Text: Edgar Allan Poe (?), “This Morning's Tribune” (A), from the Weekly Mirror (New York), February 15, 1845, vol. 1, no. 19, p. 304, top of col. 1

[page 304, column 1:]

THE TRIBUNE OF THURSDAY. — The Tribune comes to us promptly, a phœnix from its ashes, looking in all respects heartier, happier, and more beautiful than before — evincing, beyond all doubt, the great energy and elasticity of spirit which have so long distinguished its worthy proprietors. The paper is good, the type is new and handsome, the mechanical execution throughout capital, and all departments of the editorial, reporting, and literary Tribune give indication that the soul of the journal at least is in as good a condition as ever. But, in fact, both body and soul seem to be as comfortably conditioned as need be, and whatever may have been the actual extent of the disaster so lately and so suddenly experienced, not the slightest vestige of it appears upon the face of things. Indeed, to such men as our friends Greeley & McElrath, mishaps which would be fatal in most cases to most persons, give only fresh vitality and re-invigorated strength of purpose. The universal good will of the New York community towards the Tribune and all concerned in its issue, was never more decidedly manifested than upon the present disastrous occasion. Even the every-day bitterness of party-spirit has yielded to the generous sympathy of the circumstance and the moment, and the very papers, which have been loudest in the wordy abuse, have been most prompt in tendering the assistance which was needed.