Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, page 286
Your two last letters I have now before me. In the first you spoke of my notice of yourself in the autograph article. The paper had scarcely gone to press before I saw and acknowledged to myself the injustice I had done you — an injustice which it is my full purpose to repair at the first opportunity. What I said of your grammatical errors arose from some imperfect recollections of one or two poems sent to the first volume of the S. L. Messenger. But in more important respects I now deeply feel that I have wronged you by a hasty opinion. You will not suppose me insincere in saying that I look upon some of your late pieces as the finest I have ever read.I allude especially to your poem about Shelley, and the one of which the refrainis, “She came from Heaven to tell me she was blest.” Upon reading these compositions I felt the necessity of our being friends. Will you accept my proffer of friendship?
Your last favor is dated June 11, and, in writing it, you were doubtless unaware of my having resigned the editorial charge of Graham’s Magazine.What disposition shall I make of the “Invocation to Spring?” The other pieces are in the hands of my successor, Mr Griswold.
It is my intention now to resume the project of the Penn Magazine.I had made every preparation for the issue of the first number in January, 1841, but relinquished the design at Mr. Graham’s representation of joining me in July, provided I would edit his magazine in the meantime. In July he put me off until January, and in January until July again. He now finally declines, and I am resolved to push forward for myself. I believe I have many warm friends, especially in the South and West, and were the journal fairly before the public I have no doubt of ultimate success. Is it possible that you could afford me any aid, in the way of subscribers, among your friends in Middletown?
As I have no money myself, it will be absolutely necessary that I procure a partner who has some pecuniary means. I mention this to you — for it is not impossible that you yourself may have both the will & the ability to join me. The first number will not appear until January, so that I shall have time to look about me.
With sincere respect and esteem
Yours
Edgar A. Poe.
Dr Thos. H. Chivers
THOMAS H. CHIVERS TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — JULY 12, 1842
New York, July 12th, 1842.
My Dear Sir , — It gives me infinite pleasure, at any time, to receive a letter from you. I am now on my way to the South, and had not time toanswer your letter from Middletown, as I received it only a few moments before I started. My brother has written me a letter informing me that the division of my father’s estate will take place on the first of August, and I must hasten to my plantation to receive my portion. I should have answered yours sooner than this, but I have been so much engaged I could not.
I receive, with grateful pleasure, your polite remarks in regard to the autograph article. I had always spoken so highly of your talents as a poet, and the best critic in this Country, that, when my friends saw it, believing you were what I represented you to be, they came almost to the conclusion that they were not only mistaken, but that I was a bad writer, and a fit subject for the Insane Hospital.
I am very much pleased to find that you are pleased with the pieces which I sent you — although I can assure you I have pieces ten times as good as the best of them. I have had mighty dreams id my life. The embers of enthusiasm are still glowing with a quenchless heat in the centre of my heart. Music and poetry are my chief delights. Poetry, I consider the perfection of literature. Without it, the lips of the soul are dumb. It is the beautiful expression of that which is most true. It is the melodious expression of the unsatisfied desires of the heart panting after perfection. 1 will tell you more about what I think of it some of these days, as I have a prose article on the genius of Shelley, in which I attempt to describe it. If the Editor of “Graham’s Magazine “ likes the “Invocation to Spring” you may hand it to him, if you think proper. In regard to the “Penn Magazine,” all I can say at present is, that I will do all I can to aid you in the procurement of subscribers for it. I would take great delight in becoming the associate of a man whom I am proud to recognize as my friend, and whose superior talents I can never cease to admire.
I do not know how long I shall remain at the South; but, long or short, I will do all I can to benefit you. When I return, I will write a more perspicuous letter to you, as my head is now in such great pain from fatigue that I cannot think.
I have a poem entitled “The Mighty Dead,” with one or two Dramas, which I will submit to you for perusal before long. I hope you will excuse the manner in which this letter is written, as the pen is a very bad one. I shall ever take great pride in acknowledging you the noblest of all my friends. May all your days be forever brightened by the sunshine of prosperity; and if there should ever come over you a cloud, may it overshadow you like the wing of an Angel, which, when it has departed, lets down from heaven a tenfold radiance to light you round about.
Yours, very truly,
Thos. H. Chivers
E. A. Poe, Esqr.
THOMAS H. CHIVERS TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — SEPTEMBER 26, 1842
New York, Sept. 26th, 1842.
My Dear Sir, — Just before I started to the South, I gave Mr. Hunt a poem entitled “The Mighty Dead,” which I directed him to give to Israel Post, to be directed to you. I have just seen Post, and he informs me that the Package was never handed to him. I am very uneasy to know what disposition he made of the poem, as I am fearful that he has caused you to pay the postage on it, when I directed him to send it by Post. I do wish that if you received the poem that you will let me know immediately whether or not you were so imposed upon, as I positively assure you it was without my knowledge. Mr. Hunt is since dead, and I am unable to find out what has become of it. Will you have the goodness to return, by private conveyance, the poem to which I have alluded?
Yours most respectfully,
Thos. H. Chivers.
E. A. Poe, Esqr.
EDGAR ALLAN POE TO THOMAS H. CHIVERS — SEPTEMBER 27, 1842
Philadelphia Sep. 27. 1842.
My Dear Sir,
Through some accident, I did not receive your letter of the 15th inst: until this morning, and now hasten to reply.
Allow me, in the first place, to thank you sincerely for your kindness in procuring me the subscribers to the Penn Magazine. The four names sent will aid me most materially in this early stage of the proceedings.
As yet I have taken no overt step in the measure, and have not even printed a Prospectus. As soon as I do this I will send you several. I do not wish to announce my positive resumption of the original scheme until about the middle of October. Before that period I have reason to believe that I shall have received an appointment in the Philadelphia Custom House, which will afford me a good salary and leave the greater portion of my time unemployed. With this appointment to fall back upon, as a certain resource, I shall be enabled to start the Magazine without difficulty, provided I can make an arrangement with either a practical printer possessing a small office, or some one not a printer, with about $1000 at command. (over [ )]
It would, of course, be better for the permanent influence and success of the journal that I unite myself with a gentleman of education & similarity of thought and feeling. It was this consciousness which induced me to suggest the enterprise to yourself. I know no one with whom I would more readily enter into association than yourself.
I am not aware what are your political views. My own have reference to no one of the present parties; but it has been hinted to me that I will receive the most effectual patronage from Government, for a journal which will admit occasional papers in support of the Administration. For Mr Tyler personally, & as an honest statesman, I have the highest respect. Of the government patronage, upon the condition specified, I am assuredand this alone will more than sustain the Magazine.
The only real difficulty lies in the beginning — in the pecuniary means for getting out the two (or three) first numbers; after this all is sure, and a great triumph may, and indeed willbe achieved. If you can command about $1000 and say that you will join me, I will write you fully as respects the details of the plan, or we can have an immediate interview.
It would be proper to start with an edition of 1000 copies. For this number, the monthly expense, including paper (of the finest quality) composition, press-work & stitching will be about 180$. I calculate allexpenses at about $250 — which is $3000 per annum — a very liberal estimate. 1000 copies at $5 = 5000$ — leaving a nett profit of 2000$, even supposing we have only 1000 subscribers. But I am sure of beginningwith at least 500, and make no doubt of obtaining 5000 before the expiration of the 2d year. A Magazine, such as I propose, with 5000 subscribers will produce us each an income of some $10,000; and this you will acknowledge is a game worth playing. At the same time there is no earthly reason why such a Magazine may not, eventually, reach a circulation as great as that of “Graham’s” at present — viz 50,000.
I repeat that it would give me the most sincere pleasure if you would make up your mind to join me. I am sure of our community of thought & feeling, and that we would accomplish much.
In regard to the poem on Harrison’s death, I regret to [say] that nothing can be done with the Philadelphia publishers. The truth is that the higher order of poetry is, and always will be, in this country, unsaleable; but, even were it otherwise, the present state of the CopyRight Laws will not warrant any publisher, in purchasingan American book. The only condition, I am afraid, upon which the poem can be printed, is that you print at your own expense.
I will see Griswold and endeavour to get the smaller poems from him. A precious fellow is he!
Write as soon as you receive this & believe me
Yours most truly
Edgar A Poe
THOMAS H. CHIVERS TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — DECEMBER 7, 1842
Augusta, Ga., Dec. 7th, 18
My Dear Sir, — You will, doubtless, be very much surprised to hear that I am so far from New York. When I wrote to you last, I told you that I would write on to my brother, the Administrator of my father’s estate, and ascertain when I could receive my part of the money. When I wrote to him I had no idea of coming to the South, but there is not a man in the world who can tell today what he will do to-morrow. Hope, with her snowy wings, soared, beckoning me away, up to the gates of heaven. My antisipations (sic) were then as joyful as my hopes were bright — every thing on the face of the earth appeared bright to me. Now my hope is dead — the beautiful saintly winged dove which soared so high from the earth — luring my impatient soul to wander, delighted, from prospect to prospect — has been wounded in her midway flight to heaven by the keen icy arrows of Death! My antisipations are sorrowful — every thing in the round world is dark to me! The little tender inocent (sic) blue-eyed daughter of my heart — the soul of my own soul — the life of my own life — “my joy, my food, my all — the world” — is dead!
“Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight;
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but the delight
No more — O, never more!”
All that I can say now is in the divine language of Shelly:
“Come, obscure Death,
And wind me in thing all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake!”
Never can I see another day of peace on earth! She was so healthy, so happy, so inocent, and so beautiful, that I did not believe that she could die. She was sick only two days — sick when I was not near to render her assistence! (sic) My God! there is a darkness gathering round (my) soul of he deepest sorrow, which the light of no future joy can ever illume! No, the very joys of others make my sorrows more intolerable! Why did man come into the world to see so much sorrow? Why should he be the father of those who are to live only long enough to be interesting to him, and then to lose them? My little daughter of three years old — my blue eyed child — is gone! A precious being — my Angel-child — in whose seraphic soul such heavenly divineness dwelt, I did not think her of this world! Death has hushed her innocent prattle. In the deep azure grave of the silence of her voice the music of the world is buried! My soul is so sorrowful for the loss of that sweet voice that it can never more listen to any other tones! Have you ever lost a child! If you ever have, then you can know what I mean when I tell you that I have lost the whole world — that there can be no more spring nor summer — but an endless winter cold and chilly to the heart! But whether you have ever lost one or not, I know you possess such fine feelings that you can sympathise with me. I have brought her on to the south to have her buried by the side of my dear old mother whom I loved next to heaven — that is the reason why I have not written to you before this. What have you done with the “Penn Magazine?” When I received your last letter in regard to it, my little blue-eyed daughter sat upon my knee and smiled in my face while I read it. To read your letters, with my little child sitting on my knee, in regard to an enterprise in which we were to be partners, filled my heart with joyful antisipations. When I lay her tender body in the earth, I will then plant flowers upon her grave — such flowers as she loved — for she loved flowers beyond any child I ever knew — flowers that (wi)ill last through all the winter. Why may I not hope (t)hat her soul will come to me again?
THOMAS H. CHIVERS TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — JUNE 15, 1844
Oaky Grove, Ga. June 15th, 1844.
My Dear Sir, — I wrote you two letters about one year ago, to which I have received no answer up to this time. I directed my Boy, who carried them to the Post office, to have the postage paid on them, but, as the Post Master was not at home, at the time, it was not done. As the postage was not paid, I presume you did not trouble yourself to take them out of the Office, and that is the reason why you did not answer them. They, no doubt, contained a great deal of nonsense, and it is well, perhaps, that you did not pay any attention to them. They contained not only the information of the death of my little Angel-child, but the kindest expression of my regard for you. I requested you to tell me whether you intended to relinquish the idea of publishing the “Penn Magazine” or not. If you intend to execute your former design, it would be well for you not only to let me know it, but to publish a Prospectus, and send it on to me, that I may obtain as many subscribers in this State as possible. I expect to receive my part of my father’s estate in July next, and should like to unite with you, provided it would be to my interest to do so. I should like for you to make a perfect exposition of the manner in which you wish me to join you. Would not the publication of such a Magazine as Graham’s, be more profitable to us ? I should like very much to know your opinion about the matter. I shall return to New York as soon as I receive my part of the estate.
When I wrote to you last, I believe it was strawberry-time. I said something about strawberries and cream. I have just been eating strawberries and honey. You will not think me an epicure when I say to you, that, in this Country, at this time of the year, such a delicious compound is the Nepenthe of my life. I am induced to believe that such a delicious, life-imparting compound was the original of the Grecian idea of the Nectar and Ambrosia of the immortal gods,
I see you still write for Graham’s Magazine. He ought to give you ten thousand dollars a year for supervising it. It is richly worth it. I believe it was through your editorial ability that it was first established. If so, he is greatly indebted to you. It is not my opinion that you ever have been, or ever will be, paid for your intellectual labours. You need never expect it, until you establish a Magazine of your own. This I would do, if I were you, as soon as possible. Then you can do as you please. You have friends in the South and West, who will support you in the undertaking. As for myself, you know I will do all I can to aid you in any enterprise of the kind. I would have joined you long ago, but for the case now in Court against the Administrator, which has kept me out of my part of the estate up to this hour.
Your criticism of “ Orion” pleased me very much. I have not yet seen the work. I should like very much to see it. Some of your remarks have long ago staggered the minds of many, although they are true in the main. Your conception of the uses or excellence of Poetry is the loftiest I have seen. There is, in the perspicuous flow of your pure English, a subtle delicacy of expression which always pleases me — except when you tomahawk people.I cannot say that I like very much your dislike to Transcendentalism. All truePoetry is certainly transcendental — although it is the beautiful expression of that which is most true. I see that H Orion “ is a reflection of that divine light. You might have said of him, in the finale of your criticism, what Shelley, the goldenmouthed Swan of Albion, says of the writings of a certain person
“Let his page
Which charms the chosen spirits of the age,
Fold itself up for a serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation.”
In general, your criticisms are very just. I can read a Poem with greater delight after your criticism than before. I consider your definition of Poetry far superior to Lord Bacon’s -although I consider him one of the greatest men that ever existed. This I say with the utmost sincerity, because, although he was a very great man, yet he did not know everythingNo one but a Poet can know what true Poetry is. No man ever understood the spiritual beautyof Milton’s Paradise Lostas well as he did himself. The same may be said of Shakespeare, — although Mr. Knight would make us believe otherwise. A critic may know how to analyze the artistical synthesis of a Poem, without understanding the immortal soul [illegible] this divine spirit which you unfold in your criticism [illegible] them so beautiful. The artistical skill of a Poem [illegible] it invests, what the perfected body of a man is to the soul. It is the Shekinah or visible manifestation of the divinity within. Poetry is, therefore, the perfection of literature. It is the perfected artistical symbol of the most perfect wisdom of the most exalted mind. It is the Apollonian body of the truth-revealing spirit of Genius.
