He wore himself quite out. His heart was exhausted by his brain.
It was a genuine case of heart-failure to do what the head required.
There lies before me a mass of private letters to me from Stedman, dating back to November 2, 1873, when he greeted me for the first time in a kinship we had just discovered.
We had the same great-grandfather, though each connection was through the mother, we being alike great-grandchildren of the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, Jr., from whom President Grover Cleveland was also descended.
At the time of this mutual discovery Stedman was established in New York, and although I sometimes met him in person, I can find no letters from him until after a period of more than ten years, when he was engaged in editing his Library of American Literature.
He wrote to me afterwards, and often with quite cousinly candor,--revealing frankly his cares, hopes, and sorrows, but never with anything coarse or unmanly.
All his enterprises were confided to me so