, 1886-12-17
ONE WHO KNEW FOE


A few nights g | found mysel: IL
the study of my old friend, the prof.~-
sor of belles-lettres in the great univof-
sity of k. The university was my
WI alma mater, but l had visited it
especially for the purpose of spending
an evening with the professor of belle
~lettres, for lie was a most extraordinary
man. The room was filed with curious
books, prints and pictures, and bronzes
that the professor had picked up here
and there during his travels, for he had
been abroad many times. Among them
l noticed n small picture of Poe. 1t re-
minded me of my adventure in Balti-
more a few days before, and told the
professor about it. When | had finished
he laughed, and said:
"Poe was a hard case. He was a liv-
ing illustration of his own doctrine of
perversity. It's very hard to make him
out. | think his tale of William Wilson
is the best commentary OF himself that
he has left lis. The double identity of
William Wilson is strictly analogous to
Poe himself and the evil genius that fol-
lowed him all through his life. AS one
grows older | think one realizes more
fully the emptiness of his verse;
mean the absence of motive and
the lack Of n strong, central
thought. He had no burden
to deliver. Walt Whitman, whatever
may be thought of his poety, is the only
American poet who may be said to have
a burden to deliver. And yet Poe hada
song in him-the first requisite for a
true poet. Longfellow's poetry is merely
~ ,.An,Inr apI oil
that you know, but %embodying nothing
of his own personal experiences. Lowell
we hardly think of as a poet, and
Bryant's work has been greatly over
estimated. His poetry is a wilderness of
death. There is nothing poetical about
death in itself-it is life that is poetical.
/ am acquainted with a gentleman in
Philadelphia who knows more about Poe
probably than any other living man.
Before Poe's death this gentleman edited
a publication there. Poe used to con
tribute to it, and the manner in which
he submitted his matter was very novel.
1t seems that he wrote on small sheets
of paper, and when he had filled one
sheet he pasted another on the end of it,
and SO continued. When the article was
finished he rolled the manuscript up
tightly. Then he would present himself
in the editors office, and say:
I've got another story for you, Mr..
p
How long is it,
"'Well, it's so long, Poe would reply,
giving the ball n shoot across the room
and letting it fall at full length on the
floor.
"He was wretchedly poor. He might
have had troops of friends, you know,
but some way he had the devil in him.
At one time he was the assistant editor
of a neutrality-suspicious., l believe.
The editor was compelled to be
out of the city for a time and
he left the next edition of the
magazine in Poe's charge. When he re-
turned he was astonished to find that
the magazine had not come out, and that
nothing had been done. Poe had disap-
peared. lie at once began Il search for
his missing assistant. He finally found
him in a drinking-shop with some
friends. Mr.. Poe, he said, L left you
in charge of my magazine and return
to find that nothing has been done. How
do you account for this?'
Poe merely invited him to &c to Il
very warm place and held up the pros
pectus of n magazine of his own that no
was about to start. That was his dream
all through life-to edit a magazine.
"There has been n great deal of foolish
talk about his drinking habits. He was
not a regular drinker, but the trouble
with him was that if he touched a single
glass of liquor he had to keep on until
he reached n climax. He had a keen
critical faculty. but it was unreliable,
captious, and sometimes iinical. He
abused Iongfellow shamefully, and
whenever he detected any one using the
word 'nevermorc' he always thought it
was stolen from The Raven
"By the way he continued rs l rose,
"Ill send you a copy of my book as soon
as its published I thapked the pro-
fessor and babe him goodlnight.-"F.
NJ. L." in Chicago Times.