Text: Anonymous, “Edgar Allan Poe,” St. Mary's Beacon (Leonard Town, MD), vol. XVII, no. 13, December 4, 1879, p. 1, cols. 6-7

[page 1, column 7:]

(From the Baltimore Evening Bulletin.)

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

———

One of the Bulletin's staff a day or two ago had the good fortune to have an interview with the venerable Joseph H. Clarke, now 89 years old, who was the early preceptor of the poet, Edgar Allan Poe. In Eugene L. Didier's memoirs of Edgar Allan Poe the following occurs: “On Mr. and Mrs. Allan's return from their two years’ visits to England Mr. Allan placed Poe in the academy of Prof. Joseph H Clarke, of Trinity College, Dublin, who kept an English and classical school at Richmond from 1816 to 1825.”

Learning that Prof. Clarke lived in Baltimore the reporter determined to find him, feeling sure that an interview with the old gentleman would be exceedingly interesting.

When it is remembered, however, that few of the old heroes of the past were yet living, and that the army of defenders of Baltimore in 1812-14 had dwindled down to a small band of decrepid [[decrepit]] old men, the fact that one old enough to have been Edgar Allen [[Allan]] Poe's teacher was still living could scarcely be credited.

Reference was had to the city directory, and Prof. Clarke's name was found. His residence was set down at 687 West Fayette street, and thither the reporter repaired to obtain, if possible, the history of this aged man who had nearly reached an age a score of years beyond the time allotted as the usual extent of man's existence. On reaching the old gentleman's house the reporter sent up his card. Presently, in answer to the summons, Prof. Clarke's daughter appeared. She explained that thinking the reporter had some business with the old man concerning the whole family she herself had come.

Her father, she said, had grown old and he was not as active as he was forty years before. The apology for her appearance was sufficient, and the reporter, assuring her that he had come to get a history of her father, she disappeared to cal the old gentleman. — Shortly afterward the parlor door opened softly and a small, gray-haired little gentleman stepped lightly in. He is about five feet four inches high. Silver locks that attested to the number of winters their owner had successfully weathered, brushed back from a high and noble forhead [[forehead]], fell in profusion, remarkable for a man nearly ninety years of age. His face was clean shaven, and hardly a wrinkle was defined on its clear outline. Two benevolent-looking gray eyes beamed upon the reporter, and the friend and teacher of Edgar Allen [[Allan]] Poe, the born poet and genius, advanced with a firm treat. He greeted the Bulletin representative cordially, but it was plain to see that the aged man, though physically as hearty as many a man thirty years his junior, had grown mentally feeble under the weight of many years. When the old gentleman was seated the reporter explained that he wanted first his own personal history and then any reminiscences of Poe that he could give.

“About myself first,” he said. “Oh, yes. Well, I was born in Hagerstown, Md., November 20, 1790.

“Born in Maryland?” interrupted the reporter. “Why, Didier says that you were formerly of Trinity College, Dublin.”

“Oh, no; they are always getting things wrong about me. I never was in Europe. Didier! Didier!” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, I remember,” suddenly. “He was the New York gentleman who came to see me about Edgar several years ago. No, I was not born in Ireland; I am a Marylander. My father was Robert Clarke, a flour merchant at Hagerstown. He died at the age of 76 years, and my mother died when she was 73. When I was about 15 my father sent me to the Jesuit college at Georgetown. It was his wish that I should be a priest, but I didn’t want to take orders, and after graduating I was made professor of classics at Georgetown for three years, and at the end of that time I returned to my father and taught French a short time in a female college. I remained at Hagerstown until I got tired of it; and being pressed by two friends to go to New Orleans, obtained letters of introduction from a Mr. Wagner, of this city, for that purpose. That was about 1815.

There was no fast travel in those good old days, and I embarked from Hagerstown on horseback for Fredericksburg, which lay on my way to Orleans. When I reached Fredericksburg I was so used up that I took board at Mr. Young's tavern, and intended to remain there for a short time to get in better condition. But I was taken ill, after two months of extreme suffering I rallied. Then Mr. Young proposed to me to give up my journey to New Orleans and set up a school at Richmond. I took his advice, and 1816 found me at Richmond, where I took possession of the classical department of a classical and English school. In Richmond I remained for about seven years. My school was a failure, and about 1824 I came to Baltimore, where I have been living ever since. My daughters keep a school here — Fairview Academy.

“Who did you marry, Professor?” the reporter inquired.

“Jane Mudd, from Charles County, Maryland.”

On the wall of the room in which we were seated hung a framed wreath of preserved flowers enclosing the words “In memory of Jane Mudd Clarke, died May 6, 1871.”

“Now, Professor, what about Edgar [column 8:] Allan Poe?” asked the reporter.

“Edgar, Edgar,” said the old man, rising, with a far away look, as memories of old times flitted through his mind. “‘Why, he was a born poet. One day Mr. Allen [[Allan]] came to me and said: “Mr. Clarke, I have heard much about your school, and as Edgar shows a decided aptness for classics, I have determined to place him under your care.” This was about 1820 or ‘21, and Edgar entered my school. He became one of the most distinguished of my scholars. He and Nat. Howard were in the same class. Nat. was as good, if not better, than Edgar in the classics, but Nat couldn’t write poetry like Edgar could. Edgar was a poet in every sense ot the word. One summer, at the end of the session, Nat and Edgar both wrote me a complimentary letter. Nat's was written in Latin, after Horace, but Edgar's was written in poetry. I came to Baltimore that summer, and

I showed those letters to Rev. Mr. Damphoux, of St. Mary's College, and what do you think he said? ‘Mr. Clarke, these compositions would do honor and credit to the best educated professor in my college.’ Oh, yes, Edgar was a poet, and he wasn’t more than twelve or fourteen when he wrote that letter to me.”

“Did you keep it? have you it now?” the reporter asked eagerly.

“No, no,” the old gentleman answered sadly: “I returned it to Edgar. One day, after I had ‘come to Baltimore from Richmond, Edgar came to visit me. I, told him about the letters, and Edgar rose and said, with such a strange, yearning look in his eyes: “[[‘]]You couldn’t do Nat. Howard and me a greater favor than to return us those letters. I think Nat. Howard would like to have his,

and I am sure I would give worlds to have mine.’ I gave them to him.”

“Then you have no memento of Poe?”

The old man sadly answered, “No, sir; that's one thing I always regretted, not, having kept some of Edgar's notes or poems. But then, you know, I couldn’t tell at that time that Edgar

would ever be a great man.”

“Wasn’t Poe a very handsome boy, Professor?”

“Well, he had very pretty eyes and hair, and rather an effeminate face, but I don’t think he was a beautiful boy. He had a very sweet disposition. He was always cheerful, brimful of mirth, and a very great favorite with his schoolmates. I never had occasion to say a harsh word to him while he was at my school, much less to make him do penance.”

“Did he study very hard?”

“No; he was not remarkable for his application. He was naturally very smart, and he always knew his lessons. He had a great deal of pride.”

“Did you ever see Mary [[Rosalie]] Poe, Edgar's little sister?”

“Yes; she was adopted by Mr. McKenzie when Mr. Allan took Edgar.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Well, really, I can’t remember very well, but I think she was a very sweet and interesting child.”

“You saw Poe after you left Richmond, of coarse?”

“Yes; when, he came to Baltimore and stopped at the tavern, he would never forget to come and see me.”

“Do you believe that your pupil was an habitual drunkard?”

“That I can’t tell. I think he was fond of wine, and I know that I always opened a bottle for him when he came to see me; but then it was the custom of the age, you know, to drink wine at that time. Then, when Edgar became editor of Graham's Magazine, he sent it to me regularly

gratis.”

“Was he affectionate to you, professor?”

“Yes, indeed; I think the boy and man loved me dearly, and I am sure I loved him.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“When he was laid away to rest, in ‘49. I went to his funeral. A large number of persons were present, and I remember the minister who officiated dwelt long on the great man's virtues. Yes,” he concluded, “Edgar, as a boy, was a dear, open-hearted, cheerful and good boy, and as a man he was a loving and affectionate friend to me.”