywhere— the people are very good to us. Now I have scribbled you a “mess of trash” wont you pay back soon as I say, with a word or two. Give my love to the family. Tell Laura4 there is a little girl here who has to wear great big spectacles. Yours ever EDBS Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. New Castle and Scarborough are both towns in Westchester County, New York. 2. The Stoddards began vacationing in Sag Harbor on Long Island in the summer of 1887. 3. Julian Hawthorne (see biographical note) and his family settled in Sag Harbor in 1882. 4. Laura Woodworth Stedman (1881–1939), granddaughter of Edmund Clarence and Laura Stedman.

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Letter 66  To Edmund Clarence Stedman November 18, [1887] [New York City, New York]

Thursday Nov 18th1 Dear Stedman You remember what Ruskin said—that it required some watching over himself to keep him from writing querulously? 2 Consequently if you see any such expression in me give a hint. Houghton Mifflin & Co are mistaken about Two Men being fairly before the public.3 Stoddard says that really Bunce & Huntingdon4 never existed as a house. Old Huntington, a music publisher wished to set his son up, gave him the money, and supposing Bunce to be a business man, took him for a partner—Bunce not proving so the old man wiped them out. Stoddard made a volume of selections, his little book of Madrigals and had an edition of the Kings Bell, for this, and Two Men, he got a hundred dollars!5 There must have been a small edition of the novel, for the book stores and stalls have been explored in vain—such as it was however some copies must have been sold. Bunce told me about that time that he knew it was to fail. He talks differently now. Two Men met with a violent death. The Morgesons was published ten days before Bull Run.6 It was selling but from that day stopped. The Morgesons was my Bull Run, but it had a “success of esteem.”7 A very great deal was said about it. Fanny Fern8 bought a paper copy. She and her family, so she said literally read it to pieces, and then she bought another. I heard enough from outsiders, to feel inflated, but Wilson never liked my novels, my family did not. Dick was unmoved, it did not sell—so I had enough to keep me on the ground. Carleton published Temple House because I asked him to—I do not think he lifted a finger to push it but I consider it my worst failure. It was published by a well known house, and set before Houghton 193

and Mifflin’s “Public.” This was the “straw” for me for my truest work is in T H. I notice a reference in Aldrich’s letter.9 I have thought over his opinion of Howell’s10 superior success. Where he lacks wit Aldrich has it. Where he lacks naturalness Aldrich has it, and in my opinion Aldrich stands above Howells in many ways. Howell’s whole habit of life, thought, temperament, his wife,11 situation &c—have prevented him from being what I call a novelist. If Thackery is one, H is not. I scribble this at leisure and let me say that you need not reply to me only as you feel ready to, and do not allow any intrusions upon your time by me. Another point in your letter—that people have tried to antagonize you and Stoddard. A person well known, told me from hearsay, that your anger was so great against Stoddard for stealing your title as in Merry Mount,12 and the French names, killing your poem, that you fairly “spluttered” against him. What does and has irritated the surface of my friendship for you is your inaccuracy of statement some times, the unsound theory you sometimes propound of persons, the stranger to me, because of your penetration and clearness of insight at other times. I can give you no better example than what you said of Lorry the other night, when he answered your question concerning his plans. What an impression a stranger would have had of him! a copying [dude?] and ridiculous ass. Here are the facts—he could not twist his mustache, as you said, for he had none, he never leans against a mantle piece, for he does not imitate De Maurier in Punch,13 he never uses the words you put in his mouth, and he never would have replied with dis-respect to a question from such a man as you taking an interest in a boy like him—the truth was that he answered as best as he could without a plan at all. So you often astound me with information, about persons whom I have seen “as in a looking glass,” till I conclude I have got strabismus,14 or that the persons are but “German plate”15 after all, or, that I must fight and deny you. You are very right about yourself.16 Your pluck, energy, unfailing powers amid so many crosses and distractions are amazing. I think that Dick is right when he says no man of genius should marry, how rare for one to find a sympathetic wife, or children. There is no likeness between Lorry & his father. They are two poles opposite. 194

They have an odd admiration for each other mingled with contempt. It is a curious speculation with me, of what Dick would have done without me in his life. I have dominated him far more than he knows, just as I have done with all the men I have lived with, father, brothers, friends, and now my son, so far I am the powerful influence of his life but that must go. As Pecksniff 17 might have said, now that we are on the candid [leg?], let us be mindful to be up to the mark. Perhaps Dommett 18 has had such a struggle that he has got a Januslikeness—I have no reason for my question, but why did it come to me, and comes again. In conclusion. Dick went to Bunce some time ago to get the plates of the Madrigals. Bunce knew nothing of the assets. You see what a concern. Huntington went from NY, or a farm he believed—Stod says the plates could not be used now—the type of the [work?] was poor and cheap. He is sure also that Carleton destroyed the others19— Do what you think best, if some female errors fall, I shall not condemn nor criticize. Your motive is most kind.  Ever Yours EDBS PS Dick wants me to say that he is going to write a letter for you to give Houghton20 but he will write or talk with you.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Stoddard appears to have misdated this letter, as November 18, 1887, was a Friday. 2. Reference to Proserpina, Volume 2, Studies of Wayside Flowers While the Air Is Yet Pure among the Alps and in the Scotland and England Which My Father Knew (1886), in which Ruskin writes, “but my time for writing prettily is long past; and it requires some watching over myself, I find, to keep me even from writing querulously” (1–2). 3. Stedman initially approached Houghton Mifflin about the possibility of reprinting Stoddard’s novels, but, as he explained in a letter written on November 15, he didn’t think it likely that they would take on the project. He promised not to give up: “I must take my own way & time, & it may require some little time, and I may blunder in some way—but if I live the thing will be done, according to my best lights & shine” (Letterbook F, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University).

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4. Publishers of the 1865 edition of Two Men. 5. At the same time that Bunce and Huntington published Two Men, they also contracted to publish three works by Richard Stoddard: The Late English Poets, Melodies and Madrigals, Mostly from the Old English Poets (1865), and an illustrated edition of his poem The King’s Bell (1866). 6. This seems to be a bit of an exaggeration. According to Matlack, Carleton entered a copyright for The Morgesons on June 23, 1862, and “the novel went on sale a few days later” (217). The First Battle of Bull Run took place on July 21, 1861. 7. An English translation of the French term succes d’estime, which refers to a work that garners critical, but not popular, attention. 8. Fanny Fern was the pen name of Sara Willis Parton (1811–1872), a popular newspaper author and novelist. 9. It is not known whether Stoddard is referring to a private letter here or a published one. Matlack says that Thomas Aldrich “had publicly supported the attempt to get Elizabeth’s books back in print” (535). The letter may have had something to do with this effort. 10. Aldrich succeeded William Dean Howells as editor of the Atlantic Monthly in 1881. 11. Stoddard may be referring here to the fact that Howells’s wife, Elinor Mead Howells, suffered from chronic illness. 12. Richard published the poem “At Merry Mount” in Scribner’s Monthly in September 1877. 13. George du Maurier (1834–1896), French cartoonist and writer who worked for Punch magazine from 1865 to 1891. Many of his cartoons satirized Victorian manners. 14. Strabismus is a condition in which the eyes are not properly aligned with one another. It is sometimes described as “lazy eye.” 15. A “German plate” is a type of photographic plate. 16. Stoddard is responding to Stedman’s November 15, 1887, letter to her, in which he complains that it is difficult for him to show his affection for and dedication to his family and friends when he is preoccupied by business matters. The key to his nature, he insists, is “scruple.” He goes on to explain, “This much I never have said before. Something to-night, busy as I am, has impelled me to speak a little of myself & my ways and notions. I understand your Jason Auster; &, though I am far below him, I should wish to have his creator henceforth understand me” (Letterbook F, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). Jason Auster is a character in Two Men. 17. Seth Pecksniff is a character in Dickens’s novel The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit (1843) who is known for his hypocrisy. 18. Probably a reference to Henry W. Dommett (1824–1898), art critic for the New York Mail and Express and author of A History of the Bank of New York, 1784–1884 (1884).

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19. Stoddard is asserting that the original plates for her novels (including The Morgesons and Temple House, which were published by Carleton) could not be used again for the reprints. A letter written in January 1888 indicates that Houghton and Mifflin would have published the reprints if the original plates had been available. See Stedman to Stoddard, January 9, 1888, Letterbook F, Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University. 20. Henry Oscar Houghton (1823–1895), publisher and cofounder of Houghton Mifflin.

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The Stoddards’ home at 329 East 15th Street. From Charles Hemstreet, Literary New York: Its Landmarks and Associations (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1903).

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Letter 67  To Edmund Clarence Stedman May 15, [1888] [New York City, New York]

15th May. Dear Stedman I have a letter from Mary Bradley1 today. She was greatly disappointed not to see you. I wish she had. She has gained so much in looks, manner and ease. She does not live with her husband [beast?] who has a place here, given him by Manton Marble.2 She lives with her daughter and sister 3 in Washington, is very comfortable. Marble made Bradley sign a paper, that he would send her 40 a month, which he does, and sometimes she sends it back. Never was there a sweeter, holier soul, never a woman dragged on a man’s chariot tail, as she has been—it is the nicest bit of comfort I have had her visit to me, in a long time. You know I am apt to howl to you it is selfish of me, perhaps I should I not do so did I not know you cant help me. If today I could sell my prospect of Two Men for 500, I would. We are so cruelly tied down, worse than ever, the fact is we are in need and our debts grow. Manikins of bills constantly find another thumb or toe to tie us fast to the ground a la Gulliver 4— Theres no help, no chance, no opening. I live here alone fretting myself sick for my own sake and Dick’s—he does too much work on the Mail5 and has no time for the leisure of writing to suit himself. He is far braver than I, more unselfish. Last week just as he had taken a day for the Arnold paper 6 a lawyer came and threatened to sue him— the literary fat fell in the fire. I read your preface7 every now and then, how good it is, as Dicks mother used to say, as clean as silver. The mild suggestion of “inaptitude” my readers will understand,8 better than Dicks denouncement—that I have no literary art, never had, never shall. The proof is a red rag to him—he goes to Tartary, China, Peru, with 199

his mind, and it cant be chased and caught as mine can be travelling in the round of ordinary life. I puzzle and vex him, over and over again in reading the proof he is compelled to say it is a good story, strong and individual everywhere— then comes a knock again—he says I have improved and cleared up the little obscurity here and there. Mr. Roe 9 was here Sunday. It was touching to hear him praise me, and almost plead a place for himself on the “diversity” ground. He has not the least idea of literature, I mean to make it, and does not know it. There’s no help for him—I bang him no more. Where are you my dear chappie? The house of Stedman neglects me from a social point— Ever Your EDBS I have a number of nice congratulations—one friend hopes my stories now will be collected. We have the 3 vols of your Library10— What a stupendous work! How are you to make money from it—a la Grant11 I hope.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Mary Neely Bradley. See Letter 56, note 1. 2. See biographical note. It is not clear why Marble would have mediated a separation between the Bradleys. 3. In the winter of 1887, Bradley moved to Washington, D.C., to live with her sister, Katharine Neely Festetits (see Letter 56, note 4). Mary Bradley had two daughters, Cornelia H. Bradley (1855–19??) and Alice Neal Bradley (1865–1887). Alice apparently died shortly before Bradley’s move to D.C. She also had two sons whose names are unknown; in a letter to Stedman dated August 23, 1873, she writes from the New York State Asylum for Idiots in Syracuse, New York, where she has gone to visit her boys, ages fourteen and sixteen (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). 4. A reference to Gulliver’s Travels (1726) by Jonathan Swift (1667–1745). In the first chapter, Gulliver swims to the island of Lilliput when his ship wrecks. After falling asleep on the shore, he wakes up to find that the Lilliputians—a race of small people—have tied him to the ground.

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5. The New York Mail and Express, for which Richard served as Literary Editor from late 1880 until his death. 6. Richard wrote an introduction for The Light of the World (1891), a book of poetry by the British poet and journalist Sir Edwin Arnold (1832–1904). 7. For the 1888 edition of Two Men. 8. In his preface to Two Men, Stedman asserted that Stoddard had a natural gift for writing, despite the fact that she was largely untrained: “Mrs. Stoddard’s novels appeal to us through a quality of their own. Written, I think, without much early practice, yet with experience of life, their strong, original style—unmistakable as a human voice—is that of one with a gift, and the writer’s instinct produces effects which a mere artist tries for in vain” (ix). 9. Edward Payson Roe (1838–1888), American minister and author. Stoddard wrote Roe in the spring of 1887, apparently criticizing his popular style. Roe responded with a polite letter to Stoddard and invited the Stoddards to visit him. He explained, “I can’t agree with your words, ‘If your plan of novel writing is right, then mine is wrong.’ We both would be wrong if we did not express ourselves in our own way. Doing this I see no reason why both should not be right & the wider the diversity the better. I shall read your novels as they come out & enjoy them & I find no fault that you cannot read mine” (April 27, 1888, Ripley Hitchcock Collection, Columbia University). 10. Stedman’s eleven-volume Library of American Literature (1888). 11. Probably a reference to the enormous success of the Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant, published in 1885–1886 by the Charles L. Webster & Company, owned by Mark Twain (1835–1910). Although Grant (1822–1885) had originally agreed to publish the book with the Century Company, Twain offered him a more lucrative contract and supported Grant and his family as he struggled to complete the manuscript while dying of throat cancer.

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Letter 68  To Lilian Whiting June 25, [1888] [New York City, New York]

25th June My dear You could not have made the paragraph about spouse neater—it is just the thing, & I hope it will be copied. The question is if you should suddenly withdraw from the Traveller,1 what would become of it? Your review is excellent.2 I see that you as well as the Tribune3 (Mr Parsons4) avoid the Lang episode. In the first reviews I remember two things said. The late Charles Briggs5 said it was the best anti-slavery sermon ever preached, and another told me, that I had allowed Parke to seduce, and kill a young girl without a “word of disapprobation, either by the 6 or her characters.”7 Do you remember the interview between Parke & Philippa at Mrs Rogers tea drinking, when some feeling impelled her to give him a kiss, the first?—then—“so fell his sin into the depths of his soul.” The “shadow of something prophetic fell on him—” I must have failed, where Balzac 8 would have succeeded in a masterly delineation of the cause and effect of emotion. It was the reflex of Parke’s state of mind that moved Philippa to caress him— and he recognized his sin by his horror of the caress of purity & innocence. Oh why why was I not given that genius whose insight teaches and makes the mysteries of the human heart understood— Two Men when it came out was received with a sort of shock—in looking for some thing else, I came upon a bundle of reviews I had forgotten—one said never was such a novel published and it was to be hoped never would be again! Therefore you see I have reason to be grateful now. There is truth in me and my truth should, if it hasn’t, make my characters find their truth. People go to their graves blind & dumb as to their capacities, passions, traits, appetites etc.—just as countries and nations do. Did any body ever believe 25 years before 202

that the North and the South would spring at each others throats— and drink deeply of each others blood? Two Men has a special interest for me. I began it, wrote about half and discovered that Master Lorimer was also being edited.9 I stopped till he was well under way in the arms of his wet nurse and finished it. That period of my life was the most dramatic. My brother Col Barstow was a staff officer on Gen Dix’s10 staff—and Edwin Booth & his young wife11 almost lived with us. Daily contact with war matters, our first connection with the stage made life scintillate, as if a sword was drawn from its scabbard. Remind me to tell you something when I see you. Lorimer’s name is Lorimer-Edwin. You will perhaps perceive I am praty this morning, it may be that it is from the terrible heat—my brain dissolving in its own gravy. Please look out for yourself, but Boston is cooler than NY its east wind is a boon in summer. Lorry has just handed me the Boston Courier notice—whoever wrote it did not feel it but he is right. Lorimer has written you but he sends his regards in his shirt sleeves this morning. We cant get off yet—and we are as snappy and cross a family as need be. We very sincerely oppose every individual plan and proposition offered. I wish I could help you on your paper— Ever yours EDBS After a while take up Two Men again. I think that my readers at a second reading overcome the obscurity of my style or rather get through it and “see me as I am said Cromwell’12—I am anxious to have the other novels & such republished.

Manuscript: Lilian Whiting Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, Boston Public Library

Notes 1. Whiting was the editor of the Boston Traveller from 1880 to 1890. 2. Whiting’s review of Two Men appeared in the Traveller on June 21, 1888. In it, she praises Stoddard’s “relentless fidelity to detail” and compares Stoddard to Charlotte Brontë. 3. The review of Two Men in the Tribune on June 17, 1888, was one of the first to be published. The anonymous reviewer insisted that the time had come for

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Stoddard’s work to be reappraised and noted “the strength of the individualism exhibited throughout the book.” 4. Possibly a reference to George Parsons Lathrop (1851–1898), who later reviewed Temple House in the Epoch. 5. Charles Frederick Briggs. See Letter 4, note 5. 6. Stoddard appears to have left a word missing here. 7. In his review of Two Men in the Round Table on November 11, 1865, Charles Sweetser called it “one of the most remarkable novels that has appeared on the Atlantic for some time,” but said that the plot was thin and the characters “cold and heartless.” In the passage that Stoddard notes here, Sweetser wrote, “we wonder that Parke is allowed to ruin and indirectly kill a young girl without the slightest word of honest disapprobation, either by the author or by the characters of her creation.” 8. Whiting compares Stoddard to the French novelist Honoré de Balzac (1799– 1850) in her review of Two Men. 9. Stoddard’s third son, Lorimer, was born on December 11, 1863. 10. John Adams Dix. See Letter 33, note 7. 11. Edwin and Mary Booth. See Letter 29, note 7. 12. A reference to Anecdotes of Painting in England by Horace Walpole (1717–1797), in which Oliver Cromwell (1599–1658) tells his portrait artist, “I desire you would use all your skill to paint my picture truly like me, and not flatter me at all; but remark all these roughnesses, pimples, warts, and everything as you see me, otherwise I will never pay a farthing for it.”

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Letter 69  To Julia Ripley Dorr October 5, [1888] New York City, New York

329 E 15th Oct 5th Dear Julia, I found your note on my return this morning from Croton Falls.1 I think I might strew ashes on my head 2 and wait to hear of more evil tidings for no step I have taken since the 1st of July that I have not, either on arriving at our destination, or on coming home, heard of the death of a friend or relative, the first was the sudden death of our friend Roe3—But a few days before, we were at his house and he was so happy, so full of life, hope and plans! And now comes your letter—your brother! 4 Yes like Job, when I hear how death has to be faced, with what horrible suffering I could curse God and die.5 I cannot never shall perceive the wise meaning of these calamities— At present, we as a family have reason to be pleased and grateful— but in what moment may it not all come to naught— We have had a great trial in Stoddard’s increasing blindness, a cataract is forming over the left eye, and Dr. Roosa6 is not ready to operate on the right eye. He only sees to read with a powerful magnifier and writes his daily work by guess—But he is more cheerful than ever. My surprising success has made a difference, he is very much pleased—now will you tell me why my friends and others have not recognized me before—I could laugh bitterly when I think how I have been ignored, how often in the presence of those who have been lionized whom I knew were not my superiors I have been passed over and unnoticed. I have been almost crushed, and in spite of Stoddard’s faith in my ability, he too was influenced, and at last gave up hope himself—I owe it all to Stedman—he never has rested in his determination to have my books re-published. He has always 205

upheld that Two Men was a great book—and since it was published in June scarcely a day has passed that I have not had private or public testimony of the impression it has made. Think of a man like Julian Hawthorne reviewing it twice7—I have been astonished and am still, at the way in which the book has been taken by men, authors who compare me to Balzac 8 and George Meredith! 9 It has gone to England—I need only the English “hall mark” and I shall go up like a kite— Now I am to have another test—on the 18th Temple House will be published and I am in trepidation. For when it was published before, George Ripley reviewed it and condemned it 10—some of my strongest writing is in it—do you remember it? I suppose now I could get a publisher anywhere for anything! Such is fame, reputation, life, and if Asmodeus11 is round now a days, he must be shrieking with laughter— Some tell me they are surprised that I do not show elation. Of course I am gratified, pleased—I am grateful, but all this truly makes me sad and humble— My boy is off on his second season with Robson & Crane,12 I do not 13 whether you have heard how successful he has been for so young an actor, and what a hit he has made—He is really very clever in almost all ways except poetry—I am certain he will be a dramatist—He is very handsome though too slight, and he is devoted to his mother—I am unhappy without him and very lonely— Thank you dear friend for remembering me. I received no letter from you abroad—I can understand why you like England. I am very busy, and am writing once more—perhaps I may get into harness if my health will allow—we have grown very old both of us in the last two years—What a struggle we have had, all for money! Is it not shameful— I do not14 what to say to you about your son, is Harry with you— remember me to him if he is. Your truly ElizabethS

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Manuscript: Julia Ripley Dorr Papers, Middlebury College

Notes 1. Croton Falls is in the northeastern part of Westchester County, New York, about 55 miles from New York City. The painter George Bernard Butler Jr. (1838– 1907) lived there, and the Stoddards visited in order to have a portrait painted of Richard. 2. Among the ancient Hebrews, to sprinkle oneself with ashes or to sit in ashes was a mark of grief, humiliation, or penitence. 3. Edward Payson Roe died on July 19, 1888. See Letter 67, note 9. 4. Probably a reference to Charles Ripley (1843–1888?), Dorr’s youngest brother. 5. As Job suffers, his wife admonishes him in Job 2:9: “‘Do you still retain your integrity? Curse God and die.’” 6. Dr. Daniel Bennett St. John Roosa (1838–1908), prominent New York physician who specialized in eye and ear disorders. 7. After Two Men was republished, Julian Hawthorne apparently wrote two reviews of the novel—one for the New York American and the other for a British literary magazine. 8. Honoré de Balzac. See Letter 68, note 8. 9. George Meredith (1828–1909), British novelist and poet. 10. Ripley’s review was published in the New York Tribune on January 27, 1868, and was not actually as negative as Stoddard remembers in this letter. The most negative critique of the novel comes at the end of the review: “The story closes with great abruptness, almost giving the impression that the writer was tired of her task, and leaving the principal persons in a certain degree of mystery, and the reader in doubt for what purpose they are made to figure in a work in many respects of such palpable ability, or why they were called into being at all. He will probably part company with them without the slightest regret, or any keen interest in a more intimate disclosure of their fortunes.” 11. A demon that appears in the deuterocanonical Book of Tobit and in the Talmud. The figure is often associated with lascivity, lust, and revenge. 12. Stuart Robson (1836–1903) and W. H. Crane (1845–1928) ran a successful theater company in New York City in the 1880s. Lorimer Stoddard performed the role of Lord Arthur Trelauney in their production of The Henrietta in 1887–1888. 13. Stoddard seems to have left a word missing here. 14. Stoddard seems to have left a word missing here.

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Letter 70  To Lilian Whiting June 20, [1889] [New York City, New York] 20th June

Dear Miss Whiting Your writing is so blind too—that I have to put your letters away in lavender after the first reading—then take them out and finally overpower them. You builded better than you knew with your last paragraph for me. Stoddard took it to Mr Dunham,1 (Cassells) who was pleased with it, and will make use of it in his advertizements. By Lorry’s advice we are going to “push” The Morgesons, in the way of advertizements do you believe in them. In an article on Boulanger,2 the writer says this is the age of advertizements—“Besige the eyes and ears of the public by means of bank notes with a resounding name in favor of a new rouge, or a new chocolate and your bank notes will increase”—“Our epoch is changing the face of the world by lending charlatans the strength of millions.” Prithee, let us be charlatans. You mention Mr Ripley3—Stoddard and I always called him the Jesuit of Literature. What he had no sympathy with, he ridiculed— He had a great respect for the world, in spite of his Brook Farm idealities—his first wife,4 I think kept him up to the mark of thought—for his second wife5 changed the course of his life entirely. He and I used to have little tournaments of words, but his reviews of me were worthless—Of that dark under-current in the soul and head of man he was either ignorant of or he resolutely shut his eyes—One thing in regard to myself is this—I know that I have written the truth regarding human emotion—the turbulence, the repression, the expression of Passion. Now, why do my co-fellows acknowledge me—in spite of my faults, and manner or conveyance. I live like an ordinary human being among ordinary people. I write of people in common ordinary life, therefore I have proved that I am not a 208

monstrosity. What then is the secret of my being denied my rights— I do not mean a popular acceptance—but that of readers, writers, thinkers. So I ask again—What ails me—I have one immortal feather in my cap. Nathaniel Hawthorne recognized me. When he read The Morgesons he wrote a letter to Stoddard 6—and that letter will be used, before its re-publication,7 it is the only thing the poor man, Stoddard, can do for me, my being his wife handicaps him—he can do nothing for me in print. All this is entre nous, and you will see I have taken you into my literary egotistic confidence, and do own that it has been a pain to me, that I have not gained the respect of the intellects, whose intellects I respect. Common praise I do not care a copper for—it is not help and no encouragement, I want that which gives me faith in myself— Mr Stoddard sends his thanks for copying his poem, but he said when he saw it in print—it was not worth printing— Anne Barstow 8 does not give nor take lessons in Boston now. She hasn’t a particle of sympathy with or knowledge of my mind—she never has given me a sign of recognition of my powers—All that I am, as you know me—is, when I am with my own family as a mountain tarn in a far country—Anne once wrote me that I had no right to judge of music, because I knew nothing about it. Do you remember Virginia’s song on the shore, the night she and Tempe were driving home? 9 But Anne is a pleasing, intelligent girl. Do you know any one who has an influence with Field of the Museum10—Lorry would like a stock engagement in Boston—and thinks he would like to go in with Field— Will you send me a couple more Travellers with the paragraph in— and forgive this letter—is it writ plain? Give my regards to Miss Page11 and believe me yours EDBS

Manuscript: Lilian Whiting Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, Boston Public Library

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Notes 1. Oscar M. Dunham (1844–1896), president of the American branch of Cassell and Company until June 1893 when he was accused of embezzling almost $200,000 in company funds and disappeared. 2. Georges Ernest Jean-Marie Boulanger (1837–1891), French general and politician. 3. George Ripley. See Letter 3, note 6. 4. Sophia Dana Ripley died in 1861. 5. Louisa Augusta Schlossberger (1823–1899?), a widow of German descent, married Ripley in 1865. Stoddard may be referring here to the fact that Ripley’s second wife was thirty-five years younger than he was. 6. In a January 8, 1863, letter to Richard Stoddard thanking him for sending a poem, Nathaniel Hawthorne included some lines of praise for The Morgesons. “I read the ‘Morgesons’ at the time of publication,” he wrote, “and thought it a remarkable and powerful book, though not without a painful element mixed up in it.” He also wrote a letter to Stoddard herself on January 26, 1863, telling her, “There are very few books of which I take the trouble to have any opinion at all, or of which I could retain any memory so long after reading them, as I do of the Morgesons” (Both letters in the Nathaniel Hawthorne Papers, Berg Collection of English and American Literature, New York Public Library). 7. Lilian Whiting used portions of the letter from Hawthorne to Richard Stoddard in her notice of The Morgesons, which appeared in the Chicago Daily Inter-Ocean on September 14, 1889. 8. Stoddard’s half-sister, Anne W. Barstow (Harvey) (1865–1940). 9. In Chapter 19 of Temple House, Tempe accompanies Virginia home in a carriage; Virginia sings a song beginning, “Hark! like the swell of the ocean, / The blood throbs through my heart, / At a flitting, shapeless fancy / That to-morrow— you depart” (158). The song seems to be Stoddard’s composition. 10. R. M. Field (1834–1902), managed the Boston Museum, a theater on Tremont Street, from 1864 until 1893. 11. Unidentified.

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Letter 71  To John Eliot Bowen November 27, [1889] [New York City, New York]

27 Nov Dear Mr. Bowen I have read my story1 with smiles of wonder. It seems to me that the individuality of it is left out. I had not the least idea of its length or finish. I never wrote a story for a newspaper, nor anything to order. I never wrote on small pages of paper before. No wonder you were amazed when you received the stack. On the whole, when I compare it with the sketch that follows it,2 I believe mutilated as it is, we can hardly call it commonplace. Some time I hope to do something for you that will suit us both entirely. Poor R. H. S. It almost made him sick. Anything that he believes will disturb or disappoint me upsets him, more than it does me. I advise you to begin your married life with nerve,3 and hardness of heart, and not bow down in the hours of what’s his name. I am sorry to have made so much trouble for you, it was made very ignorantly by me, and I fervently hope you will hear something good of the story to compensate for it. Yours very truly, Elizabeth Stoddard PS R. H. S. says that he is grateful to you because you were so kind to take the trouble.

Manuscript: Richard Henry Stoddard Papers, American Antiquarian Society

Notes 1. “The Threads Leading to Thanksgiving” appeared in the Independent on November 28, 1889. Prior to submitting the story to Bowen, she told him that the “sketch” was set in Massachusetts around 1835. “I mean it to be faithful to the

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habits of the country people of that time, and if possible to get the atmosphere of all that is local—but as you know I am no tale-bearer. As stories, my work amounts to little, I lack invention—and my readers must take me on other grounds entirely” (October 29, 1889, Abernethy Collection, Middlebury College). Stoddard discusses Bowen’s editing of the story in her letter to Lilian Whiting dated December 26, 1889: “He cut [it] down more than half and took out all the atmosphere,” she explained, “but he wanted it, and I let him do as he pleased” (Lilian Whiting Papers, Boston Public Library). 2. Stoddard’s story is followed by a poem called “The Thanksgiving Pumpkins” by George Cooper (1838–1927) and then “Jack’s Two Dinners: A Thanksgiving Story” by Olive Thorne Miller (1831–1918). “Olive Thorne Miller” was the pseudonym of Harriet Mann Miller, a naturalist and children’s author. 3. At the time of this letter, John Eliot Bowen was engaged and planning to marry in early 1890. However, he died from typhoid fever in January 1890.

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Letter 72  To Edmund Clarence Stedman February 3, [1890] Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

Mattapoisett 3rd Feb Dear Stedman— Forty centuries are swept away, and I am back in the old house with drifts of snow piled round it; the roads are blocked up, and that beautiful snow silence is everywhere. My father and Dick are smoking by the fire, touching on this topic, and that, and I must say, that father knows a great deal more of political affairs than consequences, and results, than my spouse does, who is busy with his Boker paper.1 Why, or how Dick has saved the old correspondence with Boker, he does not know, beginning about 52, letters brimming with energy and vivacity. Some years ago, I destroyed my letters from him, they were too awfully compromising, should they ever come to light what a history—pursuit, satiety, remorse were the text of many. I held to him till the discovery of an awful truth. He was a curious mixture, could weep with his victims, but he was the sort of man that would have taken the virgin Mary from the ass before Joseph, and helped her kindly into an adjoining hedge— We had a nice visit in Boston, saw Lorry, the opening night of The Pembertons,2 he acts his small part well, and has gained in grace and ease. He is at home on the stage, now he says. Dick saw Mr Houghton,3 who told him he had read my novels and was interested in them, that he would have liked to re-publish them, but he was advised not to. I do not like Dunham4 he treated me so cavalierly the last time I was in his office, I do not care to go again. I asked Dick what he thought of Houghton bringing out a vol of poems, he answered that he would rather have him bring out a vol of my stories.5 Dick will never take any step of the sort for me. I brought lots of work 213

to do, but I am so lazy and lotusy,6 boozing over the fire of oak wood, or watching the changes of the wind on the surface of the harbor. I am received on so different a basis by everybody here, from that elsewhere, that it douches my vanity entirely. Father said to me utterly forgetting that I had ever written any—that he had no faith in novels, poor stuff— There was a copy of The Morgesons here which got lent, he forgot it till somebody inquired for it, and it was found at a neighbors, where it had been twenty years. You ought to have our oysters, they are not like NY’s, far better in flavor, and eels right out of the mud, [sweet?] as a curd. Yours ever EDBS— Please excuse errors, poor pen, bad grammar and, Punctuation.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. George Henry Boker died on February 2, 1890. Richard published “George Henry Boker” in Lippincott’s in June 1890. This memorial of their early friendship made use of the letters Boker had written to him in the 1850s. 2. Lorimer Stoddard performed the role of Livingstone De Groot in the Philadelphia premier of The Pembertons by Henry Guy Carleton (1865–1910) in 1890. 3. Henry Oscar Houghton. Letter 66, note 20. 4. Most likely Oscar M. Dunham. See Letter 70, note 1. 5. In 1895, Houghton Mifflin published Stoddard’s Poems. When Richard later approached them about reprinting Stoddard’s novels, they declined. 6. A reference to Tennyson’s “The Lotos-Eaters” (1833).

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Letter 73  To Andrew Varick Stout Anthony May 7, 1890 New York City, New York

May 7th 90 329 E 15 st Dear Mr Anthony I know you meant well, but your kind note made me percieve how futile my attempts are to cover up my birthdays; they wont “blow over.”1 When I was home last, I gave my opinion of the inaccuracy of family annals, especially in dates, but in vain, “figures dont lie”—I was told. Age is relative, but to ourselves; to those who see the gradual approach of that great mining engineer, Time, they take it for granted that we are what we look to be. You know there is a great deal said about federation now, and I propose a federation of age, for self protection, we submit too easily to the insolence of youth, and it is our fault that we isolate ourselves, or consent to take the back seat in society. Now let us band together and sustain each other, dip into the flesh pots of Egypt openly,2 dwell in the tents of wickedness, with the amiability of an Eve, and the energy of an Adam, and we shall see then where the Salvation Army3 of youth is. In the streets, the churches, the theatres, wherever the machinery of life is in full blast, I often wonder where the old people are! Will you help me with a prospectus? Beginning with 50 years of age, and ending with that where imbecility starts! I can propose my own father for a member—in his 93rd year, the action of a whole mind, the effect of whose character and conduct is a perpetual study, and a wonderful lesson to me. To him, age is a mechanical hamper, and its long result seems to have brought him to a point of interest and curiosity, of what he is going to be next, and where; he has told me more than once, that I was older than himself. But if you want a genuine philosopher, 215

you can examine your friend R. H. Stoddard, whose “missus” sends her thanks to you— Sincerely, Elizabeth Stoddard

Manuscript: Papers of James R. Osgood and A. V. S. Anthony (ms Thr 470), Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. Stoddard was sixty-seven years old on May 6, 1890. 2. A reference to Exodus 16:3: “And the children of Israel said unto them, Would to God we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the flesh pots, and when we did eat bread to the full; for ye have brought us forth into this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” 3. The Salvation Army was founded in London in 1865 in order to provide charity to the poor and assistance to alcoholics, drug addicts, and prostitutes. The organization began working in the United States in 1880.

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Letter 74  To Edmund Clarence Stedman August 21, 1891 Sag Harbor, New York

21st Aug Dear Stedman. I know you love bonne booches1 and I send you one. The failure of my novels to sell is always the “black drop,”2 when they are praised and it chokes me into silence. The other day I was accosted in the street by a woman who introduced herself as Mrs Col Crawford of Georgia.3 She had heard we were here, and knowing my “works” was most desirous to meet me—at the South, she said, it was thought the re-publication of my books was most remarkable—that they were written for now &c my name ranked with Hawthorne &c. What could I say to her except—“Madam my books are never bought, they are borrowed or taken from libraries,” as it was I said nothing. There was one thing in your letter that brightened me—you were well. One thing I must contradict—your failure in “boy raising.” Arthur 4 inherits his inert temperament from his mother, not from you. Had the genius been reversed, your children would have been different. Lorry is more like me than his father; his dramatic instincts are from me. Did you see the account in the World this week of his ballet as danced at Dr Morton’s place Monday.5 It was very lovely in costume and effect and a great success, the whole execution mechanical and otherwise he carried out—but see!—he continually does something which increases his reputation, he is forever active but it puts no money in his pocket. It is terrible, that every thing depends upon Stoddard’s pen now—if it is to be so always, what is Lorry’s future to be. For years, he has been little expense to us, for he has earned his personal expenses. But he must do something more soon. I am very glad the Taylors were here, it gave us a chance to make acquaintance with the new relations,6 but Marie has a heavy burden to bear. She has to support them pretty much and she does it cheerfully 217

and handsomely. She is far more considerate and generous than she was in the plenitude of her reign with Bayard—still she is German and Marie, and Lily is Lily, a very unique person, awfully in the right— Since all women look handsome to you, may I be in your roadway soon. Never will the brands of passion die out in my nature. Through their blackness, the red fire will suddenly appear, and run like a serpent—I have constantly to struggle between the feeling of others, that I am an old woman to be set aside, while the young bachantes7 whirl by with uplifted arms in the dance of life—and my own feeling of my inward power of life, and achievement. I remind myself of that celebrated Irish gentleman who died lately, he was without arms and legs, but he left eight children! 8 I too, and we both are, very well—but my working ability has vanished. I have tried to write here, I am as stupid and dull as an ox. My attempts hurt me, what is the matter? I am almost nervously sick about it. I have now the chance to earn something by my letters and sketches9—but my intellect is dumb— I think we shall be home 1st week in Sept. I expect to go to Thousand Islands with the Dickinsons10 as it will cost me nothing. I have to begin housekeeping get a new servant &c first. Dick says he must write two more of “Lamps”11—before we can get away from here— I hope you will go to your lovely place, wish I could be there with you a week. Nature, at least can give us something for the “nights and days of Egypt”—innocent too—but if you are in town—come to see us before I go away. It is a comfort to write you today. Your EDBS I mourn Lowell much.12 Three names I owe much to. Hawthorne, Lowell, Stedman. Dick says, “Tell him I thought his spiriting of Lowell was in very good taste.”

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

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Notes 1. A delicious tidbit or morsel. 2. From Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Fate” (1860): “How shall a man escape from his ancestors, or draw off from his veins the black drop which he drew from his father’s or mother’s life?” 3. Probably Amanda Reese Crawford (1825–1905), wife of Confederate Colonel Martin J. Crawford (1820–1883). 4. Arthur Stedman (1859–??), the Stedmans’ son. 5. The Lawn Tennis Club of Sag Harbor hosted a festival at a Dr. Morton’s grounds in Redwood on August 10, 1891. Lorry Stoddard supervised the performance of “a butterfly and floral pastoral ballet” throughout the day. 6. On July 30, 1891, Stoddard told Stedman that Marie Taylor had come to visit them, along with her daughter Lily and Lily’s husband, Dr. Otto Theobald Kiliani (1863–??). She expressed concern that Marie was going to “sacrifice herself and her means for Lily and her husband,” who were planning on sharing a home with Marie (Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Columbia University). The Stoddards were apparently meeting Otto for the first time. 7. The mythical bacchantes or Bacchae were the female followers of Bacchus, who were inspired into intoxicated fits of frenzy and dancing. 8. Probably a reference to Arthur MacMorrough Kavanagh (1831–1889), an Irish member of Parliament who was born without arms and legs. He had seven children, not eight as Stoddard notes here. A book based on Kavanagh’s life, The Right Honorable Arthur MacMurrough Kavanagh, by Sarah L. Steele (??–??), was published in the United States in 1891, the year this letter was written. 9. Since the late 1880s, Stoddard had been publishing regularly in the Independent, edited by John Bowen. See Letter 71 in this volume. She also published occasionally in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine and Cosmopolitan. 10. Probably E. D. Dickinson (??–??), a businessman who contributed to the development of Thousand Islands, a popular resort destination that consists of a group of islands in the St. Lawrence River on the United States–Canada border. 11. In 1892, Richard published Under the Evening Lamps, a collection of essays about modern poets, with Scribner’s. 12. James Russell Lowell died on August 12, 1891.

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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 220

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, and hold me down, and people will think, “Why dont she do something.” 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.

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Letter 76  To William Dean Howells November 24, [1895] New York City, New York

Nov 24 329 E 15th st Dear Mr Howells At last I am noticed, and I have dropped a tear of pure pleasure over what you have written of me, it is lovely.1 I remember you then, as being very young and handsome. I hope no body will “down” you for what you have said, unless it is Stoddard, he dont believe in that word “abhorrant.” Will you let me be a little egotistical? I do not understand why I should be so entirely dead. In all summaries of novels, my name is left out, not long ago Brander Mathews had an article in some magazine on our female novelists and my name was not mentioned.2 In later times, with a view of finding out the ailments of my novels I read them as a sort of outsider, and with all their faults I liked them. I found the poorest work in The Morgesons, the best and sincerest in Temple House, the most berated of all I have written, yet no one discovered that my heroine’s life was one of selfsacrifice, patience and purity—“Why didn’t you put some loveliness into Virginia Brand”3—I was asked. As for my poems, if you could look into the frequent inexpressible trash which comes here year after year you would not wonder that I believe that my verse has something original and picturesque. I rarely hear of it, and am never certain that any editor will accept it. As for Stoddard as a critic on novels, I have never had much reason to respect him. Until within a few years he did not read novels, he had no interest in that art, he never cared for mine, in his heart never believed in them. When I gave him the MS of my first story to read, he had so little faith in it, in my prose talent, that he went off to read it by himself, and came back to say that it was good enough to offer. Mr Lowell saved me then in the Atlantic—but 222

for him I should probably never have written prose again.4 In verse Stoddard has been magnificently generous, and a wonderful help to me. So if my scalp happens to be sound instead of sore, I trust that what I have written, will not prove the contrary to you. Lorry’s play of Napoleon Bonaparte makes an interesting piece of stage biography.5 Ordered by Mansfield, stopped when nearly done, accepted, rehearsed, thrown over as impossible, accepted again, and is now acted on the road. To quote a dreadful adage—Lorry “bit off more than he could chew,” which I think applied originally to New England marine tobacco chewers. Mansfield wanted all the great episodes in Napoleon’s life for him to star in. So Lorry staid in his company writing and acting, till the first repulse, then he came home with his play and lived peacefully till two months ago, when he made a contract to play in The Amazon and is on the road now.6 There was only a week before Mansfield sent for Napoleon again, and then put it on the stage. It was a misfortune that Lorry could not have rehearsed it, he would have changed a good deal, had he been an experienced playwright, he would not have made 7 into episodes. The company was very poor, Marchand the emperor’s valet was delightfully drawn, as acted almost a failure. But I never heard such applause, nor so long, as at the end of the 3rd act and there never was any thing finer than Napoleon’s death on the stage—powerful, quiet, grand. It was the opinion of some old play goers and actors that night, that Mansfield had it in his head to ruin the play, he was so affected and so mad with Lorry, and the contract, but his art overpowered him, and he would not keep rising to the occasion, and—there was too much money in it. Through all this fight Lorry has behaved with so much sense and discretion, and dignity, that his father has actually, warmly praised him. In conclusion Mansfield treats with him by a medium. If this bores you forgive the old mother who remembers your kindness to her boy. What do you mean by “different ideals”—wealth and poverty separates people more than ideals. If I ever get an account from my publisher again, I shall owe it to you. Gratefully Yours Elizabeth Stoddard 223

Manuscript: William Dean Howells Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University

Notes 1. Howells’s “First Impressions of Literary New York” was published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in June 1895. Here Howells recalled meeting a number of New York’s literati, including the Stoddards, in the mid-nineteenth century. The Stoddards, he explained, “were then in the glow of their early fame as poets,” but “were very, very good to me. . . . what I relished most was the long talk I had with them both about authorship in all its phases, and the exchange of delight in this poem and that, this novel and that, with gay, willful runs away to make some wholly irrelevant joke, or fire puns into the air at no mark whatever.” Stoddard “was beginning to make her distinct and special quality felt in the magazines, in verse and fiction. In both, it seems to me that she has failed of the recognition which her work merits, and which will be hers when Time begins to look about him for work worth remembering. Her tales and novels have in them a foretaste of realism, which was too strange for the palate of their day, and is now too familiar, perhaps. It is a peculiar fate, and would form the scheme of a pretty study in the history of literature. But in whatever she did she left the stamp of a talent like no other, and of a personality disdainful of literary environment. In a time when most of us had to write like Tennyson, or Longfellow, or Browning, she never would write like any one but herself ” (72–73). 2. “On Certain Recent Novels by American Women,” by Brander Matthews (1852–1929), was published in the Cosmopolitan in April 1891. 3. Virginia Brande, often spelled “Brand” in Stoddard’s letters, was one of the primary characters in Stoddard’s last novel, Temple House (1867). 4. See Letters 17 and 18 in this volume, as well as Elizabeth Stoddard to Lowell, January 27, 1860, and April 23, 1860; and Richard Stoddard to Lowell, November 7, 1859, and December 22, 1858, in James Russell Lowell Papers, Houghton Library, Harvard University. 5. Lorimer Stoddard’s Napoleon Bonaparte, starring the British actor Richard Mansfield (1857–1907), opened at the Herald Square Theater during the week of October 28, 1894. 6. Probably a reference to the dramatic comedy The Amazons by Arthur Wing Pinero (1855–1934). Lorry played the role of the Earl in some productions of this play. 7. Stoddard seems to have left a word missing here.

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Letter 77  To Julia Ripley Dorr January 15, 1896 [New York City, New York]

15th Jan 1896 Dear Julia, It is a great pleasure to have your letter, you are so much more an artist, “trained” than I am, that I should not have been surprised at a degree of indifference to some of my verse.1 You must have felt “Unreturning”2—the life of my heart—the loss which still gives me such a pang, that both, Stoddard and I shut it off from each other. Is not life hard, and yet we live. We are enduring a bitter trial now, in Stoddard’s increasing blindness. The 21st Dec Lorry and I took him to Plymouth where he read a poem before the Pilgrim Society.3 When we realized his condition, not a step did he take without one of us to guide him, and with it all, a painful expressive nervousness, pitiful to see. He read beautifully, but it was woeful to me. He feels best at home, and probably will never go out much more, it is a wonder to me how he bears it, for I think sometimes I cannot endure it, everything he might enjoy is cut off, inch by inch. I have to be in attendance constantly to find his pen, his everything, he still writes for the Mail,4 how long he will do that, which seems almost automatic, is a question of time and fear. Look for his poem in the Atlantic, The Caravansary,5 which he wrote the other day, lovely, he never does better work than now. In regard to my poems, you know I had no status as a poet, but Mr. Mifflin6 told Stoddard that they thought it ought to be published it was so good. But for what Howells wrote of me in Harpers,7 I should not have offered it to M & H8—for a year or two ago I offered it to Harpers, and it was refused. I pray that M&H may not lose by it, I should feel tempted to buy up the edition secretly and destroy it, I have small hope of its selling. Stoddard is much gratified by your letters, and sends his regards to you, you may believe that he is much more gratified by praise of me than for himself. 225

Are you not at peace in your pleasant home. I hope you have your health, in age, if we can have that, we must be contented. One thing I am sure of, you have not been harassed by poverty as we have been always. Are your sons away from you. Our boy will be with us in a few days to act here awhile, he is a very great treasure to us, but I think it sad he should be handicapped by two old people, he would be glad to have me young—he is bone of my bone. I received your poems the other day, I don’t think you can surpass the delightful Fallow Field.9 But there is such an outcry about the failure in writing, from age, that I am glad to perceive that you can still go without crutches. Yours truly, Elizabeth Stoddard

Manuscript: Julia Ripley Dorr Papers, Middlebury College

Notes 1. A reference to Stoddard’s collected Poems (1895). 2. “Unreturning,” a poem about the death of her son Willy, was originally published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in January 1868, and was reprinted in Poems. 3. The poem that Richard wrote for the occasion was published as “The Proceedings at the Celebration of the Pilgrim Society, at Plymouth, December 21st, 1895, of the 275th Anniversary of the Landing of the Pilgrims” (1896). 4. The New York Mail and Express. See Letter 67, note 5. 5. “The Caravansary” was published in the Atlantic Monthly in February 1896. 6. George Harris Mifflin (1845–1921). Mifflin joined the publishing firm Hurd and Houghton in 1867. In 1880, Ticknor and Fields merged with Houghton and Mifflin to become Houghton, Mifflin and Company, with whom Stoddard published Poems in 1895. 7. William Dean Howells’s “First Impressions of Literary New York.” See Letter 76, note 1. 8. Houghton and Mifflin. 9. Dorr’s “The Fallow Field” was one of her most popular poems and was widely reprinted. It was originally published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine in February 1883.

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Letter 78  To Edmund Clarence Stedman April 1, 1897 [New York City, New York]

April 1st 97 Dear Stedman. We are happy in concluding since we have heard from you, that you did not get cold Thursday night, as Judge Daly, and Mr Whiting did.1 More than once Dick has said that it would have made him miserable if you had taken a chill, and the grip—When Lorry got home that night, he said it was the happiest day of his life, there was not a flaw or blemish anywhere, every thing wheeled in its course perfectly. I am thinking I have not been grateful enough for myself— I was dazed. Was ever an old woman toasted directly before?2 Your speech was as fine as steel, and as smooth as ivory—and so generous—I wish you would give me your miniature in a little frame I want to bring back the old beauty of my throat, by wearing it. Do give it to me— It certainly was the happiest thing. Mr Hitchcock has made himself past master in management—talk no more of your Depews or your Potters3— I could not help thinking after all those men came up to the gallery and kissed me—of the woman in Montaigne—who thanked God when the soldiers came, that for once she had had her fill without sin!4 Why didn’t you come up, Laura was very kind to me. Mr Dorr 5 thinks or says there is a call for a pamphlet about the dinner, in case you want the above anecdote printed in it—send it. Did you ever know anything like Tess.6 The cry is, still they come— This week we have three magazines unknown to us—with notices praising Lorry, one quite good by a Robert Stoddart in Town and Country.7 Mary Bradley was chagrined when she heard of Edith Thomas’ poem,8 and has written some clever doggerel to “Dickey bird”— 227

Well my dear I thank you forever. Is there to be no let up in Wall St for you—Can you not, you do make more money by literature than Dick—would you not be contented to live poor as we do, and not be torn by dread and anxiety—it is all wrong some however. Ever Your Lisbeth The pictures have just come—quite effective, only you must have stirred—

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. On March 25, 1897, the Authors Club of New York hosted a dinner at the Hotel Savoy in honor of Richard’s career. Stedman hosted, while Ripley Hitchcock (1857–1918), a journalist and art critic, made most of the arrangements. More than one hundred and fifty guests attended, including C. G. Whiting (??–??) and the former judge, C. P. Daly (??–??). 2. Despite being seated in an alcove with the other female guests, Stoddard was pointed out throughout the evening and her work was commended as “the equal of Poe and Charlotte Brontë.” See “Honoring Mr. Stoddard.” Drama critic Laurence Hutton (1843–1904) made a formal toast to Stoddard, which was replied to by Lorry. 3. The Depews and the Potters were both prominent families in nineteenthcentury New York. 4. Stoddard refers to “A Custom of the Island of Cea,” in which Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592) cites numerous instances in which women have killed themselves rather than subject themselves to sexual assault. He goes on to write, “It will perhaps be to our honor in the centuries to come that a learned author of this day . . . takes pains to persuade the ladies of our time to make up their minds to anything rather than adopt the horrible counsel of such despair. I am sorry that he did not know and insert among his stories the good one I heard at Toulouse of a woman who had passed through the hands of some soldiers: ‘God be praised,’ she said, ‘that at least once in my life I have had my fill without sin!’” (Montaigne 257). 5. Probably Seneca Dorr, Julia Dorr’s husband. 6. Lorry’s stage version of Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1891) by Thomas Hardy (1840–1928) premiered at the Fifth Avenue Theater in early March, 1897. Minnie Madern Fiske (1865–1932) starred as Tess. 7. Though the exact reference is not clear, it is worth noting that this is not a reference to the magazine whose predecessor was the Home Journal, edited by

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Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806–1867). The Home Journal was renamed Town and Country in 1901, four years after Stoddard wrote this letter. 8. The American poet Edith M. Thomas (1854–1925) was unable to attend the dinner, but sent a sonnet she had written in honor of Richard. It began, “O most revered of all the singing throng, / Yet hasten not, although our evening star, / To fields of heaven beyond the twilight bar; / But with thy voice and presence sooth us long.” (The sonnet was reprinted, untitled, in “Honoring Mr. Stoddard” in the April 3, 1897, Critic [No. 789, p. 230].) In a reference to Keats, the sonnet called Richard a “link between us and that youth supreme / For whom in Hampstead mute hath grown the nightingale.”

Photograph of Elizabeth, Richard, and Lorimer Stoddard. “Portrait, Stoddard Wife and Son, ca. 1896,” Museum of the City of New York, Byron Co.

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Letter 79  To Laura Stedman November 29, 1897 New York City, New York

29th Nov Dear Laura What a good nice visit we had, I wish I was there now. I could soon settle into my own ways, with books, work writing, and come up even with yours. I do wish you could have a congenial companion with you—one like what Mary Bradley1 is to me—where you would be at home with each other, and no interference. Next time we marry don’t let us take a man of genius—I shall choose a business man, with a good temper. But Bayard had a good temper—he never showed Marie any irritation—he felt it though. I have seen him when his face was so red that he looked as if a blood vessel would burst—she gave him headaches, but he never said a word, he would take a book, hold it to his eyes—and I doubt if he always read it. Stedman is a wonderful man, such energy, always vital, and out-springing. But is the game worth the candle? This everlasting labor to gain the necessary money? Our two men might make a little swap in traits. Stedman to take some of Dick’s indifference, and Dick some of Stedman’s energy, and a bit of his all roundness—I think Dick was much impressed with Stedman’s working power. Alas, my poor man is blighted terribly by his want of sight—he is far more unhappy than any but I know— I forgot my earth—can you when S. sends the MS.—just in a paper, earth that would fill a pint bowl—it is but little I want. And I meant to ask you what kind of colonder you put potatoes through— a common one like what we press pumpkin in? They were awfully nice. We had roast chicken yesterday, with macaroni—and myonaise salad—I shall give that up unless I can get pure olive oil without a taste. Alice2 makes a myonaise as perfect as any French cook— (I believe I haven’t spell it right)— 230

How I wish I could make over the world, including myself, and have everybody right minded and happy—it is certain the root of much misery is in ourselves. And how true it is—what the old man said on his death bed—“I have had a great deal of unhappiness in my life, but the most of it, never happened”! Yours affectionately EDBS PS Miss [Sterling?] wanted this poem of Dick’s and I cut it out of Springfield Republ3—also I send my last poem to Stedman4 —[illegible]

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

Notes 1. Mary Neely Bradley. See Letter 56, note 1. 2. Alice Breüder (1874?–1940?) was a servant who joined the Stoddard household sometime in the early 1890s. 3. The Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican. 4. Possibly “The Story of the Leaf,” published in the Independent on November 12, 1896.

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Letter 80  To Lilian Whiting [July 1901] Liberty, New York

The Loomis Sanitarium1 Liberty—NY Dear Miss Whiting. I should have answered something concerning your article about us, but I have been, and am so absorbed in Lorimers illness, that I cannot feel much interested in anything besides. There seems to be a Stoddard epidemic, yours was the second or third paper, two or three days after, there was one on Mr S, from Phila, and several more are impending. We came here last Tuesday and to our great sorrow found Lorimer more ill than we knew, and in the care of a trained nurse, he got out of bed and dressed to meet us. On the train that brought us were two expert Drs who were coming to examine his throat that night and we did not know it! He was told that he was in a precarious state, that the disease must be arrested or that it would be fatal. He is so calm, so patient that the Drs praised him, he can talk very little, and can taste nothing, it is heart breaking, to see that clever energetic man lying there like a child, and Oh so loving to me, every body admiring him here, but I cannot nor will not give him up till he is taken from me. You have always been kind to us, in the way of appreciation, and we give you thanks. All our friends supposed him to be on the road to recovery, and I have much to do in the way of writing them. I shall stay by him, but shall take Mr S to NY, he is very helpless, and almost blind. Indeed for more than a year I have had a terrible burden to bear, and my health is very uncertain. Pray for us, but I cannot tell you to whom Yours truly Elizabeth Stoddard

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Manuscript: Lilian Whiting Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, Boston Public Library

Notes 1. Suffering from a rapidly worsening case of tuberculosis, Lorry went to the Loomis Memorial Sanitarium for Consumptives in Liberty, New York, in June. Named after Dr. Alfred Lebbeus Loomis (1831–1895), the physician who initiated efforts to establish a sanitarium in the Adirondacks, it opened in 1894.

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Letter 81  To Edmund Clarence Stedman August 29, [1901] Sag Harbor

29th Aug Dear Stedman The last nails of Lorrys coffin is first being driven into his wasted body, today he cannot speak, or whisper but a word to me, the end is near. I am much troubled about Dick, he is not himself, and is very strange. At Liberty1 he could do his work and had tolerably good spirits, he could not & did not give up hope,2 but here he has broken down, and wonderful he has composed two or three fine poems, had them set up at the Mail3 and I have just read them. He does not speak of Lorry scarcely to any one, nothing to me. It is an awful tragedy in my soul as I look upon my son. To me in the last months he has revealed a personality I did not know. If angelic patience, and an utter sweetness of conduct, will help him heavenward he will be there, he has prepared his affairs, ever since he knew his limit. We have a Doctor Peterson4 with us from the post graduate, and his nurse who has been with him at Liberty, to whom he is much attached, and she is devoted to him. Everything has been done, and is for him. Mrs Donaldson5 came with us, but left Tuesday. He was determined to get to Sag Harbor. Why he wanted to come, I know not, I have no intimation as yet, how I am going to exist after. Yours EDBS

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

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Notes 1. The Loomis Sanitarium, where Lorry was treated for tuberculosis, is located in Liberty, New York. See Letter 80, note 1. 2. “[H]e could not & did not give up hope” is written along the right margin of the page. 3. The New York Mail and Express. See Letter 67, note 5. 4. Unidentified. 5. Unidentified.

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Letter 82  To Lilian Whiting November 18, [1901] New York City, New York

329 E 15 Nov 18 Dear Miss Whiting Reading lately that Mrs Piper had made a confession, that she did not now believe that she had communicated with spirits of the dead, it occurred to me to write you, if you knew and believed in her.1 Do you still have a relation with Kate Field,2 who was a woman as different to me as she was to you, that two personalities were made up between us.3 Sometimes I so long to touch Lorry’s beautiful hand, or lay mine on his head,4 that I would, like the wandering Jew,5 crawl to the edge of [Bering’s?] Straits,6 and stretch myself towards what I can never see. I have no belief nor unbelief— Mr Stoddard is heart broken. When he after clinging to hope, saw that he was dying, it was an awful blow that fell upon him, and from that hour to this he is not himself. At Liberty he wrote the beautiful poems in the Sat. Eve. Phil. Post. Yours truly Elizabeth Stoddard Manuscript: Lilian Whiting Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Department, Boston Public Library

Notes 1. Leonora E. Piper (1859–1950) was a well-known American trance medium. After a number of sittings with the psychologist and philosopher William James (1842–1910), Piper was introduced to the Society for Psychical Research (SPR), whom she allowed to study her for the next fifteen years. In 1901, she published “Mrs. Piper’s Plain Statement” in the New York Herald, announcing her separation

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from the SPR, as well as her belief that spirits did not actually speak through her while in the trance state. While recognizing that “many bereaved people have been at least temporarily comforted in sorrow” from her work as a medium, she was inclined to see “the theory of telepathy . . . as the most plausible and genuinely scientific solution of the problem” (October 20, 1901). 2. See Letter 57, note 1. 3. Field, who had been an intimate friend of Whiting’s, died on May 19, 1896. In 1897, Whiting published After Her Death: The Story of a Summer, in which she claimed to have been communicating with Field since her death. While she did not mention Piper by name in After Her Death, Whiting later acknowledged that Piper was the medium through whom she contacted Fields’s spirit. See “From a Spirit,” Boston Globe (November 13, 1894): 4. 4. Lorimer Stoddard died on September 1, 1901, in Sag Harbor. 5. In medieval Christian folklore, the wandering Jew taunts Jesus on the way to the Crucifixion and is then cursed to walk the earth until the Second Coming. 6. Possibly a reference to The Wandering Jew (1845), a popular anti-Catholic novel by the French writer Eugène Sue (1804–1857). At the opening of the novel the wandering Jew and his sister, Herodiade, call out to each other across the Bering Strait. The two have been condemned to wander the earth until all of the members of a large family have died.

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Letter 83  To Edmund Clarence Stedman June 30, 1902 New York City, New York

30th June My dear Stedman This morning when I was waiting for the day to begin I was thinking that if you left me, what should I do? And more I have the happy news of your getting better fast—only take care. I seem to be running behind, attack upon attack strikes me, then of course like the frog in the well I go back three steps.1 The Dr has changed, or rather given me a new remedy, and for two days I am improved. Did you ever have a set of gaps every one of which has lashed me round the body and made me hotter? Yesterday I only whimpered when they started. Stoddard visits me half a dozen times a day coming up the stairs like swift tortoise. I have been here in this room since 22 April, not until the gap band round my body vanishes can I say I am getting well. I am awfully discouraged at times, I want to get up to settle affairs—nothing suits me. Sat the signers who are to have what I leave were here, with a bank man and my lawyer, whom I did not choose, Stoddard gets on very well he walks out with Pedro2 several times a week. I can read and write as you see, and I beg you to hold on to your will, when I think of Lorry’s will and fortitude, and I am thinking of him nearly every hour. Make believe this is a cheerful letter. Thank Mrs Stedman for thinking of me— Your ES I haven’t control of my mind to write right yet.

Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University

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Notes 1. Stoddard became ill with double-pneumonia in the spring of 1902. On May 8, 1902, Stedman told Elizabeth Akers Allen, “Of course we gave her up for lost, as she is 79, but she has pulled through & bids fair to slowly recover” (Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers, Colby College). 2. Pedro Nicolas Piedra (1871–19??) was a male nurse who cared for Richard when his health deteriorated after Lorry’s death. Piedra immigrated to the United States from Matanzas, Cuba, about 1890. Alice Breüder (see Letter 79, note 2) married Pedro Piedra on February 23, 1904, after Richard’s death. The couple inherited most of the Stoddards’ furniture.

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Letter 84  To [Constance Lodge Gardner?] July 2, [1902] New York City, New York

2nd July My Dear It is a year ago that we started for the Loomis1 happy in expecting Lorry was going to get well. In a few minutes the blow struck,2 and the arrow is still in me. On April 22nd I was suddenly seized with double pneumonia, and was near to death as the Dr’s and all, thought, but the lungs cleared, leaving all sorts of feeble misery and pains, attack after attack, I can sit up now a while each day—Mr Stoddard is down stairs with his nurse,3 and I am up here with mine. He is better than when you were here, but feeble yet. I made ready a little package for your earlier in April, and I believe I wrote you of it— the last letter I had from you got lost in the confusion of the collapse which took hold of Stoddard that we thought he would die. Make sure that you will see me in July then I can give it to you. Tell Constance4 that I made up a tiny pot of shells, which Lorry played with when he was as small as herself. I will tell her about them. I have thought so much here of you in my silent watches, when I thought it quite likely, that my strength could not hold out against the terrible shock. I have had a wonderful experience of the mind astray—an [illegible] so real which concerned nothing I ever knew of my past or present life—It will seem like a miracle when I do get well, that I did. Mrs Kimball5 I heard through Mrs [McCrea?] our nurse that she lived in 44th, but that was in April—Upon which bough is she swinging now? How near are you to Salem where some of my people’s haughty souls lived.6 I cannot write easealy forget how to spell, and every thing wrong but by heart. Stoddard who loves you would send love if he were near.  Ever yours Elizabeth S

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Manuscript: Allison-Shelley Collection, Rare Books and Manuscripts, Pennsylvania State University Libraries

Notes 1. The Loomis Sanitarium. See Letter 80, note 1. 2. The Stoddards found Lorry terminally ill. At Lorry’s request, they took him to Sag Harbor, where he died on September 1, 1901. 3. Pedro Nicolas Piedra. See Letter 83, note 2. 4. Potentially Gardner’s daughter, also named Constance Gardner (1894–??). 5. Unidentified. 6. The Gardners lived in Hamilton, Massachusetts, ten miles from Salem. Stoddard based several of the characters in The Morgesons on her Salem relatives.

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Works Cited

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Manuscript Collections Julian W. Abernethy Collection of American Literature. Special Collections. Middlebury College. Elizabeth Akers Allen Papers. Colby College Special Collections. Waterville, Maine. Thomas Bailey Aldrich Papers. Houghton Library. Harvard University. Allison-Shelley Collection. Rare Books and Manuscripts. Pennsylvania State University Libraries. Wilson Barstow Papers. Manuscript Division. Library of Congress. Henry W. and Albert A. Berg Collection of English and American Literature. New York Public Library. George H. Boker Collection. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Library. Edwin Booth Collection. Hampden-Booth Theatre Library at the Players Club. New York City. Julia Ripley Dorr Papers. Julian W. Abernethy Collection of American Literature. Special Collections. Middlebury College. Rufus W. Griswold Collection. Rare Books and Manuscripts Department. Boston Public Library. Papers of Julian Hawthorne. Hawthorne Family Papers. Bancroft Library. University of Calfornia–Berkeley. Nathaniel Hawthorne Papers. Berg Collection of English and American Literature. Manuscripts and Archives Division. New York Public Library. Caroline Wells Healey Dall Papers. Massachusetts Historical Society. Ripley Hitchcock Collection. Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Columbia University in the City of New York. Holland Collection of Literary Letters. Special Collections Department. University of Colorado at Boulder Libraries. Howells Family Papers. Houghton Library. Harvard University. Helen Hunt Jackson Papers. Tutt Library Special Collections. Colorado College. James Russell Lowell Papers. Houghton Library. Harvard University. Manton Marble Papers. Manuscript Division. Library of Congress. James Matlack Papers. Mattapoisett Historical Society. Jervis McEntee Papers. Archives of American Art. Smithsonian Institution. Louise Chandler Moulton Papers. Manuscript Division. Library of Congress.

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Papers of James R. Osgood and A. V. S. Anthony. Rogers Memorial Collection. Harvard Theatre Collection. Houghton Library. Harvard University. Whitelaw Reid Papers. Reid Family Papers. Manuscript Division. Library of Congress. Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers. Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Columbia University in the City of New York. Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers. David M. Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Richard H. and Elizabeth B. Stoddard Papers. Manuscripts and Archives Division. Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundatons. New York Public Library. Richard Henry Stoddard Papers. American Antiquarian Society. Margaret Jane Mussey Sweat Collection. Maine Women Writers Collection. University of New England. Portland, Maine. Bayard Taylor Papers. Houghton Library. Harvard University. Bayard Taylor Papers. Division of Rare Book and Manuscript Collections. Cornell University Library. Lilian Whiting Papers. Rare Books and Manuscripts Department. Boston Public Library. Robert Young Collection Relating to William Winter. Folger Shakespeare Library. Washington, D.C.

Books and Articles Aldrich, Lilian Woodman. Crowding Memories. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1920. Buell, Lawrence, and Sandra A. Zagarell, eds. The Morgesons & Other Writings, Published and Unpublished. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984. “Concerning Free Love.” New York Tribune (July 20, 1871): 4. Davis, Paulina Wright. “Free Love Once More: A Last Word from Mrs. Paulina Wright Davis.” New York Tribune (July 20, 1871): 2. Decker, William Merrill. Epistolary Practices: Letter Writing in America before Telecommunications. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998. Gaul, Theresa Strouth. To Marry an Indian: The Marriage of Harriett Gold and Elias Boudinot in Letters, 1823–1839. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005. Hewitt, Elizabeth. Correspondence and American Literature, 1770–1865. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Hobson, Charles F., and Arnold Shankman. “Colonel of the Bucktails: Civil War Letters of Charles Frederick Taylor.” Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 97.3 (July 1973): 333–361. “Honoring Mr. Stoddard.” The Critic 789 (April 3, 1897): 1–7. Howells, William Dean. “First Impressions of Literary New York.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 91.541 (June 1895): 62–75. _____. Literary Friends and Acquaintance. New York: Harper, 1901.

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Hunt, Leigh. A Day by the Fire and Other Papers, Hitherto Uncollected. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1870. “Lord Lytton.” Scribner’s Magazine (April 1873): 763–764. Mahoney, Lynn. Elizabeth Stoddard and the Boundaries of Bourgeois Culture. New York: Routledge, 2004. Matlack, James Hendrickson. The Literary Career of Elizabeth Barstow Stoddard. Diss. Yale University, 1968. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1968. Montaigne, Michel de. Complete Essays of Montaigne. Trans. Donald M. Frame. Palo Alto CA: Stanford University Press, 1958. Oggel, L. Terry, ed. The Letters and Notebooks of Mary Devlin Booth. New York: Greenwood Press, 1987. Piper, Leonora E. “Mrs. Piper’s Plain Statement.” New York Herald (October 20, 1901): 7. Putzi, Jennifer. “‘Two single married women’: The Correspondence of Elizabeth Stoddard and Margaret Sweat, 1851–1854.” Letters and Cultural Transformations in the United States, 1760–1860. Eds. Theresa Strouth Gaul and Sharon M. Harris. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009. 117–135. Ripley, George. Review of Two Men. New York Tribune (November 16, 1865): 6. Ruggles, Eleanor. Prince of Players: Edwin Booth. New York: Greenwood Press, 1972. Sinor, Jennifer. The Extraordinary Work of Ordinary Writing: Annie Ray’s Diary. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 2002. Spacks, Patricia Meyer. “Forgotten Genres.” Modern Language Studies 18 (1988): 47–57. Stedman, Edmund Clarence. “Miss Field’s Debut. A Letter from Mr. Stedman.” New York Tribune (November 18, 1974): 5. _____. “Mrs. Stoddard’s Novels.” Two Men. Elizabeth Stoddard. New York: Cassell, 1888. vii-xii. _____. Poets of America. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, 1885. Stoddard, Elizabeth. “A Literary Whim.” Appleton’s Journal (October 14, 1871): 440–441. _____. “Literary Folk as They Came and Went with Ourselves.” Ed. Ripley Hitchcock. Saturday Evening Post 5 (June 2, 1900): 1126–1127. _____. Temple House. New York: Carleton, 1867. Stoddard, Richard Henry. Recollections, Personal and Literary. New York: A. S. Barnes and Company, 1903. Taylor, Bayard. Selected Letters of Bayard Taylor. Ed. Paul C. Wermuth. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1997. Webster, James Carson. Erastus D. Palmer. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1983. Whiting, Lilian. Review of Two Men. Boston Traveller (June 21, 1888). Winter, William. “Booth’s Theater—Masks and Faces—Miss Kate Field.” New York Tribune (November 16, 1874): 5.

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Index

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To shorten and simplify the index, the authors have used the initials EDBS and RHS for the names of Elizabeth Drew Barstow Stoddard and Richard Henry Stoddard. Agnew, Mary. See Mary Agnew Taylor Akers, Benjamin (“Paul”), xlix Akers Allen, Elizabeth, xiii, xvi, xxxii, 64, 159, 161n7, 166, 168, 174, 239n1; begins friendship with EDBS, xxviii; biographical note, xlix–l; EDBS’s desire to help, 180; letters to, 159–161, 163–165, 166– 167, 168–169, 174–175 Alcott, Louisa May, 74, 179 Alden, Henry Mills, 172 Aldine, xlix, lxii, 137n3, 144n16, 156, 157 Aldrich, Lilian Woodman, xxi, 60n4 103n14, 109n7 Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 1, 103n14, 107n11, 109n7, 122, 194; disagreement with EDBS, 113; EDBS’s opinion of, 171n7; member of EDBS’s social circle, 57, 68, 90, 100; present at the death of Willy Stoddard, 65; supporting reprinting of EDBS’s novels, 196n9 Alford, Samuel M., 100 Allen, Elijah M., xlix, 160, 167, 168, 169, 174 Allen, Florence Percy, 174 Allen, Grace Barton, 160, 168, 169, 175n2 The American Punch, 177 Ames, Mary Clemmer, 145

Andrews, Stephen Pearl, 56n5 Anthony, Andrew Varick Stout: biographical note, l; letter to, 215–216 Anthony, Mary, l Appleton’s Journal, 163 Arnold, Edwin, 201n6 Arnold, Matthew, 39 Atlantic Monthly, lii, lv, lvi, lviii, 76, 95–96, 196n10; EDBS publishes in, xxiii, xxix, 44, 51, 222; RHS publishes in, 176, 225 Author’s Club (NYC), xxxi, 228n1 B., Eliza, 108, 116 Bailey, Philip James, 40n3 Balzac, Honoré de, 202, 206 Bancroft, George, 176 Bancroft, Hubert Howe, 74 Banks, Mary Theodosia Palmer, 73 Banks, Nathaniel Prentice, 73 Barlow, Edward Franklin (“Frank”), 117 Barlow, Franklin, 118n8 Barrett, James J., 142, 143 Barstow, Altol, 128, 140n3 Barstow, Anne W., lxv, 209, 220 Barstow, Betsy S. Drew, xix, 3–4, 12 Barstow, Eliza, 136. See also Eliza B. Barstow, George Arnold, 220–221 Barstow, Jane, xix, 3–4 Barstow, Jane Parr Faunce, 17, 220

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Barstow, Samuel, l, 40n2 Barstow, Wilson, Jr., xxiv–xxv, li, lxiv, 8, 9, 12, 15, 40n2, 46, 49, 50, 59, 61, 63, 68–69, 84, 100, 101, 102, 105, 109n3, 111, 113, 128, 129, 140, 193, 203, 220; biographical note, l–li; EDBS’s feelings for, 4, 7, 15, 69; letters by, 84, 114; letters to, 108– 109, 116–118; missing letters written by EDBS to, xxxii; as recipient of multiple letters from EDBS, xvi; visited by EDBS in NYC, xix; and Willy Stoddard’s death, 65, 66 Barstow, Wilson, Sr., xix, 5, 16, 108, 139, 213; assessment of EDBS’s temperament, 169; as census taker, 116; death of, 220–221; EDBS’s feelings for, 7; health of, 11; lack of respect for EDBS’s career, 214; letters by, 119–120; marriage to Jane Parr Faunce, 17; owed money by the Stoddards, 183; publishes defense of Bayard Taylor’s character, 177 Barstow, Zaccheus Mead, 5 Bass, Charles, 26 Beecher, Catharine, 27–28n11 Beecher, Henry Ward, lix, 24, 154–155n5 Bell, Helen Olcott Choate, 102 Bellows, Henry Whitney, 32, 75 Benton, Thomas Hart, 73 Bierstadt, Albert, 70n10, 90, 115n9 Bohemianism, lxv, 44, 116 Boker, George Henry, xxiv, 47, 63, 180, 214n1; EDBS’s destruction of letters written by, 213; EDBS’s opinion of, 9, 173n7; letters by, 4, 6n11, 213, 214n1; meets EDBS, 6n11; meets RHS, lxi; as member of EDBS’s social circle, xxxixn59; refers to EDBS as “the Pythoness,” xxxvin6; review of The Morgesons, 86n6, 214n1

Bonaparte, Jerome Napoleon, 69 Bonaparte, Louis-Napoleon, 142 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 88, 223 Booth, Edwin, xxxiii, 90, 91, 96–97, 100–102, 105, 203; EDBS’s changed opinion of, 108, 111; meets Stoddards, 84–85, 105 Booth, John Wilkes, 108, 111 Booth, Junius Brutus, 111 Booth, Mary Devlin, xxxiii, 100–102, 203; meets the Stoddards, 84–85, 105 Boston Courier, lxii, 203 Boston Daily Advertiser, 124 Boston Saturday Evening Gazette, 86n5 Boston Traveller, lxv, 202 Boston True Flag, xxvi, 125n4 Botta, Anne Lynch, xix, lxi Boulanger, Georges Ernest JeanMarie, 208 Bowen, Henry C., 146n4 Bowen, John Eliot: biographical note, li, 211, 212n3; correspondence with EDBS regarding “A Thanksgiving Story,” xxix–xxx; editor of The Independent, xvi; letter to, 211–212 Boyd, Andrew Kennedy Hutchinson, 76, 91n1 Bradford, Seth, 120n3 Bradley, Cornelia H., 200n2 Bradley, George Thomas, 169n1, 199 Bradley, Mary Neely, xxxvi, 168, 199, 227, 230 Bremer, Frederika, 18 Breüder, Alice, 230, 239n2 Briggs, Charles Frederick, 12, 202 Brisbane, Albert, 58n4 Brontë, Charlotte, 39, 45, 77, 228n2 Brontë, Emily, 54, 187–188n1 Brooklyn Daily Union, 146n4 Brooks, Preston Smith, 24, 95 Brown, Isaac, 32 Brown, John, 27n10

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Brown, Mary Sedley, 117 Brougham, John, 25 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 8–9, 39, 104n30 Browning, Robert, 10n12, 39, 104n30, 224n1 Bryant, William Cullen, xix, 1, 140n2, 189n1 Buell, Lawrence, xiv Bullard, Laura Curtis, 136, 142, 146, 149, 154, 179 Bulwer-Lytton, Edward, 76–77, 163–164 Bunyan, John, 98n6 Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 179 Burr, Celia M., 44 Burr, Charles Chauncey, 44n3 Butler, George Bernard, Jr., 207n1 Butler, Sarah Hildreth, 73 Byron, George Gordon, 5n1, 23, 86n10, 131 Cameron, Simon, 72n1 Carey, Annie Taylor, 47, 177; biographical note, lxiii; letter to, 42–43 Carey, Charles, lxiii Carleton, George W., 47, 68, 193, 195 Carlyle, Thomas, 188n2 Cary, Alice, xix, 8 Cary, Phoebe, xix, 9n7 Cass, Lewis, 30 Cazneau, Jane, xxxviin21 Chase, Salmon P., lix Cheever, George Barrell, 75 Chesebro, Caroline, 8, 18, 32–33 Chicago Daily Inter-Ocean, 210n7 Church, Frederick E., lvii Civil War, xix, xlix, lix, l, 59, 64n5, 69n4, 70n17, 74, 75, 87, 107n6, 118n8, 202–203; effect on EDBS, 82; EDBS’s coverage of, xxiii–xxv, 69, 71, 74–75, 87–88; interferes in

the successful reception of EDBS’s novels, xxx; newspaper coverage of, xxxviin31, lix, lx, lxiii–lxiv, 68, 69, 73–74 Clare, Ada, 26 Clark, Freeman, 108, 117 Clive, Caroline, 35n17, 39 Collins, Wilkie, 77, 86n4 Conant, Samuel Stillman, 148, 172 Conway, Moncure D., 80n28 Coolidge, Susan. See Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Cooper, George, 212n2 Cornhill Magazine, 88 Cousin, Victor, 4, 6n5 Cornwall, Barry. See Bryan Proctor Cosmopolitan, 219n9 Craik, Dinah Maria Mulock, 77 Crane, W. H., 207n12 Crawford, Amanda Reese, 217 Crawford, Martin J., 219n3 Croly, Jennie June, xxxviin21 Curtis, George William, 4, 12, 115n7 Cushman, Charlotte Saunders, 4, 6n14 Daily Alta California, xxiii; EDBS’s acquaintance with reporter for, 72n8; EDBS’s style in letters for, xx; EDBS’s writing for, xvi, xxi, xxxiii, xxxviiin54, 28n14, 32, 37; letters to, 23–29, 30–35, 36–41; Stoddards write joint columns for, 47 Dall, Caroline Healey, xvi, xxvii; biographical note, li–lii; The College, the Market, and the Court: Or, Woman’s Relation to Education, Labor, and Law, 133; critique of Temple House, 131, 134; letters to, 131–132, 133–135 Dall, Charles Henry Appleton, li Dall, Sarah Keen, 131 Daly, C. P., 227 Dana, Charles Anderson, 12, 76

249

Dare, Shirley. See Susan Dunning Power Davis, Jefferson, 88 Davis, Paulina Wright, xxv, li, 153 De Quincey, Thomas, 12 Dean, Julia, 8 Decker, William Merrill, xiv, xxxviiin52 Defoe, Daniel, 111n1 Derby, George Horatio, 25, 37 Dickens, Charles, 51n2, 92n15, 122n4, 143n2, 143n3, 155n10, 196n17 Dickinson, Anna, lix–lx Dickinson, E. D., 218 Dix, John Adams, l, 105, 203 Dobell, Sydney Thompson, 21n4 Dodge, Mary Mapes, 145, 179 Doesticks, Q. K. Philander. See Mortimer Neal Thompson Dommett, Henry W., 195 Dorr, Julia Ripley, xxxi, 184n2, 205; biographical note, lii; feelings for EDBS, 166; letters to, 179–182, 205–207, 225–226; poetry of, 226; reads EDBS’s Poems, 225 Dorr, Seneca, lii, 181, 227 Du Maurier, George, 194 Dunham, Oscar M., 208, 213 Edmonds, John Worth, 109n6 Edmonds, Laura, 108 Emerson, Ralph Waldo: 58n1, 110, 189n1; “Compensation,” 2n9; English Traits, 39; “Fate,” 219n2 Ewer, Ferdinand C., 71 Faneuil Hall, 94 Faunce, Sylvia, 220 Fern, Fanny, xx, 193 Festetits, Albert, 169n4 Festetits, Katharine Neely, 168, 199 Field, Henriette Deluzy-Desportes, 186

Field, Henry Martyn, 188n3 Field, Kate, 170, 236 Field, R. M., 209 Fielding, Henry, 4 Fields, James T., lv, 8, 95, 164n5 Fiske, Minnie Madern, 228n6 Fiske, Stephen Ryder, 105–106 Fillmore, Millard, 30 Franco, Harry. See Charles Frederick Briggs Fraser’s Magazine, 76 Frémont, Jessie Benton, 73 Frémont, John C., 30, 73, 76 Fuller, Hiram, 74 Fuller, Margaret, xx, li, 12, 45 Gallon, James, xxiv, lxi, 60n5 Gallon, Sophia Gurney Stoddard, lxi, 15, 42, 46, 60n5, 61 Gardiner, David, 130n9 Gardiner, Juliana McLachlan, 130n9 Gardner, Augustus Peabody, liii Gardner, Constance, liii, 240 Gardner, Constance Lodge; biographical note, lii–liii; letter to, 240–241 Gaul, Theresa Strouth, xiv Gifford, Sanford Robinson, lvii, 90, 120, 129 Glyndon, Howard. See Laura Catherine Redden Godkin, Edward Lawrence, 126 Godwin, Parke, 1 Graham, James Lorimer (“Lorrie”), xxiii, xxxiii, 68, 106, 114, 129; biographical note, liii; introduces Booths to Stoddards, 84–85; letter by, 102; letters to, 65–67, 84–86, 100–104 Graham, Josephine, xxiii, 66, 68, 85, 102, 106, 120, 129; biographical note, liii; EDBS sends a carte de visite to, 84; letter to, 65–67 Graham’s Magazine, 21n6

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Grant, Ulysses S., lix, 200 Gray, John Franklin, 20 Greatorex, Eliza, 149 Greeley, Horace, xix, lix, 27n10, 58n1, 76, 140n1 Greeley, Ida, 137n5 Green, Alice Bowie, 107n7 Greenwood, Grace. See Sara Jane Lippincott Grinnell, Moses Hicks, 32 Griswold, Caroline Searles, liii Griswold, Charlotte Myers, liv, 13n8, 22n2 Griswold, Harriet S. McCrillis, liv, 13n8, 22 Griswold, Rufus Wilmot, lxi, lxii, 12, 22, 32; biographical note, liii–liv; letter to, 22 Hall, Harry, 26 Hanel, Blanche, 109n5 Hardy, Thomas, 228n6 Harper and Brothers, 8, 80n36 Harper’s Bazaar, 143n1 Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, lii, lviii, 10n6, 174, 225; EDBS publishes in, xxiii, 44, 70n7, 130n3, 130n4, 130n5, 136, 150n6, 172, 219n9 Harper’s Weekly, 76, 77, 148 Harris, William C., 75 Harvey, Anne. See Anne W. Barstow Hawthorne, Julian, 191; biographical note, liv; letter to, 186–188; letter by, xxx; reads Temple House, 186– 187; reviews Two Men, 206 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, xxx, liv, 9, 184n5, 217; assists RHS in obtaining position, lxi, 16n3; EDBS’s appreciation of, 187, 218; letter by, 209 Hawthorne, Sophia Peabody, liv Hay, John Milton, 154 Hayes, Matilda, 4

Hayne, Paul Hamilton, 28n21 Hearth and Home, 146n3 Heron, Matilda, 26 Hewitt, Elizabeth, xiv Hicks, Thomas, 12, 13n13 Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, lv, 186 Hill, Kate Neely. See Katharine Neely Festetits Hitchcock, Ripley, 227 Hoffman, Charles Fenno, xvii Holland, Josiah, 163–164, 174 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr., 95–96 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Sr., 1, 95–96, 179, 189n1 Home Journal, 39 Homer, 92n16, 96 Houghton, Henry Oscar, 195, 213 Houghton, Mifflin and Company: publishes EDBS’s Poems, xxx, 225; refuses to reprint EDBS’s novels, 193–194, 197n19 Houssaye, Arsène, 7–8 Howells, Elinor Mead, 127, 194 Howells, William Dean, xvi, xxi, xxvii, xxvii–xxviii, 176, 222, 225; biographical note, liv; EDBS’s assessment of, 126, 194; letters to, 121–122, 126–127, 222–224; review of Two Men, 121 Howells, Winifred, 127 Hugo, Victor, 88 Hunt, Edward Bissell, lv Hunt, Leigh, 91, 148, 163 Hutton, Lawrence, 228n2 Hyer, Tom, 24 Independent, li, 137n6, 146n4, 180, 183; EDBS publishes in, xxix, 145, 211, 219n9 Irving, Washington, 77

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Jackson, Helen Hunt, xvi, xxv, xxviii, 136, 141, 142, 143; biographical note, lv–lvi; Bits of Travel at Home, 137n2; EDBS’s assessment of, 136–137, 145; letters to, 136–137, 141–144, 145–147; reads “A SixYear-Old Tale,” 141 Jackson, William Sharpless, lvi James, Henry, lv James, William, 236–237n1 Jarves, James Jackson, 102 Jordan, George, 25 Kant, Immanuel, 4 Kavanagh, Arthur MacMorrough, 218 Keats, John, 182n10, 229n8 Keene, Laura, 25–26 Kiliani, Lillian Bayard Taylor (“Lily”), lxiii, 142, 176, 177, 217–218 Kiliani, Otto Theobald, 219n6 Kinney, Elizabeth Clementine Dodge Stedman, 102 Kinney, William Burnet, 104n30 Kirkland, Caroline, xix Knickerbocker Magazine, xx, 21n5 Lamborn, Charles Burleigh, lxiv, 176, 177, 178 Lamborn, Emma Taylor: 43, 47, 63; biographical note, lxiv; letter to, 176–178 Lander, Frederick W., 73 Lander, Jean Margaret Davenport, 73 Lathrop, George Parsons, 202 Lathrop, Rose Hawthorne, 179 Lecount, Josiah J., 39 Leland, Charles Godfrey, 57 Lesdernier, Emily, 26 letters: addressed to multiple recipients, liii; collecting and preserving of, xxxi, xxxiv–xxxv, lxi, lxii; for newspapers, xvi, xx–xxi, xxxiii– xxxiv; missing, xxxv–xxxvi, li, lii,

lix, lxii, 103n14, 104n17; multiple authorship of, 158n7; as performance, xiv–xvi, xxix, xxxi, xxxvi; postage on, 16n6; printed volumes of, xxxi–xxxii; privacy of, xxii, xxxiii–xxxiv Lewis, Estelle Anna, 9 Lincoln, Abraham, lv, 71, 88, 91n4, 155n11; assassination of, xxiv–xxv, 108, 109n8, 111; Democratic opposition to, lvii, 80n33; EDBS’s opinion of, xxiv–xxv; Republican support for, 64n5 Lippincott, Sara Jane, xxxviin31 Locke, John, 90 Lodge, Henry Cabot, liii London Times, 74 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 189n1, 190n4, 224n1 Lowell, James Russell, xxvi–xxix, lv, 58n1, 189n1; biographical note, lvi– lvii; critique of “A Summer Story,” 53; influence on EDBS, xxvii, 54, 218, 222–223; letters to, 51, 52–53 Ludlow, Fitz Hugh, 59, 68, 90, 102, 114 Ludlow, Helen W., 70n11 Ludlow, Rosalie Osborne, 59, 68, 102, 115n9 Lynch, Anne. See Anne Lynch Botta Mackay, Charles, 74 Mansfield, Richard, 223 Mapleson, James Henry, 178n14 Marble, Abby Williams Lambard, lvii Marble, Delia West, lvii Marble, Manton, xxiv, 58n3, 148, 199; biographical note, lvii; letters to, 44, 45 Martin, Elizabeth Gilbert, 120, 131– 132, 188n4 Mathews, Brander, 222 Matlack, James, xxxviiin54

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Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, xvii, xxvi, xxxv, 16, 18, 129; EDBS born in, xviii; EDBS visits, xxii, 38, 53, 59, 113, 116–117, 126–127, 139–140, 143, 213, 220–221; EDBS’s relationship with residents of, 5, 38, 214; natural environment of, 53, 126– 127; RHS visits EDBS in prior to marriage, 2n1; Sarah Loring Meigs Sweat returns to, 10n17, 10n18; Willy Stoddard buried at, 65 Mattison, Hiram, 75 McClellan, George B., 68, 76, 85, 87, 88; Stoddards’ support for, xxiv, 70n17, 83n5 McClellan, Mary Ellen Marcy, 73 McElhenney, Jane, 28n21. See also Ada Clare McEntee, Gertrude Sawyer, 100, 102, 160, 180; biographical note, lvii– lviii; letter to, 128–130 McEntee, Jervis, xxviii, 100, 102, 161n5, 180, 181–182n8; biographical note, lvii–lviii; letter to, 128–130 McFarland, Abby Sage, 140n2 McFarland, Daniel, 140n2 McIntyre, Phillip Willis, 175n3 Meredith, George, 206 Mifflin, George Harris, 225 Miller, Olive Thorne, 212n2 Mitchel, Louisa Clark Trask, 87 Mitchel, Ormsby MacKnight, 87 Mitford, Mary Russell, 163 Mould, Jacob Wrey, 35n10, 35n12 Moulton, Florence, 124 Moulton, Louise Chandler, 151–152, 153, 160, 179; biographical note, lviii–lix; EDBS’s disrespect for, 160; EDBS’s sympathy for, xxvi; estrangement from EDBS, 160, 179; introduces Helen Hunt Jackson to EDBS, lv–lvi; letter by, 145; letter to, 124–125; reads Two Men, 124

Moulton, William U., xxvi, lviii, 124, 151, 153 Mussey, John, lxii Nation, lv, 127n1; Howells’ review of Two Men published in, xxvii, 122n1; review of Temple House published in, 134, 186 New York Daily News, 91–92n12 New York Evening Post, 2n2, 2n3 New York Herald, 75, 158n2, 236–237n1 New York Leader, 69 New York Mail and Express, lxi–lxii, 199, 225, 234 New York Tribune, xv, lviii, lix, lx, lxv, 10n6, 24, 27n10, 44n3, 68, 71, 72n1, 76, 140n1, 140n2, 152n1, 153, 156, 157, 160, 171n1, 171n2, 202; coverage of the Civil War in, 68, 74; critique of McClellan in, 70n17, 76; EDBS publishes in, xxviii, lix, 148; review of Temple House published in, 133; review of The Morgesons published in, xxiii; reviews of Two Men published in, 121, 202 New York World, xxiv, lx, lvii, 68, 217; RHS publishes in, 148; Stedman publishes in, lx, 57, 59, 60n2 North American Review, lvi, lxii, 183 Norton, Charles Eliot, lvi Osgood, James R., 100, 129 Otis, James, Jr., 97–98n2 Our Young Folks, 144n15, 144n16 Palmer, Erastus Dow, 90, 100 Parsons, Thomas William, 102 Parton, Sara Willis. See Fanny Fern Patmore, Coventry, 41n22 Peabody, Elizabeth, li Percy, Florence. See Elizabeth Akers Allen Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, 107n11

253

Philadelphia Inquirer, 60n2 Philadelphia North American, 86n6 Phillips, Sampson and Company, 44 Phoenix, John. See George Horatio Derby Piatt, John James, liv, 82, 105 Piedra, Pedro Nicolas, 238, 240 Pierce, Franklin, 10n14, 18 Pierpont, John, 26 Piper, Leonora E., 236 Poe, Edgar Allan, liv, 9, 189n1, 228n2 Pope, Alexander, 92n27 Porter, Harry, 85 Portland (Maine) Advertiser, xlix–l, 175n2, 180 Power, Susan Dunning, 156–157, 164–165n5 Proctor, Bryan, 8 prostitution, 133 Putnam, George Haven, 150n13, 182n14 Putnam, George Palmer, xix, 12, 18, 61, 77, 145, 182n14 Putnam, Irving, 182n14 Putnam, John Bishop, 182n14 Putnam, Rebecca Kettell Shepard, 149 Putnam’s Magazine, 18, 21, 146n4; editors of, 2n4, 12, 13n4, 13n5; EDBS publishes in, 136 Read, Thomas Buchanan, 63, 171n7 Redden, Laura Catherine, xxxviin31 Reid, Elizabeth Mills, lx Reid, Whitelaw: xxvi, xxviii, 142, 145, 148, 151, 153, 176, 180, 182n8; biographical note, lix–lx; EDBS’s role in correspondence with, xv, xvi; letters to, 139–140, 148–150, 151–152, 153–155, 156–158 Richards, Cornelia H. Bradley, 18, 20, 44, 169n1 Richards, William C., 18, 19n3, 28n21 Richardson, Albert Deane, 140n2

Richmond (Virginia) Enquirer, 26 Ripley, Charles, 205 Ripley, George, 8, 12, 208; review of Temple House, 133, 206; review of Two Men, 122n2 Ripley, Louisa Augusta Schlossberger, 208 Ripley, Sophia Dana, 8, 208 Robbins, Thomas, xix Robson, Stuart, 207n12 Roe, Edward Payson, xxvii, 200, 205 Roosa, Daniel Bennett St. John, 205 The Round Table, lxii, 121–22; review of Two Men published in, 204n6 Ruggles, Eleanor, 103n14 Ruggles, Mrs. Philo, 4 Runkle, Lucia Isabella Gilbert, 139, 149 Ruskin, John, 4, 38, 106, 193 Russell, William H., 74, 76 Rynders, Isaiah, 24 salons, xv, xvii, xix, xxi, 12, 18, 188n3 San Francisco Bulletin, 71; letters to, 73–81, 87–93, 94–99 Sand, George, 4, 188–189n1 Sartain’s Union Magazine of Literature and Art, 4 Saturday Press, lxv, 52–53 Scott, Mrs. John Rudolph, 26 Scott, Walter, 77, 167 Scribner’s Magazine, lii, lxi–lxii, 163– 164, 180, 196n12 Shelley, Philip Allison, xxxvi–xxxviin6, xxxixn59 Sherwood, Mary Neal, 12 Simonton, James, 72n8 Sinor, Jennifer, xvii–xviii slavery, xxiv, 24, 74, 96, 202 Smith, Edward, 171n3, 172 Smollett, Tobias, 4 The Soldier’s Companion, 75 Spacks, Patricia Meyer, xxxviin10

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Spiritualism, 109n6, 236 Springfield Republican, 231 Squibob, John P. See George Horatio Derby Stansbury, Edward A., 85 Stanton, Edwin M., 73, 74, 88 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, xxv, 153 Stedman, Arthur, 217 Stedman, Charles Frederick, 105 Stedman, Edmund Clarence, xvi, xxxi, lv, lviii, 105, 128, 133, 164n5, 169n1, 189, 192, 200, 230; biographical note, lx–lxi; disagreements with EDBS, 59, 172, 189, 194; health of, 55, 82, 110, 113, 192; EDBS’s feelings for, 55, 59, 105, 172, 227, 238; as journalist, xxiv, lxiii–lxiv, 57, 68, 74; letters to, 54–56, 57–58, 59–60, 68–70, 82–83, 105–107, 110–112, 113–115, 172–173, 183–184, 189– 190, 193–197, 199–201, 213–214, 217–219, 220–221, 227–229, 234–235, 238–239; as member of EDBS’s social circle, lxi, 176, 180; as poet, 55, 57, 68, 106, 171n7; preface to EDBS’s Two Men (1888), xxx, 199; preservation of multiple letters written by EDBS to, xxxii, xxxv; review of The Morgesons, 106; support for EDBS’s career, 54, 106, 199, 205–206, 218 Stedman, Ellen, xxxi Stedman, Laura Hyde Woodworth, 57, 110, 114, 128, 171, 172, 180, 221, 227; biographical note, lx–lxi; EDBS’s feelings for, 59; feelings for EDBS, 111; letters to, 191–192, 230–231 Stedman, Laura Woodworth, 192 Steele, Sarah L., 219n8 Stoddard, Elizabeth Drew Barstow, 84; birth, xviii; death, xxxi; domestic labor, xxv–xxvi, 18, 57, 63, 126,

159; education, xix; financial situation, xxi–xxii, xxviii, 106, 124, 128, 145, 160, 166, 180, 183, 191, 199, 206, 220–221, 226, 228; handwriting, xxxvi, 3; health, xxii, xxxi, xxxv, 11, 20, 23, 42, 46, 50, 55, 71, 82, 84, 141, 160, 166, 180–181, 191, 221, 238, 240; poetry, xx, 20, 22, 44, 68, 129, 136, 145–146, 189–190n1, 222; reading habits, 4, 8, 9, 18, 24, 26, 32–34, 52, 54, 68, 74, 76–78, 95– 96, 110, 136, 153, 163–164, 174, 189, 208; temperament, xiv, xvi, xxxiv, 3, 5, 7, 11, 42, 111, 113, 136, 166, 174, 177, 181–182n8, 195, 221; travels, xxii, 1, 4, 12, 16, 20, 23, 61, 63, 85, 94–97, 100, 116, 143, 145, 166, 179, 180, 191–192, 205, 213–214, 218, 230, 232, 234; unnamed infant of, xxii, 46, 49, 50, 69–70n6; wedding of, xx, 9n1, 15 Stoddard’s (EDBS) opinions on: abolition, 24; aging, 215–216, 218, 226; destruction of letters, 213; dramatic performance, 4, 8, 25–26, 91, 96–97, 172, 223; fashion, 31, 88–89, 94; financial compensation for literary career, 69, 71, 106, 129, 142, 148, 164, 193; free love, 153, 154; friendship, 3, 4, 42, 44, 101, 136–137, 166, 168–169, 177, 180; inability to write, 166, 167, 218; letter writing, 153, 163, 181; literary talent, 51, 52, 54, 61, 63, 82, 84, 126, 128–129, 199–200, 208–209, 211; love and marriage, 7–8, 9, 11, 15, 16n2, 54, 63, 113–114, 151, 153, 156–157, 174, 183, 191, 194, 195, 230; multiple authorship, 158n7; privacy, 151–152, 163; politics and reform, xxiv–xxv, 24, 30, 68, 87–88; reception of her work, xxvii, 22, 82, 106, 121–122, 124, 131–132, 133–

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134, 179, 186–187, 189, 192–193, 199–200, 202, 205–206, 208–209, 214, 217, 222–223, 225, 227; religion and churchgoing, xxiii, 31–32, 65, 111, 232, 236; women, xx, xxv–xxvi, xxxvii, 8–9, 11, 22, 25, 33, 37–38, 45, 136, 139, 146, 153, 154, 156, 172; writing for newspapers, 24–25, 32, 37, 69, 94 Stoddard’s (EDBS) works: “Boy and Bear,” 144n16; Cassells’ reprints of novels, xxx; “Childless,” 70n7; Coates reprints of novels, xxx; “Collected by a Valetudinarian,” 150n6; in Daily Alta California, xvi, xx–xxi, xxiii, xxxiii, xxxviiin54, 47; “A Dead-Lock and Its Key,” 150n5; “The Difference,” 172; “Eros and Anteros,” 70n16; “Lemorne versus Huell,” 72n6; “A Literary Whim,” xiii, 163; Lolly Dinks’ Doings, xxviii, 141, 142; “Lucy Tavish’s Journey,” 129; “Memory Is Immortal,” 136; The Morgesons, xiv, xxiii, xxv, xxvii, xxxii, 53n5, 55n2, 57, 64n7, 68, 71, 82, 83n4, 83n5, 84, 106, 114–115n5, 193, 208, 209, 214, 222, 241n5; “My Own Story,” xxiii, lvi, 51; “One Morn I Left Him in His Bed,” 70n7; “Osgood’s Predicament,” 106; “A Partie Caree,” 72n6; Poems, xxx, 182n18, 214n5, 225; “The Queen Deposed,” 182n18; in San Francisco Bulletin, xvi, xxiii–xxiv, xxv, xxxiii, 71; “A Seaside Idyl,” 136; “A SixYear-Old Tale,” 143n1; “The Story of the Leaf,” 231n4; “A Summer Story,” 53–54; Temple House, xxvii, xxx, xxxvi, liv, 126, 129, 131–132, 133–134, 142, 186–187, 193–194, 206, 209, 222; “The Threads Leading to Thanksgiving,” 211; “Tuberoses,” 72n6; Two Men, xxvii, lv,

106, 121, 124, 143, 193, 199, 200, 202–203, 205–206; “Unexpected Blows,” 129; “Unreturning,” 70n7, 129, 136, 225; “Willy’s Song,” 70n7 Stoddard, Lorimer Edwin (“Lorry)”: liii, lxv, 168, 177, 203, 208; adolescence of, 179, 181, 183, 191; and Author’s Club dinner, 227; birth of, xxiii, 203; career of, xxx–xxxi, 206, 209, 213, 217, 223, 227; childhood of, lxiii, 108, 110, 117, 119, 124, 126, 142–143; death of, xxxi, 237n4, 238, 240; EDBS’s feelings for, 110, 117, 143, 179, 226; health of, lvii, 120, 160, 232, 234; relationship with RHS, 194–195 Stoddard, Reuben, lxi Stoddard, Richard Henry, xiv, xvii, xx, xxi, xxii xxvi, xxxiv, xxxixn59, l, liii, liv, lvii, lxv, 59, 85, 110, 111, 121, 129, 145, 149, 159, 166, 168, 172, 208, 216, 221; Author’s Club dinner for, 227–228; biographical note, lxi–lxii; conveys messages via EDBS’s letters, 12, 42, 124, 131, 143, 211, 218; death of, xxxi, lxi; as Democrat, xxiv–xxv, lvii, 108; disagreements with the Taylors, liii, lxiv, 113–114; EDBS’s assessment of temperament of, 11, 42, 174, 230; EDBS’s feelings for, 11, 17–18, 50, 54, 117; editor of the Aldine, xlix, 157; family background of, xix; as father, xxii, 65–66, 194–195; and EDBS’s literary career, xx, xxi, xxvii, xxix, lvi, 20, 51, 52–53, 84, 164, 186–187, 193, 195, 199–200, 205, 208, 209, 211, 213, 222–223, 225; and friendship with Boker, lxi, 6n11, 213; and friendship with Booths, 84–85, 100–102, 103n14; and friendship with Stedman, lx, 194; and friendship with Taylor,

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lxii, 113–114, 176; health of, 42, 139, 141, 159, 166, 205, 225, 230, 232, 234, 238, 240; as letter writer, xliii, li, 4, 18, 63, 66, 68, 70n17, 72n9, 83n5, 84, 85, 186; letters to, 46–48, 49–50, 61–62, 63–64, 119– 120; literary editor for the New York Mail and Express, 199, 225; literary labor of, xxviii, 124, 148, 172, 180, 183, 191–192, 199, 217, 225, 230; missing letters written by EDBS to, xxxii; at New York Custom House, 15, 100, 117; poetry of, 1, 4, 6n10, 21, 22n1, 61, 68, 90–91, 102–103, 124, 142, 171n7, 189, 209, 234, 236; political opinions of, xxiv–xxv, 108; as recipient of multiple letters from EDBS, xvi; wedding of, xx, 9n1, 11, 15; writing for Independent, 180, 183; writing for the Nation, 126; writing for Round Table, 121–122; writing for Scribner’s, 180, 183 Stoddard’s (RHS) works: “At Merry Mount,” 194; “Caesar,” 142, 145; “The Caravansary,” 225; A Century After: Picturesque Glimpses of Philadelphia and Pennsylvania, 174; The Children in the Wood, 111n3; English Verse, xlix; “George Henry Boker,” 213; The King’s Bell, 61, 68, 83n5, 90–91, 102, 124, 193; The Late English Poets, 124, 193; Female Poets of America, liv; The Light of the World (introduction, 201n6; Lives of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover, 182n11; “Lord Macaulay and His Friends,” 175n5; Love at a Hotel,” 58n2; Melodies and Madrigals, Mostly from the Old English Poets, 124, 193; Poets and Poetry of America, liv; “The Proceedings at the Celebration of the Pilgrim Society, at Plymouth, December 21st, 1895, of the 275th Anniversary of the

Landing of the Pilgrims,” 225; Recollections, Personal and Literary, xix, 10n13, 67n3; “Reminiscences of Bayard Taylor,” 176, 180; “Their Majesties’ Servants”: Annals of the English Stage from Thomas Betterton to Edmund Kean, 182n11; “Two Anchors,” 172; Under the Evening Lamps, 218; Wit and Wisdom of the Rev. Sydney Smith, 182n11 Stoddard, Sophia Gurney. See Sophia Gurney Stoddard Gallon Stoddard, Wilson (“Willy”), l, 31–32, 42, 46, 47, 49, 50, 55, 57, 63, 67n3, 102, 119; birth, xxii; death, xxii– xxiii, 65–66, 68, 71, 82, 105, 225 Stone, Lucy, xxv Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 27–28n11, 84, 96, 182n9 Stuart, William, 101 Sue, Eugène, 237n6 Sullivan, James “Yankee,” 40n4 Sumner, Charles, 24, 26, 94–95 Sweat, Lorenzo De Medici, lxii, 10n17, 12, 159 Sweat, Margaret Jane Mussey, xvii, xix, xxv, xxxii, 159; biographical note, lxii–lxiii; as earliest correspondent, xx; EDBS’s role in correspondence with, xv–xvi; letters by, 15, 20; letters to, 1–2, 3–6, 7–10, 11–13, 15–16, 20–21 Sweat, Sarah Loring Meigs, lxii, 9, 12, 15, 19n2 Sweat, William Wedgwood, 10n17 Sweetser, Charles H., 122n3, 204n6 Sweetser, Henry E., 122n3 Swift, Jonathan, 200n4 Swift, Miss, 59, 65, 71, 111, 128, 156– 157, 160–161n4 Swisshelm, Jane Grey, xxxviin21, xxxviin31

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Taylor, Annie. See Annie Taylor Carey Taylor, Bayard, xxii, xxiv, xxxiii, xxxiv, xxxixn59, lix, lxiii, lxiv, 1, 2n8, 43, 46, 49, 58n2, 65, 66, 68, 71, 74, 77, 78, 84, 96, 100, m102, 106, 114–115n5, 142, 157, 158n8, 161n5, 163, 172, 176–181, 182n8, 218, 230; biographical note, lxiii–lxiv; disagreements with EDBS, liii, lxiv, 113–114, 142, 146, 177; letter to, 71–72; letters by, 102; part of Stoddards’ social circle, lx, lxi, 57, 63 Taylor, Charles Frederick (“Fred”), 46, 105, 177 Taylor, Emma. See Emma Taylor Lamborn Taylor, Issac, 77 Taylor, J. Howard, 49 Taylor, Joseph, 180 Taylor, Lilian Bayard. See Lilian Bayard Taylor Kiliani Taylor, Marie Hansen, xxxiii, xxxiv, lx, 58n2, 63, 65, 66, 84, 100, 106, 153, 171n3, 177, 179, 217–218, 221, 230; biographical note, lxiii–lxiv; disagreements with EDBS, liii, 113; EDBS’s sympathy for, 177, 180; letter to, 71–72 Taylor, Marshall S. M., xlix Taylor, Mary Agnew, lxiii, 1, 176 Taylor, Rebecca Way, 42, 50, 57, 143, 177, 180 Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 39, 43, 93n30, 104n30, 112n5, 163, 214n6, 224n1 Thackeray, William Makepeace, 9, 39, 77, 146–147n10 Thayer and Eldridge, 56n4 Thomas, Edith, 227 Thompson, Launt, lvii, 65, 90, 100, 102, 103n14 Thompson, Mortimer Neal, 37 Ticknor, Howard M., 103n9 Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 10n10

Ticknor, William Davis, 103n9 Tilton, Elizabeth, 154–155n5 Tilton, Theodore, lix, 136, 142, 145, 146, 153, 156, 158n2, 182n8 Tomes, Robert, 34 Toombs, Robert Augustus, 88 Trollope, Anthony, 104n30 Trowbridge, John Townsend, 142 Twain, Mark, lv, 201n11 Tyler, John, 130n8 Tyler, Julia Gardiner, 129 Vaux, Calvert, lvii, 90, 102, 172 Vaux, Mary Swan McEntee, 102, 128 Wallack’s, 26 Walpole, Horace, 203 Warner, Susan, xix, 12 Warren, William, 96 Webster, James Carson, 92n29 Weiss, John, 136 West, Maria, lvi Wheatleigh, Charles, 171n4 Wheatley, William, 171n4 White, Henry Kirk, 137n9 Whiting, C. G., 227 Whiting, Lilian, 211–212n1, 236; biographical note, lxv; letters to, 202– 204, 208–210, 232–233, 236–237 Whitman, Walt, 54, 189, 189n1 Whitney, Adeline Dutton Train, 179 Whittier, John Greenleaf, 58n1, 182n10, 189n1 Wigfall, Louis Trezevant, 88 William D. Ticknor and Company, 10n10 Wilson-Sherwood, Mary Elizabeth, 12 Winter, William: biographical note, lxv; letter to, 170–171 Women’s Central Association of Relief, 75 Wood, Benjamin, 88 Wood, Fernando, 88

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Woodhull, Victoria C., 158n2 Woodman, Mattie, 108 Woodworth, Abby, 113 Woolsey, Sarah Chauncey, 137n8 Woolston, Constance Fenimore, 172–173

Yancey, William Lowndes, 88 Yendys, Sydney, 20. See also Sydney Thompson Dobell Yonge, Charlotte Mary, 77 Youth’s Companion, lviii Zagarell, Sandra, xiv

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