But after some time the old discontent returned upon Poe. Willis and the _Mirror_ were too narrow for him; and he sought and was fortunate enough to obtain a place on the _Broadway Journal_, at that time the leading journal of the day, and of which he was soon appointed assistant editor.
With a good salary, the family were now enabled to live in more comfort. They rented a front and back room on the third story of an old house on East Broadway, which had once been the residence of a prosperous merchant, but had long ago been given over to the use of poor but respectable tenants. It was musty and mouldy, but here they were elevated somewhat above the noise and dust of the street, and had sunlight and a good view from the narrow windows.
It was here that, late one evening, Mr. R. H. Stoddard, whose sarcastic pen is so well known, called on Poe instead of at his office, to inquire the fate of a certain "_Ode_" which he had sent to the _Broadway Journal_ for publication. Necessarily he was received in the front room, which was Virginia's. The following is his account of the visit:
"Poe received me with the courtesy habitual with him when he was himself, and gave me to understand that my _Ode_ would be published in the next number of his paper.... What did he look like?... He was dressed in black from head to foot, except, of course, that his linen was spotlessly white.... The most noticeable things about him were his high forehead, dark hair and sharp, black eye. His cousin-wife, always an invalid, was lying on a bed between himself and me. She never stirred, but her mother came out of the back parlor and was introduced to me by her courtly nephew."
Stoddard is here mistaken in his description of Poe's eyes. They were neither sharp nor black, but large, soft, dreamy eyes, of a fine steel-gray, clear as crystal, and with a jet-black pupil, which would in certain lights expand until the eyes appeared to be all black. Stoddard continues:
"I saw Poe once again, and for the last time. It was a rainy afternoon, such as we have in our November, and he was standing under an awning waiting for the shower to pass over. My conviction was that I ought to offer him my umbrella and go home with him, but I left him standing there, and there I see him still, and shall always, poor and penniless, but proud, reliant, dominant. May the gods forgive me! I never can forgive myself."