Text: John Sartain, “In Reminiscent Mood,” Philadelphia Record (Philadelphia, PA), whole no. 7638, January 22, 1893, p. 6, cols. 3-4

[page 6, column 3:]

Chatting the other evening about George R. Graham, the old Philadelphia publisher, who now lies at the point of death at Orange, N. J.. John Sartain, the famous engraver, who did a great deal of work for Graham, had many interesting reminiscences to tell of the day when this city was the literary centre of the country and attracted hither the brightest men of letters of the day.

“It was Graham's idea to run an engraving every month.” declared Mr. Sartain. He afterward told me that he had received the suggestion from Israel F. Post, an old magazine dealer in New York, to whom he had gone for advice, before launching upon the sea of magazine publishing. ‘Publish engravings regularly,’ he had counseled

“There is little to be said about Graham, whose career was so uneventful. He was a pleasant man, of good business principles, and his misfortune has been done simply to the reaction which came to the boom created for his magazine.

“It was at the period of the transfer of ‘Burton's Magazine’ to Graham that I first met Poe, already of much fame as a poet. He became one of my dearest friends. His memory I cherish and honor. He made many enemies, and many harsh things have been said about him, but I never once saw him drunk, and I believe that in everything he was perfectly honest. To be sure, in his criticisms, especially those in the ‘Stylus,’ he used ‘an iron pen,’ and no doubt, as has been said, ‘sometimes mistook his vial of prussic acid for his ink bottle.’ But I believe he intended to be absolutely fair in all that he wrote.

“As an instance of how far he was above meaner motives, he actually appointed as his literary executor a clergyman whom he had once severely criticised, not seeming to realize that such a hauling over the coals could never be forgotten. As a result, his memory has suffered. That same clergyman, whose name is familiar to readers of Poe literature was a notorious blackmailer, and I myself had to pay him money to prevent abusive notices of ‘Sartain's Magazine.’

“As for the charge that Poe was dishonest about his manuscripts, it has been said that he sold ‘The Bells” to me thrice over. Indeed, he did sell the poem to me three times, but in an honest way. It was accepted first as a poem of two stanzas. Not being published for some time, Poe thrice added to it, and otherwise altered it. Each time he deemed the poem worth more, and so did I, therefore paying him something extra in each case.

“The first instance of hallucination that I ever detected in Poe occurred about a month before his tragic death. I was at work, in my shirt sleeves, in my office on Sansom street, when Poe burst in upon me, excitedly, and exclaimed, ‘I have come to you for refuge.’ I saw at a glance that he was suffering from some mental overstrain, and assured him of shelter. I then begged him to explain.

“‘I was just on my way to New York on the train,’ he said to me, ‘when I heard whispering going on behind me. Owing to my marvelous power of hearing I was enabled to overhear what the conspirators were saying. Just imagine such a thing in this nineteenth century! They were plotting to murder me. I immediately left the train and hastened back here again. I must disguise myself in some way. I must shave off this [column 4:] mustache at once. Will you lend me a razor? ‘

[[“]]Afraid to trust him with it, I told him I hadn’t any, but that I could remove his mustache with the scissors. Taking him to the rear of the office I sheared away until he was absolutely barefaced. This satisfied him somewhat and I managed to calm him. That very evening, however, he prepared to leave the house. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked. ‘To the Schuylkill,’ he replied. ‘Then I am going along with you,’ I declared. He did not object, and together we walked to Chestnut street and took a ‘bus.

“A steep flight of steps used to lead up from the Schuylkill then, and ascending these we sat on a bench overlooking the stream. The night was black, without a star, and I felt somewhat nervous alone with Poe in the condition he was in. Going up in the ‘bus he said to me, ‘After my death see that my mother (Mrs. Clemm) gets that portrait of me from Osgood.’

“Now he began to talk the wildest nonsense, in the weird, dramatic style of his tales. He said he had been thrown into Moyamensing Prison for forging a check, and while there a white female form had appeared on the battlements, and addressed him in whispers.

“ ‘If I had not heard what she said,’ he declared, ‘it would have been the end of me. But, owing to my marvelous hearing, I lost not a single word. Then another figure appeared and invited me to walk with him around the battlements. He conducted me to a caldron of liquid, and asked me if I wished a drink. I refused, for that was a trap. Do you know what would have happened if I had accepted? They would have lifted me over the caldron, and placed me in the liquid up to my lips, like Tantalus, and gone away and left me there.’

“By and by I suggested that we descend again, and Poe assented. All the way down the steep steps I trembled lest he should remember his resolve of suicide, but I kept his mind from it, and got him back safely. Three days after he went out again, and returned in the same mood. ‘I lay on the earth with my nose in the grass,’ he said then, ‘and the smell revived me. I began at once to realize the falsity of my hallucinations.’

“A month later he left Washington to meet his bride. A storm deterred him from crossing at Havre de Grace and he returned to Baltimore. Behind him, in the car, even as in his hallucination, sat a number of suspicious-looking persons. When Poe passed down one of the streets they followed at his heels. Poe was well-dressed and undoubtedly had money in his pockets. The next morning he was found in a vacant lot, nearly dead. He was clad in shabby clothes and had evidently been drugged. When, later, beseeched at the hospital to drink a toddy, he put up his hand and waved it off — and thus he died.”