To those who have paid any attention to the career of the gifted author of "The Raven," as depicted by various pens in recent years, it need scarcely be said that, though a man of genius, he was not without frailties; and his warmest defenders will not deny that his life was marred by many irregularities of conduct. He was appointed editor of the magazine at a fixed salary, and the arrangement was such as to give him leisure to contribute to other periodicals and to produce many of his famous tales. "Happier now," says one of his biographers,[6] "than he had been for years past, for his prospects seemed assured, his work regular, interesting, and appreciated, his fame increasing, he writes to one friend that he 'has quite overcome the dangerous besetment,' and to another that he is 'a model of temperance and other virtues.'" For nearly a year he remained with Burton; "but," continues the same biographer, "so liable was he still to sudden relapses that the actor was never with confidence able to leave the city. Returning on one occasion after the regular day of publication, he found the number unfinished, and his editor incapable of duty. He left remonstrances to the morrow, prepared the 'copy' himself, and issued the magazine, and then to his astonishment received a letter from his assistant, the tone of which may be inferred from Burton's answer: 'I am sorry you have thought it necessary to send me such a letter. Your troubles have given a morbid tone to your feelings which it is your duty to discourage. I myself have been as severely handled by the world as you can possibly have been, but my sufferings have not tinged my mind with melancholy, nor jaundiced my views of society. You must rouse your energies, and if care assail you, conquer it. I will gladly overlook the past. I hope you will as easily fulfil your pledges for the future. We shall agree very well, though I cannot permit the magazine to be made a vehicle for that sort of severity which you think is so "successful with the mob." I am truly much less anxious about making a monthly "sensation" than I am upon the point of fairness. You must, my dear sir, get rid of your avowed ill-feelings toward your brother authors. You see I speak plainly; I cannot do otherwise upon such a subject. You say the people love havoc. I think they love justice.... But I wander from my design. I accept your proposition to re-commence your interrupted avocations upon the _Maga_. Let us meet as if we had not exchanged letters. Use more exercise, write when feelings prompt, and be assured of my friendship. You will soon regain a healthy activity of mind, and laugh at your past vagaries,'" We think nothing can be clearer than that Burton had good cause for fault-finding, and that he was more than considerate and just in his frank expression of feeling. [6] Henry Curwen, "Sorrow and Song." London, 1875.