PETER FISHE REED Peter Fishe Reed, one of the popular contributors to the Weekly Columbian, a paper started at Cincinnati in 1850, by William B. Shattuck and John L. Farnum — which gave renewed vitality for two or three years to Western literature, but when its promise was fairest, became absorbed in a Daily Columbian, which failed in 1856 — was Viva Mona. He wrote with spirit and often with sweetest melody. He was then, and had been for several years, a house and sign painter in Cincinnati, on whom "the dews of Castalia" fell with a gentle influence, cheering him in many tasks which had else been irksome, as well as uncongenial. We could not write for him so good a biographic notice as is contained in one of his letters, not designed for the public eye. His friends will not complain if we quote from it: "I was born at South Boston, May fifth, 1819. My father, when I was quite young, entered the army. When I was nine years of age I lost my blessed mother. I had then no home, and was subject to much hardship, but 1 need not tell you that. You must be an orphan, among strangers, and show strong affection for poetry, or music rather than for work, to appreciate my experience. Music and poetry were my companions. As I did not see much music I made it for myself. I heard a tune played by a band in the street not long since, which I composed twenty-five years ago. I commenced life a farmer, and have been, let me see, a shoemaker, house and sign painter, editor, doctor, photographer, music teacher, and now am an artist — a painter of portraits and landscapes. I made a small fortune — invested it in a farm — bad luck took away from me all but the homestead — and the fire took that. But in all my vicissitudes I have had friends whom I love with an outflow of affection which I cannot explain. I hope some day to publish a little book of music. I have a work on Decorative Painting ready for the press. I have written a Romance, and I look forward to a volume of Poems." We trust Mr. Reed's poetry as well as prose will find an enterprising publisher, but it is only fair to say, that his success as a poet had been more decided if the versifica- tion of his chief poems had not been obviously cast on peculiar models of modern origin. Mr. Reed is now a citizen of Indianapolis, Indiana. In the pursuit of music, poetry and painting, at a fireside, to the members of which he is passionately devoted — though, as he says, "Melancholy locked arms with him long years ago" — he finds joys which make the burden of life pleasant to bear. (413)
