The Columbia Democrat. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1837-1850, 1849-11-03

Washington Hospital, where every atten-
ton was bestowed on him. He fingered,
however, until death put periodic his eX-
istence. His last days were spent IN the
same institution where DIR. Lopland, the
Milford Bard, spent so many of his latter
years, laboring under the effects of the
same sad disease.
FATE OF GENIUS AND TALENT, We
learn with extreme regret that CHARLES F.
HoFEMAN, is now confined in the Baltimore
Hospital, laboring under malady which
DESTROYS so many of our most distinguish
ed men of genius. It's so very remarka-
BILE that individuals gifted with the highest
order of talent, favored with superabun-
dance of sense and learning, and who, year
after year, are heaping volume upon vol
ume upon our centre-tables and upon the
shelves of our libraries, which contain the
sweetest eflusions Of mind highly cultiva-
ted, taste accurately defined, should not
possess sufficient courage to resist the IN
sidious foe to their health and life. When
we peruse the pages of some OF our gifted
writers, and are carried irresistably along
in fancy's flight amid visions OF happiness
and felicity, ii seems often as if their peos
were dipped in ethereal liquid, and direct
ed by minds imbued with inspiration. That
men, intelligent, and favored with such
high order of Natures gifts, should for
swear all the morality they ever inculcaled
and abandon themselves TO the alurements
of the foul demon of certain destruction, is
mystery 10 all the world beside, as it GER
tainly is to them. The clods of the valley
are yet fresh over the remains of poor Ed
GAR A. PoE, and now his compatriot in
genius, HOFFMAN, is following him so
closely, a miserable, unfortunate, pitifuL
raving desperate maniac ! Alas is it true
that
"The poets eye, in fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth from earth to
heaven
And as Imagination bodies lorth
The forms of things unknown, the poets pen
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name"
We notice the death of Edgar n. Poe,
with feelings Of peculiar sorrow. He was
one of those, whose eccentricities of mind,
were the admiration Of our bOyish fancy
His story of the "Black cat" we think II
was called, and the craven" and many
others, wrought upon our half superSttIous
feelings kind of pleasing terror. And we
have often laughed over the satire and rid
iculing critique, of some story or Poem.-
Poor Poe! he has run the course of most
literary men--neglect, want, fame, the hos
pital! He will be missed in the literary
world, but he will not be forgotten. Our
libraries will contain the records OF his ge-
MUS, and though others may rise, they will
not dispIace him, but will take their stations
at his side
Charles Fsnno Hoffman, is following
him closely, laboring under the same dis
ease, suffering in the same city, conhn-
ed in the same hospital. There died Lop'
land, there Poe, spent his last hours, and
there now raves Huffman! Sad ! sad are
the records of genius. TO those whose
evenings have been shortened by Hoffman's
volumes, this information will come with a
perplexing sorrow. The favOrite of so
many of the reading public, is now as it |
were, dead to the world. No more will
the creations Of his fancy, or the pictures
Of his Imagination, warm their hearts or in-
struct their minds. What may now be the
rawlings of that gifted mind, no one can tell
for,
"The Lunatc, the Lover, and th' Poet,
Are of imagination all compact"