doing more good than your own eyes can see. Look around you! Is there drunkenness here? Is there dissolute conduct or disorder? Why, my dear sir, these people are not only good citizens, but devout members of their own church-it is not yours or mine, but it is theirs. They have been to early mass, and finished their devotions before you and I were out of bed, and

The Doctor was growing eloquent, and seemed to be but just started in his discourse. Somehow the Reverend Mr. Pentagon, limp, terrified, white of face, and weak as to his knees, slipped away and out, through the big gate on whose portals he saw for the first time two huge signs on which he read but two FÊTE" and "DIMANCHE.”

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The next day Mr. Pentagon went to New York, although he had neither supped nor slept the night before. He wanted to evade the Doctor's daily call, or at least to think things over with himself before he should meet that grave and thoughtful face. He was slowly and painfully walking down Fifth Avenue, his thoughts turned in upon himself, when he felt his hand grasped and warmly shaken. Lifting his eyes, he saw before him a face that gradually revealed itself to his memory as the face of the little vestryman, of the great church of his hopes, who had called upon him some months before to suggest the possibility of his coming to New York. The little man was beaming, and he flourished a newspaper.

"Good! good!" he said, shaking the clergyman's hand up and down, "you have done nobly, Mr. Pentagon! It was a daring thing, sir, very daring; but the very audacity of it has settled the business. The conservative element in our vestry is fairly frightened out of the field. Why, sir, Mr. McGlaisher, the leader of the Sabbatarian wing in our church, actually said that while he could not vote for you, he would not vote against you; and that he could not help respecting a man who had the courage of his convictions. You will be called, sir, you will be called; as sure as my name ain't McGlaisher."

And he bustled away, leaving the daily paper in Mr. Pentagon's hands;

VOL. XVI.-19

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'My dear sir," he said, "we AngloSaxons think we belong to the most logical race on the face of the earth, and yet the accurate little Frenchman can give us points three times out of four. With him a week is a week — seven days-with us it sometimes is, and sometimes is not. When you speak of something that happened a week ago this Monday,' you really speak of a period of eight days, or a week and the present Monday. The logical Frenchman does not even think of that space of time as a week; he calls it 'huit jours,' in the same way. On the third Wednesday of your stay here, which happened, by the way, to be a saint's day in the Catholic Church, Monsieur Perot very rightly told you that you had been here fifteen days. But with your habit of counting exclusively,' as we call our stupid fashion, you counted the days done and not the day you were in. You would not have done it if you had been calculating the date of payment of a note; it was simply illogical habit that counted for you. But you see," he concluded, with a little laugh, as he took up his hat, "you had been French for a fortnight."

"Ah, yes, I see," said the Reverend Mr. Pentagon.

And as he heard the Doctor close the front door behind him, he picked up his half-finished sermon "On the Duty of a Strict Observance of the Sabbath" and tore it into small pieces.

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HE correspondence between Poe and Lowell is of considerable interest as an illustration of the character of the former, who was Lowell's senior by ten years, and it affords much biographical matter in details. The letters of Poe, with the exception of one which had passed out of Lowell's possession, were published in the biography of Poe which appeared some years ago in the American Men of Letters series. The letters of Lowell were among the papers which came into the hands of Dr. R. W. Griswold, as Poe's literary executor, and remained, after Griswold's death, in the possession of the gentleman who then took charge of his effects; they have recently come by inheritance, together with the other papers of Griswold, to the latter's son, Mr. William M. Griswold, of Cambridge, Mass., from whose copies they are now made public. While the interest of the Lowell side of the correspondence is considerably slighter than that written by Poe, the story of a notable literary connection is made complete by the aid of these documents, and the letters themselves are of equal value with others belonging to Lowell's early years. They require but little comment except what is furnished by Poe's replies. Lowell had undertaken to edit, in conjunction with Mr. Robert Carter, then living near him in Cambridge, the magazine called The Pioneer. The venture was unfortunate, and after the third issue the magazine was discontinued. Poe's first

letter was written to offer contributions to it, and in each of its three numbers there was something from his pen. Lowell's first letter is in reply to Poe's appli

sures me of the friendship and approbation of almost the only fearless American critic, and second (to be Irish) since it contains your acquiescence to a request which I had already many times mentally preferred to you. Had you not written you would soon have heard from me. I give you carte blanche for prose or verse as may best please you-with one exception-namely I do not wish an article like that of yours on [Rufus] Dawes, who, although I think with you that he is a bad poet, has yet I doubt not tender feelings as a man which I should be chary of wounding. I think that I shall be hardest pushed for good stories (imaginative ones) & if you are inspired to anything of the kind I should be glad to get it.

"I thank you for your kind consideration as to terms of payment, seeing that herein my ability does not come near my exuberant will. But I can offer you $10. for every article at first with the understanding that, as soon as I am able I shall pay you more according to my opinion of your deserts. If the magazine fail, I shall consider myself personally responsible to all my contributors. Let me hear from you at your earliest convenience & believe me always your friend

"E. A. POE, ESQ.

"J. R. LOWELL,

"I am already (I mean my magazine) in the press but anything sent 'right away' will be in season for the first number, in which I should like to have you appear."

LOWELL TO POE

graphs is to blame) would not print in the [Boston] Miscellany, & I was very glad to get it for myself. It may argue presumptuousness in me to dissent from his verdict. I should be glad to hear from you soon. You must send me another article, as my second number will soon go to press.

"Wishing you all happiness I remain your true friend-torn to pieces with little businesses

[Signature cut out.]

The Pioneer failed in March, 1843. The contract bound Lowell and Carter to furnish the publishers five thousand copies on the twentieth of each month under a penalty of five hundred dollars in case of failure and the publishers to take that number at a certain price. The March number was eight days late, and the publishers, in the face of what was probably seen to be an unfortunate speculation, claimed the forfeit, but offered to waive it if the contract should be altered so as to require them to take only so many copies as they could sell. The result was that the editors were obliged to stop printing from a lack of credit, and were left with a large indebtedness for manufacture as well as to contributors. It appears from Poe's letters that he was paid his small claim a year later.

LOWELL TO POE

"BOSTON March 24 1843.

MY DEAR FRIEND, "I have neglected writing to you too long already, in the hope of being able to remit the money I owe you. When I shall have stated the facts, I think that you will excuse my want of punetuality. The magazine was started on my own responsibility, & I relied on the payments I should receive from my publishers to keep me even with my creditors until the Magazine should be firmly established. You may conceive my distress when the very first note given me by my publishers has been protested for nonpayment, & the magazine ruined. For I was unable to go on any farther, having already incurred a debt of $1800. or more.

"I hope soon to make such arrange

ments as will enable me to borrow this sum-pay all my debts & leave [me] free to go [to] work & apply my earnings to getting the load off my shoulders. The loss of my eyes at this juncture (for I am as yet unable to use them to any extent) adds to my distress. I shall remit to you before long-meanwhile do write me on receipt of this & tell me that you forgive me for what truly is more my misfortune than my fault-& that you still regard me as ever "Your friend in all ways

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"J. R. LOWELL.

"P. S. I hear you have become an Editor [of the never realized Stylus] Is it true? I hope so; if it were only to keep our criticism in a little better trim."

LOWELL TO POE

"BOSTON April 17, 1843.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,

"Hawthorne writes me that he shall be able to send an article [for "The Stylus"] in the course of a week or two. His terms are $5. a page, but probably, as your pages will "eat up" Copy with a less anacondalike appetite than the fine print magazines, your best plan would be to pay him so much by the article. His wife will make a drawing of his head or he will have a Daguerreotype taken, so that you can have a likeness of him.

"As to my own effigies. [Published with a sketch of his life in Graham's.] Page has painted a head of me which is called very fine, & which is now Exhibiting (I believe) at the National Academy in New.York. This might be Daguerreotyped-or I might have one taken from my head as it is now—namely in a more civilized condition-the portrait by 'Pag having very long hair, not to mention a beard and some symptoms of moustache, & looking altogether, perhaps, too antique to be palateable to the gentle public. But you shall

use your own judgement about that.

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"I write now in considerable confusion, being just on the eve of quitting the office which I occupy as attorney & Counsellor at Law". I have given up that interesting profession, & mean to devote myself wholly to letters. I shall

"I have been delaying to write to you from day to day in the expectation that I should have received an article from Hawthorne to send with my letter. I am now domiciled in the country & have been doing nothing but ramble about, gardening, farming, tending an increasing flock of poultry & in short, being out of doors & in active exercise as much as possible in order to restore my eyes effectually.

"I have got the idea of Hawthorne's article so fixed in my mind that I forgot that I did not send you a poem in my last. I have such a reluctance to go into the city that though I have been here nearly three weeks I have not even brought out my Mss. yet. But I mean to do it in a day or two & shall then send you something which I hope will be to your liking. You must forgive my dilatoriness, My dear friend, the natural strength of which is increased by the pressure of my debts-a source of constantly annoying thought which prevents my doing almost anything as yet. "With regard to a sketch of my own life my friend [Robert] Carter thinks that he can give it better than I-and perhaps he will send you one. Meanwhile I give a few dates. I was born Feby 22 1819 in this house at Cambridge-entered Harvard College in 1834 & took

my degree as Bachelor of Arts in regular course in 1838-my master's degree in 1841. While in college I was one of the editors elected to edit the periodical [Harvardiana] then published by the undergraduates, & also to deliver the Class poem-a yearly performance which requires a poet every year who is created as easily by the class vote as a baronet or peer of the realm is in England. I was in the Law School under Judge Story for two years & upwards took a degree of Bachelor of Laws by force of having my name on the books as a student-& published a volume of rather crude productions (in which there is more of everybody else than of myself) in Jany, 1841. On the Mother's side I am of Scotch descent.

"I forgot to thank you for the biographical sketch of your own eventful life which you sent me. Your early poems display a maturity which astonished me & I recollect no individual (& I believe I have all the poetry that was ever written) whose early poems were anything like as good. Shelley is nearest, perhaps.

"I have greater hopes of your Stylus' than I had of my own magazine, for I think you understand editing vastly better than I shall for many years yet& you have more of that quality—which is the Siamese twin brother of genius— industry-than I.

"I shall write again shortly mean

while "I am your affectionate & obliged "friend J. R. L."

LOWELL TO POE

[No date. Postmark, BOSTON, May 16.] "MY DEAR FRIEND,

"I send you this little poem with some fears that you will be disappointed therein. But it is on the whole the most likely to please of any that I could lay my hands on-my Mss. being trusted to fortune like the Sybils leaves, & perhaps, like her's, rising in value to my mind as they decrease in number. You must tell me frankly how you like what I sent & what you should like better. Will you give me your address more particularly so that in case I have

"I send you with this letter a copy of the Boston Notion, April 29, containing an abridgement which I made of the sketch of your life and writings which appeared in the Phila. Sat. Museum. I was absent from the city when it was printed and did not see the proof; consequently it is full of atrocious errors. What has become of the Stylus? I trust that it has not been found prudent to relinquish the enterprise though I fear that such is the case. It would give the friends of pure and elevated literature in this region great pleasure to learn that it is only temporarily delayed.

"Mr. Lowell is in excellent health and his eyes have nearly recovered their usual strength. He has entirely abandoned his profession and is living at his father's house in the vicinity of this village. About a fortnight since he began to scribble vigorously and has within that period written about a thousand lines. You will see in the next Democratic Review, or at least in the August no., his longest and [piece of top cut off] blank verse and is entitled Prometheus. It contains nearly four fandred lines I think, and was written in seven or eight hours. At least, I left him one day at 11 A. M. and he had concluded to begin it immediately and when I saw him again at about 8 P. M. the same day he read to me upwards of two hundred and fifty lines and he had written besides before he began some stanzas of a long poem in ottava rima which has occupied him chiefly for the last two weeks. Graham has also a poem from him and there will be one in the next New Mirror.

"Within a week I have read for the first time, Pym's Narrative. I lent it to a friend who lives in the house with me, and who is a lawyer, a graduate of Harvard, and a brother of Dr. O. W. Holmes, yet is so completely deceived by the minute accuracy of some of the details, the remarks about the statements of the press, the names of people at New Bedford &c. that, though an intelligent and shrewd man he will not be persuaded that it is a fictitious work, by any arguments drawn from the book itself, though [piece of top cut off] the latter part of the narrative. I dislike to tell him that I know it to be fictitious, for to test its truthfulness I gave it to him without remark and he has so committed himself by grave criticisms on its details that I dread to undeceive him. He has crossed the Atlantic twice and commented on an inaccuracy in the description of Pym's midnight voyage with his drunken friend. I have not the book in the house and knowing nothing of the sea, did not clearly comprehend the objection, but I think it was upon setting a 'jib' or some such thing upon a dismasted sloop-I know that the words 'jib'-'sloop' & 'only one mast' occurred in his remarks.

"To return to a safer subject-I am extremely desirous of knowing the name of your novel in two volumes alluded to in the Museum' [this alleged novel was never named by Poe] and if it be not a secret, or one that can be confided to a stranger would be obliged by its communication. And while I am in an inquisitive mood, let me beg of you to tell me whether the name of the author of Stanley is Walter or I'm Landor and whether he has recently or will soon publish anything. Also who is the author of 'Zoe' and the Aristocrat?' "My address is still 'Boston, care of Rev. Dr. Lowell.'

"Truly & respectfully Your friend"

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