board of the
Kennedys came the young poet blushed for shame in the pleasure he could
not help feeling in anticipation of the chance to satisfy his chastened
appetite, and he often found himself fearing that the hunger with which
he ate the good things which these kind friends placed upon his plate
would betray the necessary frugality of the dear "Muddie's"
house-keeping, which was one of the sacred secrets of the sweet home.
Sometimes his pride would make him go so far as to decline delicious
morsels in the hope of correcting such an impression, if it should
exist.

He racked his brain to find a means of making his work bring him more
money. Upon Mr. Kennedy's advice, he sent his "Tales of the Folio Club"
to the Philadelphia publishing house of "Carey and Lea." After several
weeks of anxious waiting he received a letter accepting the collection
for publication but frankly admitting that his receiving any profit from
the sale of the book was an exceedingly doubtful matter. They suggested,
however, that they be permitted to sell some of the tales to publishers
of the then popular "annuals," reserving the right to reprint them in
the book. To this the author gladly consented and received with a joy
that was pathetic the sum of fifteen dollars from "The Souvenir," which
had purchased one of the tales at a dollar a printed page.

He and Wilmer put their heads together in dreams of literary work by
which a man could live. One of these dreams took form in the prospectus
of a purely literary journal of the highest class which was to be in
its criticisms and editorial opinions "fearless, independent and sternly
just."

But the scheme required capital and never got beyond the glowing
prospectus.

In spite of the small sums that came to him as veritable God-sends from
the sale of his stories and from odd jobs on the _Visitor_ and other
journals, Edgar Poe was poor--miserably poor. And just as he had begun
to flatter himself that he did not mind, that he would bear it with the
nonchalance of the true philosopher he believed he had become, it
assumed the shape of horror unspeakable to him. Not for himself, if
there were only himself to think of, he felt assured, he could laugh
poverty--want even--to scorn; but that his little Virginia should feel
the pinch was damnable!

Two years had made marked changes in Virginia. She was losing the
formless plumpness of childhood and growing rapidly into a slight and
graceful maiden--a "