from all the
restraints which you knew to be for your good--throwing off every
shackle of propriety, and right, and decency?--Mr. Graham, did you never
feel like throwing yourself to the devil for no reason at all other than
the desire to be perverse? Could any desire be more impish?--I will
illustrate by my own case, I am in one respect not like other men. An
exceptionally high-strung nervous temperament makes alcoholic
stimulants poison to me. It works like madness in my brain and in my
blood. The glass of wine that you can take with pleasure and perhaps
with benefit drives me wild--makes me commit all manner of reckless
deeds that in my sane moments fill me with sorrow!--and sometimes
produces physical illness followed by depression of spirits, horrible in
the extreme. More--an inherited desire for stimulation and the
exhilaration produced by wine, makes it well nigh impossible for me,
once I have yielded my will so far as to take the single glass, to
resist the second, which is more than apt to be followed by a third, and
so on. I am fully aware therefore, of the danger that lies for me in a
thing harmless to many men, and that my only safety and happiness and
the happiness of those far dearer to me than myself, lies in the
strictest, most rigid abstinence. Knowing all this, one would suppose
that I would fly from this temptation as it were the plague. I do
generally. At present, several years have passed since I yielded an
inch. But there have been times--and there may be times again--when the
Imp of the Perverse will command me to drink and, fully aware of the
risk, I _will_ drink, and will go down into hell for a longer or shorter
period afterward."

During this lecture upon one of his favorite hobbies, the low voice of
The Dreamer was vibrant with earnestness. He spoke out of bitter
experience and as he who bore the reputation of a reserved man, laid his
soul bare, his vivid eyes held the eyes of his companion by the very
intensity--the deep sincerity of their gaze.

Mr. Graham's last conversation with his new editor had dazed him; this
one dazed him still more. What manner of man was this? (he asked
himself) with whom he had formed a league? He could not say--beyond the
fact that he was undoubtedly original--and interesting. Admirable
qualities for an editor--both!

The readers of the new monthly thoroughly agreed with him. The history
of Edgar Poe's career as editor of _The Southern Literary Messenger_
pro