The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [1426]
Was it a part of my evil-fortune that prevented me from turning over the nos. of the Journal at the publishers & thus led me into the irretrievable error of calling, as an alleged friend in letters (though an unknown one), as a man who if not my literary foe was at least in league with them who were such? Yet I am not afraid to say to you, that I feel not so much mortification from this innocent error, as melancholy in finding still another of my pleasant delusions vanish, What object (if any) has Heaven in separting (separating) >>f<< me from all the world, when I have the heart to love all the world? (This, remember, is not the rhapsody of a romantic boy, but the utterance of a serious & often-recurring thought, without the least passion, by a man who in five days will enter his 36th year:) not one man in the world who will suffer me to love him, or who will have the heart to give me the smallest portion of affection & sympathy, and not, saving my mother (who cannot sympathize with me, & who has, as a mother, kindred affections,) not one woman, young or old! Absolutely and terribly alone — with a head full of muttered thoughts, and a heart fuller still >> — <<; for — you may smile to hear it (& well you may, since what concern is it of yours?) — should I die to-morrow & anybody there is worth while to notice, at some future day, my obscure career, I should be seen only as a coldblooded satirist! Yet God, and the Angel-spirits of my dead sisters know that my heart is ten times >>fuller than<< better than my head — for while I find other men as gifted in talent as myself, I find none so prone to love, & none (it is a big word; but it shall out) none so honest — But a truce to an egotism which nothing could excuse but the singularity of my visit to you, — a visit so entirely misplaced and so oddly delusion; for, while >>were<< we were exchanging the most sugared compliments, and I had opined that I, a gentleman-poet I had ever believed myself & an honorable writer, and conversing with an admired brother-bard, I held in my Our former positions towards each other must now be restored: as I sought yr. acquaintance under the impressn (impression) that you were one of my truest defenders, I cannot of course profit by what was so mere a mistake. With what sadness this is said you may conceive, when I assure you, without the least reluctance, that had I had the choice, of all the literary men of my country there is none, with the exception of the author of Ferdinand & Isaba (Isabella), whose friendship I should have preferred to yours. The want of >>of<< it will make no difference in my estimation of the author, & I am still reading your “Tales” with unalloyed satisfaction. Not was it without gratification that, in the very >>page<< no. of yr. mag. (magazine) where I met with such an outrage to my feelings as a gentleman & an honest man (as a writer a thousand such squibs and now (illegible)