Under his guidance her mind had unfolded like a flower.  She was beginning to speak fluently in French and in Italian.  How he loved the musical southern accents on her tongue!  And she was developing an exquisite singing voice.  Her voice was her crowning grace—­her voice was his delight of delights!  As he gazed into the shadows that lay under her long black lashes and listened to her voice, with its hint of hidden springs of passion, his pulses stirred at the thought that this lovely flower of dawning womanhood was his little Virginia, and his own heart ached to think that any desire of hers should ever be denied.

In his desperation he thought of teaching and applied for a position in a school, but without success.

But relief was at hand.

While the Dreamer and his friend the editor of The Saturday Visitor had been building literary air-castles in Baltimore, a journal destined to take something approaching such a stand as their ideal was actually founded, in Richmond, under the title of The Southern Literary Messenger.  Its owner and publisher, Mr. Thomas W. White, was no dreamer, but a practical printer and an enterprising man of business.  Early in this year—­the year 1835—­Mr. White wrote to Mr. Kennedy, requesting a contribution from his pen for the new magazine, and, as was to be expected, Mr. Kennedy, with his wonted thoughtfulness of his literary protege, wrote back commending to Mr. White’s notice the work of “a remarkable young man by the name of Edgar Poe.”

At Mr. Kennedy’s suggestion Edgar bundled off some of the “Tales of the Folio Club” for Mr. White’s inspection, with the result that in the March number of the Messenger the weird story “Berenice,” appeared.  It and its author became at once the talk of the hour, and when the history of “The Adventures of Hans Phaal” came out in the June number it found the reading public ready and waiting to fall upon and devour it.

Other stories and articles followed in quick succession and the pungent critiques and reviews of the new pen were looked for and read with as great interest as the tales.

In a glow over the prosperity which the popularity of the new writer was bringing his magazine, Mr. White wrote to him offering him the position of assistant editor, with a salary of five hundred and twenty dollars a year, to begin with.  Of course the offer was to be accepted!  The salary, small as it was, seemed to The Dreamer in comparison to the diminutive and irregular sums he had been accustomed to receive, almost like wealth.  But its acceptance would mean, for the present, anyhow, separation—­a break in the small home circle where had been, with all of its deprivations, so much of joy—­a dissolving of the magical Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.  Not for a moment, he vowed to Mother Clemm and Virginia, was this separation to be looked upon as permanent.  Just so soon as he should be able to provide a home for them in Richmond he would have them with him again, and there they would reconstruct their dream-valley.  But for the present—.