rror_. Neither in his character of Edgar the
Dreamer nor that of Edgar Goodfellow was he especially known there, but
simply as a modest, industrious sub-editor, doing the work of a
mechanical paragraphist as quietly, as unobtrusively, as a machine. With
rarely a smile and rarely a word, he stood from morning till night at
his desk in a corner of the editorial room--pale, still and beautiful as
a statue, punctual and efficient and the embodiment of courtesy always.

And quietly and unobtrusively his personality made itself felt. Mr.
Willis came to love him for his innate charm and for his faithfulness to
duty.

* * * * *

But the desk of a sub-editor could not long hold a genius like Edgar
Poe. He bore its drudgery without complaint, but when an opening that
seemed to invite his ambition, as well as to promise better pay came, he
hailed it with enthusiasm. In March of the next year he formed a
partnership with two New York journalists, as editors and managers of
_The Broadway Journal_. A few months later saw him sole proprietor as
well as editor, and for a short, bright period his old dream of a
magazine of his own, in which he could write as he pleased, came true.
Its realization seemed to inspire him with new energy. How many heads,
how many right hands had the man--his readers asked each other--that he
could turn out such a mass of work of such high order? His own and many
other of the magazines of the day were filled with reviews and
criticisms that made him the terror of other writers, and with stories
and poems that made him the marvel of readers everywhere.

His works were translated into the tongues of France, Germany and Spain,
and his fame grew in all of those countries.

Yet the most that he could afford in the way of a home was up two
flights of stairs--two rooms in the third story of a dingy old house in
East Broadway. Mother Clemm and Virginia kept them bright and spotless
and "Catalina" dosing on the hearth gave a final touch of comfort, and
they were far above the noise and dust of the streets, with windows
opening upon a goodly view of the sky. They had a front and a back room,
so that the beauties of the dawn and the noontide--of sunset and
moonrise--were all theirs.

And the Wolf came not near the door, and the three whose natures were
like to the natures of the oak, the vine and the heartsease, and who
lived for each other only, dreamed again the dream of the wonde