For he is dupli ing the slight "Poe's ar peared in the second or June number of the Literati, and from our knowledge of Griswold's habitual inaccuracy, we were not surprised to find, upon reference to the magazine, that the sketches ran their stipulated course until October, and after that date Poe still continuing a contributor to the Lady's Book; nor were we surprised to find Mr. Godey writing to the Knickerbocker magazine in defense and praise of Poe's "honorable and blameless conduct; but what certainly did startle us was to discover that the whole of the personalities of the supposed critique, included in the collection of Poe's works edited by Griswold, were absent from the real critique published in the Lady's Book! Recoiling from such unsavory subjects, it is a pleasant change to look upon the charming picture of the cruelly belibeled poet, and his diminutive ménage, as portrayed by Mrs. Osgood. "It was in his own simple yet poetical home," she remarks, "that to me the character of Edgar Poe appeared in its most beautiful light. Playful, affectionate, witty, alternately docile and wayward as a petted child -for his young, gentle, and idolized wife, and for all who came, he had, even in the midst of his most harassing literary duties, a kind word, a pleasant smile, a graceful and courteous attention. At his desk, beneath the romantic picture of his loved and lost Lenore, he would sit hour after hour, patient, assiduous, and uncomplaining, tracing in an exquisitely clear chiro 5 County, near Ne graphy, and with almost superhuman swiftess, the lightning thoughts, the rare and radiant' fancies as they flashed through his wonderful and ever-wakened brain. I recollect one morning toward the close of his residence n this city, when he seemed unusually gay and light-hearted. Virginia, his sweet wife, had written me a pressing invitation to come to them; and I, who could never resist her afectionate summons, and who enjoyed his society far more in his own home than elsewhere, hastened to Amity Street. I found him just completing his series of papers entitled The Literati of New York.'See,' said he, displaying in laughing triumph several little rolls of narrow paper (he always wrote thus for the ress), I am going to show you, by the difFerence of length in these, the different degrees of estimation in which I hold all you iterary people. In each of these, one of you s rolled up and fully discussed. Come, Virginia, help me!' And one by one they unolded them. At last they came to one which emed interminable. Virginia laughingly ran o one corner of the room with one end, and her husband to the opposite with the other. And whose lengthened sweetness long drawn ut is that?' said I. Hear her,' he cried, 'just s if her little vain heart didn't tell her it's erself!"" in the "Reminis Of his first visit says "We found hir mother, who was cottage at the top or two of green house, as smooth best kept carpet cherry-trees in t shade around the "Poe had some olink. He had hung on a nail dri tree. The poor bi as his captor was as restless as his in a fierce, fright cage to the othe bent on training his arms crosse his sublime trus apparent in his It was in the summer of 1846 that the poet emoved his dying wife to the quietude and epose of the cottage at Fordham, Westchester I n. County, near New York. "Here," exclaim human swift he rare and a through his I recollect his residence unusually gay s sweet wife, ation to come - resist her af joyed his soci an elsewhere, und him just entitled 'The said he, diseral little rolls ce thus for the bu, by the dif e different dehold all you ese, one of you 1. Come, Vir one they une to one which laughingly ran one end, and ith the other. ess long drawn he cried, just 't tell her it's that the poet quietude and n, Westchester "We found him and his wife and his wife' mother, who was his aunt, living in a littl cottage at the top of a hill. There was an acr or two of greens ward, fenced in about the house, as smooth as velvet, and as clean as the best kept carpet. There was some grand old cherry-trees in the yard that threw a massiv shade around them. "Poe had somehow caught a full-grown bob olink. He had put him in a cage, which he had hung on a nail driven into the trunk of a cherry tree. The poor bird was as unfit to live in a cage as his captor was to live in the world. He was as restless as his jailer, and sprang continually in a fierce, frightened way from one side of th cage to the other. I pitied nim, but Poe was bent on training him. There he stood with his arms crossed before the tormented bird his sublime trust in attaining the impossibl apparent in his whole self. So handsome, so ... impassive in his wonderful, intellectual beauty, so proud and reserved, and yet so confidentially communicative, so entirely a gentleman upon all occasions that I ever saw him; so tasteful, so good a talker was Poe that he impressed himself and his wishes, even without words, upon those with whom he spoke. . . . Poe's voice was melody itself. He always spoke low, even in a violent discussion, compelling his hearers to listen if they would know his opinion, his facts, fancies, philosophy, or his weird imaginings. These last usually flowed from his pen, seldom from his tongue. Inever saw.. with check matti and a hanging b ture. There we of books on the 1 ings had posts o quiet exultation a letter that he Elizabeth Barret It was very flat poem of The F horror in Engla greatly depresse sickness of his Write sufficientl strolled away in cheerful time til leaping. I think expert in gentlemen agree one of them wa in times past, But, alas! his kept, were both made him victor other shoes, bo had money, who to the poet ?" This same w the poet, mad "The autumn Poe sank rapid her in her bede "On this occasion I was introduced to the young wife of the poet, and to the mother, then more than sixty years of age. She was a tall, dignified old lady, with a most lady-like manner, and her black dress, though old and much worn, looked really elegant on her. . . . Mrs. Poe looked very young; she had large black eyes, and a pearly whiteness of complexion, which was a perfect pallor. Her pale face, her brilliant eyes, and her raven hair gave her an unearthly look. One felt that she was almost a disrobed spirit, and when she coughed it was made certain that she was rapidly passing away. The mother seemed hale and strong, and appeared to be a sort of universal Providence for her strange children. The cottage had an air of taste and gentility that must have been lent to it by the presence of its inmates. So neat, so poor, so unfurnished, and yet so charming a dwelling was tellectual beauty, so confidentially gentleman upon him; so tasteful, at he impressed without words, poke. . . . Poe's e always spoke ssion, compelling would know his Lilosophy, or his usually flowed tongue. troduced to the the mother, then She was a tall, lady-like manh old and much her.... Mrs. had large black of complexion, er pale face, her air her an coughed it was taste and gen at to it by the eat, so poor, so ing a dwelling I never saw. . . . The sitting-room was lai with check matting; four chairs, a light stand and a hanging book-shelf completed its furn ture. There were pretty presentation copie of books on the little shelves, and the Brown ings had posts of honor on the stand. Wit quiet exultation Poe drew from his side-pocke a letter that he had recently received from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. He read it to us It was very flattering. She told Poe that hi poem of 'The Raven' had awakened a fit o horror in England. He was at this tim greatly depressed. Their extreme poverty, th sickness of his wife, and his own inability t write sufficiently accounted for this. . . . W strolled away into the woods, and had a ver cheerful time till some one proposed a game leaping. I think it must have been Poe, as h was expert in the exercise. Two or thre gentlemen agreed to leap with him, and thoug one of them was tall, and had been a hunte in times past, Poe still distanced them al But, alas! his gaiters, long worn and carefull kept, were both burst in the grand leap tha made him victor. . . . I was certain he had n other shoes, boot, or gaiters . . . . if any on had money, who had the effrontery to offer i to the poet?" This same writer, becoming intimate wit the poet, made several visits to Fordham "The autumn came," he resumes, "and Mrs Poe sank rapidly in consumption, and I say her in her bedchamber. Everything here wa |