New York: “We are both in excellent spirits... We have now got four dollars and a half left.
To-morrow I am going to try and borrow three dollars, so that I may have a fortnight to go upon.”
When the child-wife died in the shabby cottage at Fordham
, her wasted body was covered with the old army overcoat which Poe
had brought from West Point
met some of the tests of practical life inadequately, it must be remembered that his health failed at twenty-five, that he was pitiably poor, and that the slightest indulgence in drink set his over-wrought nerves jangling.
, the former office-boy of the Literary Messenger
, judged this man of letters with an office-boy's firm and experienced eye: “Mr. Poe
was a fine gentleman when he was sober.
He was ever kind and courtly, and at such times everyone liked him. But when he was drinking he was about one of the most disagreeable men I have ever met.”
“I am sorry for him,” wrote C. F. Briggs
“He has some good points, but taken altogether, he is badly made up.”
“Badly made up,” no doubt, both in body and mind, but all respectable and prosperous Pharisees should be reminded that Poe
did not make himself; or rather, that he could not make himself