Part 21 (2/2)

The plain truth was gradually borne in upon him--the prizes of fame and wealth that for the sake of his sweet bride he coveted more earnestly than ever before, were not to be found, by him, in Richmond, or as an employe of Mr. White. But the hues of the bow of promise with which hope spanned the sky of his inward vision were still bright, and he believed that at its end the coveted prizes would surely still be found--provided he did not lose heart and give up the quest. Indications of the growth of his reputation at the North had been many. In the North the facilities for publis.h.i.+ng were so much more abundant than in the South.

The publis.h.i.+ng houses and the periodicals of New York, of Boston, and of Philadelphia would create a demand for literary work--and from these large cities his message to the world would go out with greater authority than from a small town like Richmond.

It was not until the year 1838 that he finally resolved to make the break and sent in his resignation to the _Messenger_. In the three years since his first appearance in its columns the number of names upon its subscription list had increased from seven hundred to five thousand.

Though Edgar Poe's connection with the magazine as editor was at an end, Mr. White took pains to announce that he was to continue to be a regular contributor and the appearance of his serial story, ”Arthur Gordon Pym,”

then running, was to be uninterrupted.

It was a far cry from the gardens and porches and open houses of Richmond to the streets of New York--from the easy going country town where society held but one circle, to a city, with its locked doors and its wheels within wheels. Indeed, the single circle in Richmond, bound together as it was by the elastic, but secure, tie of Virginia cousins.h.i.+p and neighborliness then regarded as almost the same thing as relations.h.i.+p, was practically one big family. Whoever was not your cousin or your neighbor was the next best thing--either your neighbor's cousin or your cousin's neighbor--so there you were.

Though Edgar and Virginia Poe and the Widow Clemm had no blood kin in Richmond they were, during those two years' residence there, taken into the very heart of this pleasant, kindly circle, and it was with keen homesickness that they realized that ”in a whole cityful friends they had none.”

But if this trio of dreamers felt strangely out of place in the streets of New York, they looked more so. As they sauntered along, in their leisurely southern fas.h.i.+on, their picturesque appearance arrested the gaze of many a hurrying pa.s.ser-by. In contrast to the up-to-date, alert, keen-eyed crowd upon the busy streets, the air of distinction which marked them everywhere was more p.r.o.nounced than ever. They gave the impression of a certain exquisite fineness of quality, combined with quaintness, that one is sensible of in looking upon rare china.

In and out--in and out--among the crowds of these streets where being a stranger he felt himself peculiarly alone, Edgar the Dreamer walked many days in his quest for work. Here, there and everywhere, his pale face and solemn eyes with less and less of hope in them were seen. He had been right in believing that his reputation was growing and had reached New York--yet no one wanted his work. The supply of literature exceeded the demand, he was told everywhere. It is true that he succeeded in placing an occasional article, for which he would be paid the merest pittance. Man should not expect to live by writing alone, he found to be the general opinion--he should have a business or profession and do his scribbling in the left-over hours.

Still, his appearance at the door of a newspaper, magazine or book publisher's office, accompanied by the announcement of his name, brought him respect and a polite hearing--if that could afford any satisfaction to a man whose darling wife was growing wan from insufficient food.

One devoted friend he and his family made in Mr. Gowans, a Scotchman and a book-collector of means and cultivation, whose fancy for them went so far as to induce him to become a member of the unique little family in the dingy wooden shanty which they had succeeded in renting for a song.

To this old gentleman, who had the reputation of being something of a crank, The Dreamer's conversation and Virginia's beauty and exquisite singing were never-failing wells of delight, while the generous sum that he paid for the privilege of sharing their home was an equal benefit to them and went a long way toward supplying the simple table. The little checks which ”little Tom” White sent for the monthly instalments of ”Arthur Gordon Pym,” upon which his ex-editor industriously worked, were also most welcome. But with all they could sc.r.a.pe together the income was insufficient to keep three souls within three bodies, and three bodies decently covered.

Before the year in New York was out the rainbow was pale in the sky--its colors were faded and its end was invisible--obscured by lowering clouds. At the moment when it seemed faintest it came out clear again--this time setting toward Philadelphia, whose name the hope that rarely left him for long at a time whispered in The Dreamer's ear.

Why not Philadelphia? Philadelphia--then the acknowledged seat of the empire of Letters. Philadelphia--the city of Penn, the ”City of Brotherly Love.” There was for one of The Dreamer's superst.i.tious turn of mind and his love of words and belief in their power, an attraction--a significance in the very names. He said them over and over again to himself--rolled them on his tongue, fascinated with their sound and with their suggestiveness.

He bade Virginia and ”Muddie” keep up brave hearts, for they would turn their backs upon this cold, inhospitable New York and set up their household G.o.ds in the ”City of Brotherly Love.” The city of Penn, he added, was the place for one of his calling--laughing as he spoke, at the feeble pun--but there was new hope and life in the laugh. In Penn's city, even if disappointments should come they would be able to bear them, for how should human beings suffer in the ”City of Brotherly Love?”

CHAPTER XXIV.

The year was waning--the year 1838--when Edgar Poe removed his family from New York. About the hour of noon, upon a pleasant day of the spring following, he might have been seen to turn from the paved streets of the ”City of Brotherly Love,” and to enter, and walk briskly along, a gra.s.sy thoroughfare of Spring Garden--a village-like suburb.

He was going home to Virginia and the Mother--to a new home in this village which they had been first tempted to explore by its delightful name and which they had found seeing was to love, for in its appearance the name was justified. The quiet streets were lined with trees just coming into leaf, in which birds were building, happy and unafraid, and spring flowers were blooming in little plots before many of the unpretentious homes.

The place also possessed a more practical attraction in the reasonableness of its house-rents. Delightfully low was the price asked for a small, Dutch-roofed cottage that was just to their minds. It was small, yet quite large enough to hold the three and their modest possessions, and about it hung a quaint charm that might have been wanting in a more ambitious abode. Though in excellent preservation it had a pleasantly time-worn air and there was moss, in velvety green patches, on its sloping roof. It was set somewhat back from the street, with a bit of garden spot in front of it, in whose rich soil violets and single hyacinths--blue and white--were blooming, and its square porch supported a climbing rose, heavy with buds, that only needed training to make it a bower of beauty.

After having tried several more or less unsatisfactory homes during their brief residence in Philadelphia, they felt that they had at last found one that filled their requirements, and had promptly moved in.

There were no servants--maids would have been in the way they happily told each other--but Virginia and her mother had positive genius for neatness and order. At their touch things seemed to fly by magic into the places where they would look best and at the same time be most convenient, and it was astonis.h.i.+ng how quickly the arrangement of their small belongings converted the cottage into a home.

It was with light heart and step that the master of the house took his way homeward to the mid-day meal. The periodicals of the ”City of Brotherly Love” were keeping him busy, and there was at that moment money in his pocket--not much, but still it was money--that day received for his latest story.

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