"Poe was plumb drunk! It is the infernal corn whiskey he drinks that puts the devil in him.

It may be he can't get anything else, but it's a damnable concoction all the same.

Kennedy has about given him up--told me so yesterday, and when Kennedy gives a fellow up that's the last of him." "Then I'm ashamed of Kennedy," retorted Horn.

"Any man who can write as Poe does should be forgiven, no matter what he does--if he be honest.
There's nothing so rare as genius in this world, and even if his flame does burn from a vile-smelling wick it's a flame, remember!--and one that will yet light the ages.

If I know anything of the literature of our time Poe will live when these rhymers like Mr.Martin Farquhar Tupper, whom everybody is talking about, will be forgotten.