of
fearless, merciless criticism.

Literary criticism (so called) in America had been hitherto mere
puffery--puffery for the most part of weak, prolix, commonplace
scribblings of little would-be authors and poets. A reformation in
criticism, therefore, Edgar Poe conceived to be the only remedy for the
prevalent mediocrity in writing that was vitiating the taste of the day,
the only hope of placing American literature upon a footing of equality
with that of England--in a word, for bringing about anything approaching
the perfection of which he dreamed.

The new kind of criticism to which he introduced his readers created a
sensation by reason of its very novelty. His brilliant, but withering
critiques were more eagerly looked for than the most thrilling of his
stories, and though the little, namby-pamby authors whom the gleaming
sword mowed down by tens were his and the _Messenger's_ enemies for
life, the interested readers that were gathered in by hundreds were loud
in their praise of the progressiveness of the magazine and the genius of
the man who was making it.

In the North as well as the South the name of Edgar Poe was now on many
lips and serious attention began to be paid to the opinion of the
_Southern Literary Messenger_.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Between his literary work, his home and his social life in Richmond, it
would seem that every need of The Dreamer's being was now satisfied and
the days of his life were moving in perfect harmony. But "the little
rift within the lute" all too soon made its appearance. It was caused by
the alarm of Mr. White, the owner and founder of the _Messenger_.

"Little Tom White" was a most admirable man--within his limitations. If
he was not especially interesting, his daughter Eliza of the violet eyes
was, and he was reliable--which was better. He had a kind little heart
and a clear little business head and his advice upon all matters (within
his experience) was safe. Though he saw from the handsome increase in
the number of the _Messenger's_ subscribers that his young editor was a
valuable aid, he did not realize how valuable. Indeed, Edgar Poe and his
style of writing were entirely outside of Mr. White's experience. They
were so altogether unlike anything he had known before that in spite of
the praise of the thousands of readers which they had brought to the
magazine the dissatisfaction of the tens of little namby-pamby authors
alarmed him. Edgar Poe found him one mor