Text: Mrs. F. J. Davis, “Longfellow and Poe Compared,” Larned Weekly Chronoscope (Larned, KS), vol. XIX, no. 21, August 14, 1896, p. 3, col. 4

[page 3, column 4:]

In response to an invitation from the Portia Reading club, of which she is vice-president, Mrs. F. J. Davis prepared and read the following paper at a meeting held at the home of Mrs. J. P. Clark on July 31st. The same is also published by reason of the club having unanimously voted such a request:

A sketch [[Sketches]] of the lives of Longfellow and Poe have already been read, and you all know that their boyhood days were to the extremes. While Longfellow had the love and guidance of his parents, Poe had all that money could buy. But of parental love, of that deep sympathy for which the poor orphan yearned, he seems to have been utterly devoid. He says, “From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals. With them I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding or caressing them. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasions to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere man.” He one day accompanied a schoolmate of his hoe, relates Mrs. Whitman, when he saw for the first time Mrs. Helen Stannard, the mother of his young friend. This lady, on entering the room, took his hand and spoke some gentle and gracious words of welcome, which so penetrated the sensitive heart of the orphan boy as to deprive him of the power of speech, and for a time almost to deprive him of consciousness itself. He returned home in a dream, with but one thought, one hope in life — to hear again the sweet and gracious words that had made the desolate world so beautiful to him, and filled his lonely heart with the oppression of a new joy. And at the very moment when the guiding voice was most needed she died. And for months afterward the poor boyish admirer could not endure the thoughts of her lying there lonely and forsaken in her vaulted home; would go nightly to visit the tomb of his reverend friend, and when the nights were dreary and cold he lingered longest and came away most regretfully. “Helen, they beauty is to me,” were inspired by the memory of this lady. No one ever read “The Raven” without coming to the conclusion that its author was a poet of the first rank. Not made, but born. Many of the dark stains which Griswold cast upon him have been removed. In the use of stimulants, the great and only flaw so many criticised so harshly, were not so bad as represented. In the memoir of J. H. Ingram, several places where he was employed, say they never saw him under the influence of liquor. He was always at his desk from nine o’clock in the morning till the paper was out in the evening. Mrs. [[Mr. William]] Gowans, of New York, says, “for eight months one house contained us, as one table fed. During that time I saw much of him. I never saw him the least affected with liquor, nor even decend [[descend]] to any known vice, while he was one of the most courteous, gentlemanly and intelligent companions I have met with during my journeyings and halting through divers divisions of the globe.” All of his poetry was written under very trying circumstances. Poverty, half clad, is it any wonder some of it is so weird like. His errors, if such it may be styled, the impulse which blindly impelled him to his destruction, injured no one but himself, and certainly, no one before or since has suffered so severely in character in consequence of it. Burns, Byron, and other children of genius have erred far worse than Poe ever did, inasmuch as their direlictions [[derelictions]] injured others, but with them the world has dealt leniently, accepting their genius as a compensation. But for poor Edgar Poe, who wronged no one but himself, the world, misled greatly it is true as to his real character, has hitherto had no mercy. Henceforth let his few errors be forgotten, and his name be assigned that place which is due to it in the glory roll of fame. There are few English writers of this century whose fame is likely to be more enduring.

As a poet, Longfellow is characterized by tenderness and depth of feeling, to the expression of which the picturesque and graceful simplicity of his language often imparts an indescribable charm. He seldom or never attempts to excite admiration by far-sought conceits, by wild or lofty flights of imagination, or by the exhibition of dark and terrible passions. He relies chiefly for his success on a simple and direct appeal to those sentiments which are common to all mankind — to persons of every rank and of every clime. It was his wish always to utter that which the usual man could take into his heart and find food for his diviner self. How can we make our lives sublime? is a question that may be heard beneath the harmonies of his perfect verse. Longfellow attained well night an ideal manhood. His acquaintances could discern no spot upon his ennobled soul. He was without egotism, feminine in sensibility and gentleness, but never less than manly and steadfast, disdaining wrong, but no cinic [[cynic]]; a pure, upright, beautiful soul, whose life was love, whose necessity was kindness. He spoke no bitter word, nor touched another life ungently.

Note: Where the author has Poe saying “From infancy I was noted . . . “ she is actually quoting from Poe's story “The Black Cat.” Thus it is not Poe making the statement, but his narrator. Poe does appear to have been fond of animals, but to take the words he put in the mouth of a character in a story and offer them as Poe speaking for himself is a mistake. To then blend that quotation in as part of his biography is even more misleading. It is also not true that as a child Poe had all that money could buy. At the point when John and Frances Allan took Poe in, their finances were complicated, and it was only later that Allan inherited a large fortune from his uncle Galt. The article, although composed by an amateur, is interesting as an example of how Poe's popular public image was seen in the decades after his death. In particular, there was a tendency to blend Poe's life and his works. Just as interesting may be the fact that a local newspaper saw fit to print such an article. In a similar fashion, other local newspapers of the era sometimes printed school reports, especially if they had won a prize for literacy or presentation.