associates. He always liked Daniel to be kept fully in the foreground. The connection of Poe, however, was talked about in newspaper circles and well understood at the time.

The venerable Bishop O. P. Fitzgerald writes:

"I was in Richmond in 1849, and remember Mr. Poe, with his white linen coat and trousers, black velvet vest, and broad Panama hat. He was the most notable figure among the group of specialists that gathered around John M. Daniel, editor of the Richmond Examiner. Daniel was an electric battery, fully charged, whose touches shocked the staid and lofty-minded leaders in Virginia politics. There was about him that indefinable charm that draws men of genius towards one another, though differing in the quality and measure of their endowment. There was Robert W. Hughes, with his strong judicial brain, just starting on his path of distinction. There was Patrick Henry Aylett, a descendant of the great orator, and a rising young lawyer. There was Arthur Petticolas, who had an æsthetic touch that gave his dissertations on Art a special charm and value. The Examiner under Daniel was a free lance: it made things lively for all sorts of readers.

"Mr. Poe naturally found his way thereto as literary editor. He had already attained celebrity as a writer whose prose and poetry were unlike those of all other persons. The reading public was watching him expectantly, looking for greater things. There was about him something that drew especial notice. His face was one of the saddest ever seen. His step was gentle, his voice soft, yet clear; his presence altogether winning. Though unlike in most particulars, Poe and Daniel affiliated in

dealing with a world in which sin and folly on the one hand provoked their wrath and scorn, and on the other appealed to their pity and helpfulness.

"That Mr. Poe was battling with tragic threatenings at this time, now seems pretty clear. The literary public of Richmond knew enough of him to elicit a profound interest in his behalf. They wished to express their good will and invited him to deliver a lecture. The whole transaction was unique and gave a touch of the Old South. The lecture was delivered, and by special request the lecturer then and there recited his own poem, "The Raven,' the remembrance of which is a pleasure to one of his hearers unto this day."

Judge Hughes and others of the Examiner have also told of his work done in that office. He sent many of his best known poems revised into the composing room, where they were typeset for future use, but only "The Raven" and "Dream-Land" appeared. The others, however, were preserved in proof sheets and used by F. W. Thomas, who was afterwards connected with the Richmond Enquirer as literary editor, to prepare a new edition of Poe's poems. These are now published for the first time.

After his first lecture Poe went to Norfolk, Virginia. Miss Susan Ingram in the New York Herald of February 19, 1905, tells of meeting him with a Virginia party at Old Point Comfort, Sunday, September 9. She said:

"That Sunday evening in early September at Old Point stands out like a lovely picture. I cannot describe it fitly. There was more in it than may be expressed in mere words. There were several of us girls, all friends, and all of us knew Mr. Poe. I can see just how we looked, sitting about there in our white dresses. There

was a young collegian, too, who was my particular friend. He is gone long years since, and all the others in that little group have passed away except Sister and myself.

"Mr. Poe sat there in that quiet way of his which made you feel his presence. After a while my aunt, who was nearer his age, said: 'This seems to be just the time and place for poetry, Mr. Poe.' And it was. We all felt it. The old Hygeia stood some distance from the water, but with nothing between it and the ocean. It was moonlight, and the light shone over everything with that undimmed light that it has in the South. There were many persons on the long verandas that surrounded the hotel, but they seemed remote and far away. Our little party was absolutely cut off from everything except that lovely view of the water shining in the moonlight, and its gentle music borne to us on the soft breeze. Poe felt the influence. How could a poet help it? And when we seconded the request that he recite for us he agreed readily. He recited 'The Raven,' 'Annabel Lee,' and last of all 'Ulalume,' with the last stanza of which he remarked that he feared it might not be intelligible to us, as it was scarcely clear to himself, and for that reason it had not been published (sic). The next day he sent a copy of the poem with a letter.

"We went from Old Point Comfort to our home near Norfolk, and he called on us there, and again I had the pleasure of talking with him. Although I was only a slip of a girl and he what then seemed to me quite an old man, and a great literary one at that, we got on together beautifully. He was one of the most courteous gentlemen I have ever seen, and that gave a great

charm to his manner. None of his pictures that I have ever seen look like the picture of Poe that I keep in my memory. Of course they look like him, so that any one seeing them could have recognized him from them, but there was something in his face that is in none of them. Perhaps it was in the eyes, perhaps in the mouth. I do not know, but any one who ever met him would understand what I mean.

"There were no indications of dissipation apparent when we saw Poe in Virginia at that time. I think he had not been drinking for a long time. If I had not heard or read what had been said about his intemperance I should never have had any idea of it from what I saw in Poe. To me he seemed a good man, as well as a charming one, very sensitive and very highminded.

"I remember one little incident that illustrates how loyal he was to the memory of those who had been kind to him. I was fond of orris root, and always had the odor of it about my clothes. One day when we were walking together he spoke of it. 'I like it, too,' he said. 'Do you know what it makes me think of? My adopted mother. Whenever the bureau drawers in her room were opened there came from them a whiff of orris root, and ever since when I smell it I go back to the time when I was a little boy, and it brings back thoughts of my mother.'"

Poe lectured in the Norfolk Academy on the "Poetic Principle" Friday, September 14, and it was noticed in the American Beacon of that city. He returned to Richmond, where he lectured again on the same subject September 24, which was his last public appearance. During this visit Poe made many social calls, often in

the company of his sister Rosalie, who still resided in Richmond. He visited the Bernards, relatives of White of the Messenger; the Strobias, who were old church friends of the first Mrs. Allan as well as the Poitiaux family. His child-love Miss Poitiaux was alive, and she has left her statement of this last visit. She published some lines on the death of Poe in Richmond in August, 1852, with the following introduction :

"The writer of these lines was in early life a playmate of the unfortunate Edgar A. Poe, and the god-daughter of the lady by whom he was adopted. He even then gave promise of the talent which has since made his name one long to be remembered as a writer — I will not say unequaled, but not surpassed by any poet of his time. Some few weeks preceding his sorrowful demise he visited our city and read before the public his 'Raven,' and others of his own and Hood's beautiful verses. I was at that time too unwell to venture out, and did not hear him, but a few days afterwards he called on me. His unfortunate propensity had made us refuse to see him on a former occasion, but this time he unexpectedly entered the room in which I was sitting, saying as I rose to meet him: 'Old friend, you see I would not be denied.' He only stayed a few minutes, but in that short time left an impression on my memory which has never since been effaced. He was to be married in a few weeks to a lady of our city, and as he stood upon the steps bidding me farewell, I asked, alluding to his marriage, when I should see him again. It was no fancy, but a strange reality, that a gray shadow such as I had never seen before, save on the face of the dying, passed across his as, gazing gravely in mine, he answered slowly: 'In the words of my Raven, perhaps - never