Text: Ezra Holden or Henry Beck Hirst (???), “[Review of Poe's Prose Romances],” Saturday Courier (Philadelphia, PA), vol. XIII, whole no. 644, July 29, 1843, p. 2, col. 4

[page 2, column 4, continued:]

THE PROSE ROMANCES OF EDGAR A. POE, Author of “The Gold-Bug,” “Arthur Gordon Pym,” “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,” etc. etc. Uniform Serial Edition. Each number complete in itself. No. 1: Containing “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” and “The Man that was used up.” Philad: Published by Wm. H. Graham, No. 98 Chesnut street.

Is there a man, woman, or child, “read up,” as they phrase it in American Literature, who is unacquainted with Edgar A. Poe? We take it for granted that there is not: and consequently shall not, in the brief notice we are now to make of his productions, say a word of enlightenment in regard to him. Our purpose here is simply, to announce to the numerous readers of the Saturday Courier, that Mr. W. H. Graham has just commenced a uniform serial edition of Mr. Poe's Prose Romances, at the very low price of 12 1/2 cents for each number. Besides, we learn each work may be purchased separately, should any reader wish to do so.

Had we space and time, we should delight to enter into an extended critique of Mr. Poe's productions: and yet, should we do so, some might — perhaps justly — charge us with egotism, even in such an attempt. But we do not now say — we shall not, at some future day, forego that suspicion, notwithstanding — mayhap, in connection with notices of some singular, original, and extraordinary writers of American Literature. That Edgar A. Poe, has a peculiar mind, everybody admits. That he is original, all know. That he is learned — very learned — is equally well established. That he is one of the severest of critics, none deny — but many have felt. That he is one of the very best of the American Critics, we think only a few would undertake to deny. Yet, it is very certain that he sometimes wields a broad-axe, where a hatchet might have been equally efficacious. Besides, we have sometimes inclined to the opinion, that some of his book criticisms were infused with a little too much of worm-wood, with a sprinkling of gall, in doses far from being homœopathic. That is a fault which mind — original mind — educated mind — in all ages of Literary and Scientific criticism — has been exceedingly liable to run into. Seeing literary grubs, occupying too often the places, which should be filled only by men of talent, ripe scholarship, and unmistaken and unmistakable genius — the real critics have sometimes lost their temper, and amused themselves by breaking gnats upon a wheel. That Mr. Poe has sometimes played at this sport — we fully believe — but we doubt exceedingly whether the “candle is worth the snuff.”

We leave this branch of the subject, however, for to-day — designing to resume it hereafter — and content ourselves at present, with remarking that whoever buys the “Prose Romances of Poe,” will find that they have been romancing to some purpose. They are peculiar — an original kind of Romances — but even in that very originality, we think men of mind will find gratification in revelling. Contrasted with that excellent and plain — yet eloquent and pathetic story teller, T. S. ARTHUR — Mr. Poe loses in comparison, as far as the applicability of his Tales is concerned, for the very general reading of the extended multitude. But for learning, uniqueness and originality — we unhesitatingly say that Edgar A. Poe, in his own country, stands entirely alone.

We shall resume the subject.