. . . 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. If Poe 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 overwrought nerves jangling.
Ferguson, 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 to Lowell. "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 over.
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