rved.
Here, however, he seems to have turned over a new leaf, for one of the
boarders, a Mr. Gowans, a book-seller on the next street, declares that
in the eight months of his residence at Mrs. Clemm's, and a daily
intercourse with Poe, he never saw him otherwise than "sober, courteous,
and a perfect gentleman." Being a stranger in New York, he was removed
from the temptations which had assailed him in Richmond, and this fact
should be noted as a proof that, when left to himself, he showed no
inclination to indulge in dissipation. Of Virginia, Poe's wife, then
fifteen years of age, this gallant old bachelor says, in the exaggerated
style of flattery common in those days: "Her eyes outshone those of any
houri, and her features would defy the genius of a Canova to imitate.
Poe delighted in her round, childlike face and plump little figure."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE REAL VIRGINIA.

As regards the nature of Poe's affection for his wife, I have often
recalled an expression of Mr. John Mackenzie when, after the poet's
death, a group of his friends were familiarly discussing his character.
One doubted whether Poe had ever really loved his wife; to which Mr.
Mackenzie replied: "I believe that Edgar loved his wife, but not that he
was ever in love with her--which accounts for his constancy."

I have heard other men say that it was impossible that Poe, at the age
of twenty-seven, could have felt for the child of twelve, with whom he
had played and romped in the familiar association of home life and the
free intercourse of brother and sister, aught of the absorbing and
idealizing passion of love. At most, said they, there could have been
but the tender and protective affection of an elder brother or cousin;
which, as Mr. Mackenzie remarked, was in one of Poe's temperament the
best guarantee for its continuance.

Apart from the disparity of age, there was no congeniality of mind or
character to draw these two into sympathy. Virginia was not mentally
gifted, and Poe once, after her death, remarked to Mrs. Mackenzie that
she had never read half of his poems. When writing, he would go to Mrs.
Clemm to explain his ideas or to ask her opinion, but never to Virginia.
She was his pet, his plaything, his little "Sissy," whose sunny temper
and affectionate disposition brightened and cheered his home.

"She was always a child," said a lady who knew her well. "Even in person
smaller and younger looking than her real age, she retained