Edgar Allan Poe: His Life, Letters, and Opinions — John H. Ingram, 1880, volume II — reading text

Left by her mother’s death a mere baby she was adopted by a Richmond merchant, a native of Scotland, named McKenzie, and brought up in his family. Mr. McKenzie having been ruined by the sudden peace that followed the battle of Waterloo, his sister, described as a most accomplished lady, opened a school in Richmond. This seminary was attended by members of the best families in Virginia, and thither Rosalie Poe was sent, but, although she is averred to have had similar advantages to the other young ladies, she was so hopelessly dull, that she could never attain proficiency in anything, even her handwriting, which is said to have been her strongest point, having been but indifferent. After leaving school Miss Poe continued to reside with various members of the McKenzie family till, at the conclusion of the Civil War, they became unable, or unwilling, to further befriend the unfortunate lady. Miss Poe was utterly incapable of procuring her own maintenance, and, during the last five or six years of her life, was a confirmed invalid. After having endured for some years a precarious existence, dependent upon the assistance of friends, a shelter was ultimately obtained for her in Washington, D. C., where she was admitted into the Epiphany Church Home, an Episcopalian charitable institution. She appears to have been very fond of her brother Edgar, and proud of his reputation, although, as she stated to us, in a correspondence we had with her a short time previous to her decease, it was not until she “was a good sized girl” that she “knew she had a brother or brothers;” and it was only during the last years of his life that she had any real personal knowledge of Edgar. Some slight record of her eccentricities are contained in Mrs. Weiss’s paper on “The Last Days of Edgar A. Poe.” Miss Poe died July 1874, aged sixty-four. John H. Ingram, “Appendix D,” Edgar Allan Poe: Life, Letters, and Opinions (1880), pp. 258-262 APPENDIX D. LADY FRIENDSHIPS. DESPITE all the sorrow and misfortune of his brief career it was the frequent good fate of Poe to encounter, and be associated with, high and self-sacrificing women, and, probably, no higher testimony could be cited in favour of his goodness than the 4anduring and friendly sympathy manifested for him by these ladies. Besides the life-long love of his wife, and the never-wavering affection of Mrs. Clemm, it has been seen during various portions of his story, that he inspired the truest and most disinterested friendship of Mrs. Stannard (the “Helen” of his youth) Mrs. Shelton, his first and last love; Mrs. Shew (“Marie Louise”); Mrs. Osgood; Mrs. Whitman; “Annie”; “Stella” and others. The reader of Edgar Poe’s history cannot but feel interested in the fate of these ladies. Some of them, happily, still dwell among us, whilst others have gone before, and of these latter, Mrs. Osgood, Mrs. Shew, and Mrs. Whit man, it behoves us to speak a few words additional. The career of Frances Sargent Osgood, a lady whom Poe admired with intense and long-lasting affection, has already been adverted to in the preceding pages, it suffices, therefore, to say that although they did not meet for some years prior to the poet’s death, her friendship for him suffered no abatement. Shortly before her decease, which occurred on Sunday, 12th of Nay 1850, just seven months after Poe’s, she wrote the charming recollections cited in this work. About the same time her last and nearest complete volume of verse was published, and its final poem was this: — “The hand that swept the sounding lyre With more than mortal skill, The lightning eye, the heart of fire, The fervent lips, are still! No more, in rapture or in woe, With melody to thrill, Ah! Nevermore! “Oh! bring the flowers he cherished so, With eager childlike care; For o’er his grave they‘ll love to grow — And sigh their sorrow there: Ah me! no more their balmy glow May soothe his heart’s despair, No! Nevermore! “But angel hands shall bring him balm For every grief he knew, And Heaven’s soft harps his soul shall calm With music sweet and true, And teach to him the holy charm Of Israfel anew, For evermore! “Love’s silver lyre he played so well Lies shattered on his tomb; But still in air its music spell Floats on through light and gloom; And in the hearts where soft they fell His words of beauty bloom For evermore!” The inspiration of these pathetic lines cannot be misunderstood, Portraits of their authoress, and of her “Israfel,” both painted by Mr. S. dsgood, are on the walls of the New York Historical Society’s Library. Few and simple words are needed to tell Mrs. Shaw’s subsequent story, for her life has left no ostentatious or monumental emblems, and her memory survives only in her children’s love; her friends’ affection; and in the gratitude of those whose afflictions she comforted, and whose needs she supplied. After having been some years the wife of the Rev. Dr. Roland S. Houghton, she followed her husband rapidly to the grave, 11 entering into rest,” as she herself bad aptly styled it, on the third of September 1877. Mrs. Whitman’s name has, probably, been more closely connected with Poe’s than that of any lady mentioned in this biography, and yet their personal acquaintanceship was the shortest, and, doubtless, her influence on his career the slightest, of any of those noble women whose names have been grouped around his. The details, as full as could be furnished, have been given of their short-lived intercourse. After the rupture of their engagement, and up till the time of his death, Poe does not appear to have alluded to Mrs. Whitman again, save in the most conventional manner; but the lady always cherished, with unfading affection, the memory of her connection with the poet. In her delightful correspondence and conversation, in her melodious song, and, above all, in her truly beautiful little monograph. on “Edgar Poe and his Critics,” Mrs. Whitman invariably contrived to bring more prominently forward the brighter traits of her hero’s character than bas been accomplished by any other person — by any other means. Mr. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, in a paper on Poe,* thus pleasantly alludes to this lady as she appeared to her friends in the autumn-tide of her life. She had, he says, “outlived her early friends, and loves, and hopes, and perhaps her literary fame, such as it was: she had certainly outlived her recognised ties with Poe, and all but his memory. There she dwelt in her little suite of rooms, bearing youth still in her heart and in her voice, and on her hair also, and in her dress. Her dimly-lighted parlour was always decked, here and there, with scarlet; and she sat, robed in white, with her back always turned to the light, thus throwing a discreetly tinted shadow over her still thoughtful and noble face. She seemed a person embalmed while still alive; it was as if she might dwell for ever there, prolonging into an indefinite future the tradition of a poet’s love: and when we remembered that she had been Poe’s betrothed, that his kisses had touched her lips, that she still believed in him, and was his defender, all criticism might well, for her sake, be disarmed, and her saintly life atone for his stormy and sad career.” Mrs. Whitman expired on the 27th of June 1878, in the seventy-sixth year of her age. The two sonnets which follow are among the latest tributes to the departed poet; and are by “Stella” (Mrs. S. A. Lewis); one of the friends above mentioned: — I. FIRST MEETING. WHEN first the sad notes of my youthful lyre Attracted thee unto my tuneful way — That up life’s rugged steep before me lay, By fancy fashioned to my young desire, And made alluring by Hope’s beacon fire — I dare not lift to thins my timid gaze, But, open-eared, my soul took in thy praise, And spread its pinions for a region higher Than Fame or Fate had taught it to aspire; And when, to teach to me poetic art, Thy “Raven,” piecemeal, thou didst take apart, With eloquent discourse that could not tire, I felt how much of Heaven there was in thee — The chalice of my soul o’erflow'd with melody. II. BENEATH THE ELM. BENEATH the elm before thy cottage door At Fordham — whilst the sun his slanting beams Shot through the dark green boughs in golden gleams, And all around respectful silence wore — I've listened to thy song and classic lore; Followed thee in thy wild, poetic dreams Over Parnassus and Olympian streams; Where Phoebus and the Muses dwelt of yore, Making melodious all the Grecian shore; Through Dante’s “Hell” of writhing souls that teems With thoughts that later bards have made their themes, Midst Virgil’s storms and Homer’s battle roar, Until thou didst not seem of mortal birth, But some lone spirit sent from Heaven to earth. STELLA.* LONDON, December 1879. *  The Boston Literary World, March 15th, 1879. *  New York Home Journal, February 11, 1880. John H. Ingram, “Appendix E,” Edgar Allan Poe: Life, Letters, and Opinions (1880), pp. 263-288 APPENDIX E. THE POE MEMORIAL, BALTIMORE. ALTHOUGH most people appear to have felt that Edgar Allan Poe, of all his countrymen, least needed a marble monument to perpetuate his name, the feelings which prompted the erection of one by his fellow-citizens were, doubtless, generous and praiseworthy; and as evidence of such public appreciation, apart from the fact that it was the first memorial ever raised to a poet in America, the Baltimore monument deserves something more here than passing mention. On the 17th of November f875 the long talked of cenotaph was unveiled, amid a large concourse of people who had assembled to witness, or to take part in, the ceremonies connected with the event. The proceedings were inaugurated by music, after which Professor William Elliott, Jr., delivered the following address, recounting the history of the movement that culminated in that day’s celebration: — “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, — I purpose, in discharging the duty assigned me on this occasion, to give a brief historical sketch of the movement which culminates to-day in the dedication of a monument to the memory of the great American poet, Edgar Allan Poe, the first and only memorial expression of the kind ever given to an American on account of literary excellence. “This extraordinary and unique genius, born in Boston, January 20th,* 1809, during a brief sojourn of his parents in that place, died on the 7th of October 1849, in this city, which is undoubtedly entitled to claim him as one of her distinguished sons. Two days thereafter, on the 9th of October, his mortal remains were interred in the cemetery attached to the Westminster Presbyterian Church, adjoining the building in which we are now assembled. In this connection, acting as a truthful chronicler, I deem it proper to state some facts in relation to the circumstances of the interment. The reliability of the statement I shall now make is sufficiently attested by the evidence of at least three of the gentlemen present on that occasion — possibly the only three who yet survive. “I have been informed that the day was, for the season, more than ordinarily unpleasant, the weather being raw and cold; indeed, just such a day as it would have been more comfortable to spend within than without doors. “The time of the interment was four o’clock in the afternoon; the attendance of persons at the grave, possibly in consequence of the state of the weather, was limited to eight, certainly to not more than nine, one being a lady. “Of the number known to have been present were the Hon. Z. C. Lee, a classmate of the deceased at the University of Virginia; Henry Herring, Esq., a connection of Mr. Poe; Rev. W. T. D. Clemm, a relative of Mr. Poe’s wife; our well-known fellow-citizen Neilson Poe, Esq., a cousin of the poet; Edmund Smith, Esq., and wife, the latter being a first cousin of Poe, and at this time his nearest living relative in this city; and possibly Dr.