was represented in all those volumes, it is interesting to revert to that comparison between Stedman and his friend Aldrich with which this paper began.
Their literary lives led them apart; that of Aldrich tending always to condensation, that of Stedman to expansion.
As a consequence, Aldrich seemed to grow younger and younger with years and Stedman older; his work being always valuable, but often too weighty, living in thoughts, not breaths, to adopt the delicate distinction from Bailey's Festus.
There is a certain worth in all that Stedman wrote, be it longer or shorter, but it needs a good deal of literary power to retain the attention of readers so long as some of his chapters demand.
Opening at random his Poets of America, one may find the author deep in a discussion of Lowell, for instance, and complaining of that poet's prose or verse.
Not compactly moulded, Stedman says, even of much of Lowell's work.
He had a way, moreover, of dropping like his own bobolink, of letting