nºrr-i-ra->-ar-r---------> ||||||||||||| 3 34 33 06728755 | 1 - - - - | - - - - - - - - - º º - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ - THE GORDON LESTER FORD COLLECTION FROM EMILY E. F SKEEL IN MEMORY OF ROSWELL SKEEL, J«. AND THEIR FOUR PARENTS ! A ^^?? I N I** # W&- A 0 k- VA V'.- - - ~^_ THE GORDON LESTER FORD Collection || FROM EMILY E. F. SKEEL |N MEMORY OF Roswell SKEEL. Jº AND THEIR FOUR PARENTS L THE COMPLETE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE VOLUME VT. * r * te Word* with a Mi'mmy. Drawn bi Wo%cl HE COMPLETE WORKS OF liHH! Cfcgar &Ikn $oe lllllllllilillllllli EDITED BY JAMES A. HARRISON Professor in the University of Virginia PROSE TALES Volume Five POEMS • V t ■CfIc anibcr^itp £ocictp 78 JFtft& abenne FXtvs Jlorfe Copyright, 1902 By THoMAs Y. CRowell & Co. i « CONTENTS. Pags The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq. ... i The Purloined Letter 28 The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof.,Fether . . 55 The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Schehera2ade . 78 The Angel of the Odd 103 Some Words with a Mummy 116 The Power of Words 139 The Imp of the Perverse 145 The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar . . . 154 The Cask of Amontillado 167 The Domain of Arnheim 176 Mellonra Tauta 197 Hop-Frog 216 X-ing a Paragrab 229 llie Sphinx 238 Von Kempelen and his Discovery 245 Landor's Cottage 255 Notes: Abbreviations used in the Notes 274 The Literary Life of Thingum Bob .... 275 The Purloined Letter 277 The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether . . 278 vi CONTENTS. Notes (continued) : The Thousand-and-Second Tale . The Angel of the Odd . Some Words with a Mummy . The Power of Words The Imp of the Perverse . . . The Facts in the Case of M. Waldemar . The Cask of Amontillado . The Domain of Arnheim Mellonta Tauta . Hop-Frog. X-ing a Paragrab The Sphinx . . . . . . . Von Kempelen and his Discovery. Landor's Cottage . . . Variations of the Stedman-Woodberry, Stoddard, and Ingram Texts from Griswold . Page 279 282 283 285 287 29 o 2.94. 295 2.95 296 296 297 297 297 . 298–3 or EXPLANATORY NOTE The lack of uniformity in spelling is intentional, heing found also in the original used for copy. At the head of each tale will be found information is to the dates of all early printings. The figures 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the collected editions of those dates : "Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque," 2 vols., Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard, 1840; "Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe," Phila- delphia, 1843; "Tales by Edgar A. Poe," New York, Wiley & Putnam, 1845 (Duyckinck Selection). THE LITERARY LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. LATE EDITOR OF THE "GOOSKTHERUMFOOIJLE." By Himself. [" Tht Scuthtrn Liurtry Mcuengtr" December, 1844; '' Broad- way Journal," II., 3.] I am now growing in years, and — since I under- stand that Shakespeare and Mr. Emmons are deceased — it is not impossible that I may even die. It has occurred to me, therefore, that I may as well retire from the field of Letters and repose upon my laurels. But I am ambitious of signalizing my abdication of the literary sceptre by some important bequest to posterity; and, perhaps, I cannot do a better thing than just pen for it an account of my earlier career. My name, indeed, has been so long and so constantly before the public eye, that I am not only willing to admit the naturalness of the interest which it has everywhere excited, but ready to satisfy the extreme curiosity which it has inspired. In fact it is no more than the duty of him who achieves greatness, to leave behind him, in his ascent, such landmarks as may guide others to be great. I propose, therefore, in the present paper, 2 TALES. (which I had some idea of calling "Memoranda to serve for the Literary History of America,") to give a detail of those important, yet feeble and tottering first steps, by which, at length, I attained the high road to the pinnacle of human renown. Of one's very remote ancestors it is superfluous to say much. My father, Thomas Bob, Esq., stood for many years at the summit of his profession, which was that of a merchant-barber, in the city of Smug. His warehouse was the resort of all the principal people of the place, and especially of the editorial corps — a body which inspires all about it with profound venera- tion and awe. For my own part, I regarded them as Gods, and drank in with avidity the rich wit and wis- dom which continuously flowed from their august mouths during the process of what is styled "lather." My first moment of positive inspiration must be dated from that ever-memorable epoch, when the brilliant conductor of the "Gad-Fly," in the intervals of the important process just mentioned, recited aloud, before a conclave of our apprentices, an inimitable poem in honor of the "Only Genuine Oil-of-Bob," (so called from its talented inventor, my father,) and for which effusion the editor of the " Fly" was remunerated with a regal liberality, by the firm of Thomas Bob and company, merchant barbers. The genius of the stanzas to the "Oil-of-Bob" first breathed into me, I say, the divine afflatus. I resolved at once to become a great man and to com- mence by becoming a great poet. That very evening I fell upon my knees at the feet of my father. "Father," I said, "pardon me! — but I have a soul above lather. It is my firm intention to cut the shop. I would be an editor — I would be a poet — LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 3 I would pen stanzas to the ' Oil-of-Bob.' Pardon me and aid me to be great!" "My dear Thingum," replied my father, (I had been christened Thingum after a wealthy relative so surnamed,) "My dear Thingum," he said, raising me from my knees by the ears — " Thingum, my boy, you 're a trump, and take after your father in having a soul. You have an immense head, too, and it must hold a great many brains. This I have long seen, and therefore had thoughts of making you a lawyer. The business, however, has grown ungen- teel, and that of a politician don't pay. Upon the whole you judge wisely; — the trade of editor is best: — and if you can be a poet at the same time, — as most of the editors are, by the by, — why you will kill two birds with one stone. To encourage you in the beginning of things, I will allow you a garret; pen, ink and paper ; a rhyming dictionary ; and a copy of the 'Gad-Fly.' I suppose you would scarcely demand any more." "I would be an ungrateful villain if I did," I replied with enthusiasm. "Your generosity is bound- less. I will repay it by making you the father of a genius." Thus ended my conference with the best of men, and immediately upon its termination, I betook myself with zeal to my poetical labors; as upon these, chiefly, I founded my hopes of ultimate elevation to the edito- rial chair. In my first attempts at composition I found the stanzas to "The Oil-of-Bob" rather a draw-back than otherwise. Their splendor more dazzled than enlightened me. The contemplation of their excel- lence tended, naturally, to discourage me by compari- 4 TALES. son with my own abortions; so that for a long time I labored in vain. At length there came into my head one of those exquisitely original ideas which now and then will permeate the brain of a man of genius. It was this: —or, rather, thus was it carried into execu- tion. From the rubbish of an old book-stall, in a very remote corner of the town, I got together several antique and altogether unknown or forgotten volumes. The bookseller sold them to me for a song. From one of these, which purported to be a translation of one Dante's "Inferno," I copied with remarkable neatness a long passage about a man named Ugolino, who had a parcel of brats. From another which contained a good many old plays by some person whose name I forget, I extracted in the same manner, and with the same care, a great number of lines about "angels " and " ministers saying grace," and " goblins damned," and more besides of that sort. From a third, which was the composition of some blind man or other, either a Greek or a Choctaw — I cannot be at the pains of remembering every trifle exactly — I took about fifty verses beginning with "Achilles' wrath," and "grease," and something else. From a fourth, which I recollect was also the work of a blind man, I selected a page or two all about " hail " and "holy light;" and although a blind man has no busi- ness to write about light, still the verses were sufficiently good in their way. Having made fair copies of these poems I signed every one of them "Oppodeldoc," (a fine sonorous name,) and, doing each up nicely in a separate envel- ope, I despatched one to each of the four principal Magazines, with a request for speedy insertion and prompt pay. The result of this well conceived plan, LIFE OF THINQUM BOB, ESQ. 5 however, (the success of which would have saved me much trouble in after life,) served to convince me that some editors are not to be bamboozled, and gave the coup-de-grace (as they say in France,) to my nascent hopes, (as they say in the city of the transcendentals.) The fact is, that each and every one of the Maga- zines in question, gave Mr. " Oppodeldoc " a com- plete using-up, in the "Monthly Notices to Corre- spondents." The "Hum-Drum" gave him a dress- ing after this fashion: "' Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) has sent us a long tirade concerning a bedlamite whom he styles 'Ugo- lino,' who had a great many children that should have been all whipped and sent to bed without their suppers. The whole affair is exceedingly tame — not to s^y fat. 'Oppo- deldoc,' (whoever he is,) is entirely devoid of imagination — and imagination, in our humble opinion, is not only the soul of Poesy, but also its very heart. 'Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) has the audacity to demand of us, for his twattle, a 'speedy insertion and prompt pay.' We neither insert nor purchase any stuff of the sort. There can be no doubt, however, that he would meet with a ready sale for all the balderdash he can scribble, at the office of either the 'Rowdy-Dow,' the 'Lollipop,' or the 'Goosetherumfoodle.'" All this, it must be acknowledged, was very severe upon "Oppodeldoc" — but the unkindest cut was putting the word Poesy in small caps. In those five preeminent letters what a world of bitterness is there not involved! But "Oppodeldoc" was punished with equal severity in the " Rowdy-Dow," which spoke thus: "We have received a most singular and insolent com- munication from a person, (whoever he is,) signing him- 6 TALES. self ' Oppodeldoc' — thus desecrating the greatness of the illustrious Roman Emperor so named. Accompanying the letter of ' Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) we find sun- dry lines of most disgusting and unmeaning rant about 'angels and ministers of grace ' — rant such as no mad- man short of a Nat Lee, or an 'Oppodeldoc,' could possibly perpetrate. And for this trash of trash, we are modestly requested to 'pay promptly.' No sir — no! We pay for nothing of that sort. Apply to the 'Hum-Drum,' the 'Lollipop,' or the 'Goosetherum- foodle.' These periodicals will undoubtedly accept any literary offal you may send them — and as undoubtedly promise to pay for it." This was bitter indeed upon poor " Oppodeldoc;" but, in this instance, the weight of the satire falls upon the "Hum-Drum," the "Lollipop," and the "Goosetherumfoodle," who are pungently styled "periodicals "—in Italics, too — a thing that must have cut them to the heart. Scarcely less savage was the "Lollipop," which thus discoursed: "Some individual, who rejoices in the appellation 'Oppodeldoc' (to what low uses are the names of the illustrious dead too often applied ! ) has enclosed us some fifty or sixty verses, commencing after this fashion: Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, Sec, &c, Scc, Sec "' Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is) is respectfully in- formed that there is not a printer's devil in our office who is not in the daily habit of composing better lines. Those of 'Oppodeldoc' will not scan. 'Oppodeldoc' should learn to count. But why he should have conceived the idea that we, (of all others, we ! ) would disgrace our pages with his ineffable nonsense, is utterly beyond com- LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 7 prehension. Why, the absurd twattle is scarcely good enough for the 'Hum-Drum," the ' Rowdy-Dow,' the 'Goosetherumfoodle' — things that are in the practice of publishing 'Mother Goose's Melodies' as original lyrics. And • Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) has even the assurance to demand pay for this drivel. Does 'Op- podeldoc,' (whoever he is,) know — is he aware that we could not be paid to insert it?" As I perused this I felt myself growing gradually smaller and smaller, and when I came to the point at which the editor sneered at the poem as "verses," there was little more than an ounce of me left. As for "Oppodeldoc" I began to experience compassion for the poor fellow. But the "Goosetherumfoodle" showed, if possible, less mercy than the "Lollipop." It was the "Goosetherumfoodle" that said: "A wretched poetaster, who signs himself ■ Oppo- deldoc,' is silly enough to fancy that we will print and pay fir a medley of incoherent and ungrammatical bom- bast which he has transmitted to us, and which com- mences with the following most intelligible line: 'Hail, Holy Light! Offspring of Heaven, first born.' "We say, ' most intelligible.' 'Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) will be kind enough to tell us, perhaps, how ' bail' can be 'boly light.' We always regarded it as frozen rain. Will he inform us, also, how fro2en rain can be, at one and the same time, both 'holy light,' (whatever that is,) and an 'offspring ?' — which latter term, ( if we understand any thing about English,) is only employed, with propriety, in reference to small babies of about six weeks old. But it is preposterous to descant upon such absurdity — although ' Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) has the unparalleled effrontery to suppose that we will not 8 TALES. only • insert' his ignorant ravings, but (absolutely) pay for them I "Now this is fine — it is rich! — and we have half a mind to punish this young scribbler for his egotism, by really publishing his effusion, verbatim et literatim, as he has written it. We could inflict no punishment so severe, and we would inflict it, but for tie boredom which we should cause our readers in so doing. "Let • Oppodeldoc,' (whoever he is,) send any future composition of like character to the 'Hum-Drum," the 'Lollipop,' or the 'Rowdy-Dow.' They will' insert' it. They 'insert' every month just such stuff. Send it to them. WE are not to be insulted with impunity." This made an end of me; and as for the "Hum- Drum," the "Rowdy-Dow," and the "Lollipop," I never could comprehend how they survived it. The putting them in the smallest possible minion, (that was the rub — thereby insinuating their lowness — their baseness,) while WE stood looking down upon them in gigantic capitals ! — oh it was too bitter ! — it was wormwood — it was gall. Had I been either of these periodicals I would have spared no pains to have the "Goosetherumfoodle" prosecuted. It might have been done under the Act for the "Prevention of Cruelty to Animals." As for " Oppodeldoc," (who- ever he was,) I had by this time lost all patience with the fellow, and sympathized with him no longer. He was a fool, beyond doubt, (whoever he was,) and got not a kick more than he deserved. The result of my experiment with the old books, convinced me, in the first place, that "honesty is the best policy," and, in the second, that if I could not write better than Mr. Dante, and the two blind men, and the rest of the old set, it would, at least, be a dif- LIFE OF THINQUM BOB, ESQ. 9 ficult matter to write worse. I took heart, therefore, and determined to prosecute the "entirely original," (as they say on the covers of the magazines,) at what- ever cost of study and pains. I again placed before my eves as a model, the brilliant stanzas on "The Oil- of-Bob," by the editor of the "Gad-Fly," and re- solved to construct an Ode on the same sublime theme, in rivalry of what had already been done. With my first verse I had no material difficulty. It ran thus: To pen an Ode upon the "Oil-of-Bob." Having carefully looked out, however, all the legiti- mate rhymes to " Bob," I found it impossible to pro- ceed. In this dilemma I had recourse to paternal aid; and, after some hours of mature thought, my father and myself thus constructed the poem: To pen an Ode upon the " Oil-of-Bob" Is all sorts of a job. (Signed,) Snob. To be sure this composition was of no very great length — but I " have yet to learn " as they say in the Edinburgh Review, that the mere extent of a lit- erary work has any thing to do with its merit. As for the Quarterly cant about " sustained effort," it is im- possible to see the sense of it. Upon the whole, there- fore, I was satisfied with the success of my maiden attempt, and now the only question regarded the dispo- sal I should make of it. My father suggested that I should send it to the " Gad-Fly '' — but there were two reasons which operated to prevent me from so do- ing. I dreaded the jealousy of the editor—and I had ascertained that he did not pay for original contribu- IO TALES. tions. I therefore, after due deliberation, consigned the article to the more dignified pages of the " Lolli- pop," and awaited the event in anxiety, but with resignation. In the very next published number I had the proud satisfaction of seeing my poem printed at length, as the leading article, with the following significant words, prefixed in italics and between brackets: [" We call the attention of our readers to the subjoined admirable stanzas on "The Oil-of-Bob." We need say nothing of their sublimity, or of their pathos: — it is im- possible to peruse them 'without tears. Those itiho ha•ve been nauseated with a sad dose on the same august topic from the goose-quill of the editor of the " Gad-Fly," 'will do 'well to compare the two compositions. P. S. We are consumed 'with anxiety to probe the mystery 'which envelops the evident pseudonym "Snob." May we hope for a personal interviews ?"] All this was scarcely more than justice, but it was, I confess, rather more than I had expected : — I ac- knowledge this, be it observed, to the everlasting dis- grace of my country and of mankind. I lost no time, however, in calling upon the editor of the "Lollipop," and had the good fortune to find this gentleman at home. He saluted me with an air of profound re- spect, slightly blended with a fatherly and patronizing admiration, wrought in him, no doubt, by my appear- ance of extreme youth and inexperience. Begging me to be seated, he entered at once upon the subject of my poem ; — but modesty will ever forbid me to re- peat the thousand compliments which he lavished upon me. The eulogies of Mr. Crab, (such was the edi- tor's name,) were, however, by no means fulsomel v indiscriminate. He analvzed my composition with LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. M modi freedom and great ability — not hesitating to point out a few trivial defects — a circumstance which derated him highly in my esteem. The "Gad-Fly" was, of course, brought upon the tapis, and I hope never to be subjected to a criticism so searching, or to rehukes so withering, as were bestowed by Mr. Crab upon that unhappy effusion. I had been accustomed to regard the editor of the "Gad-Fly " as something superhuman ; but Mr. Crab soon disabused me of that idea. He set the literary as well as the personal char- acter of the Fly (so Mr. C. satirically designated the rival editor,) in its true light. He, the Fly, was very little better than he should be. He had writtten infa- mous things. He was a penny-a-liner, and a buffoon. He was a villain. He had composed a tragedy which set the whole country in a guffaw, and a farce which deluged the universe in tears. Besides all this, he had the impudence to pen what he meant for a lampoon upon himself, (Mr. Crab,) and the temerity to style him "an ass." Should I at any time wish to express my opinion of Mr. Fly, the pages of the " Lollipop," Mr. Crab assured me, were at my unlimited disposal. In the meantime, as it was very certain that I would he attacked in the Fly for my attempt at composing a rival poem on the "Oil-of-Bob," he (Mr. Crab,) would take it upon himself to attend, pointedly, to my private and personal interests. If I were not made a man of at once, it should not be the fault of himself, (Mr. Crab.) Mr. Crab having now paused in his discourse, (the latter portion of which I found it impossible to compre- hend,) I ventured to suggest something about the remu- neration which I had been taught to expect for my poem, by an announcement on the cover of the "Lollipop," 12 TALES. declaring that it, (the " Lollipop,") "insisted upon being permitted to pay exorbitant prices for all accepted contributions ; — frequently expending more money for a single brief poem than the whole annual cost of the 'Hum-Drum,' the 'Rowdy-Dow,' and the 'Goosetherumfoodle' combined." As I mentioned the word "remuneration," Mr. Crab first opened his eyes, and then his mouth, to quite a remarkable extent; causing his personal appear- ance to resemble that of a highly-agitated elderly duck in the act of quacking ; — and in this condition he re- mained, (ever and anon pressing his hands tightly to his forehead, as if in a state of desperate bewilderment) until I had nearly made an end of what I had to say. Upon my conclusion, he sank back into his seat, as if much overcome, letting his arms fall lifelessly by his side, but keeping his mouth still rigorously open, after the fashion of the duck. While I remained in speech- less astonishment at behaviour so alarming, he suddenly leaped to his feet and made a rush at the bell-rope; but just as he reached this, he appeared to have altered his intention, whatever it was, for he dived under a table and immediately re-appeared with a cudgel. This he was in the act of uplifting, (for what purpose I am at a loss to imagine,) when, all at once, there came a benign smile over his features, and he sank placidly back in his chair. "Mr. Bob," he said, (for I had sent up my card before ascending myself,) " Mr. Bob, you are a young man, I presume — very?" 1 assented; adding that I had not yet concluded my third lustrum. "Ah !" he replied, "very good ! I see how it is — •ay no more! Touching this matter of compensation, LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 13 what you observe is very just: in fact it is excessively so. But — ah — ah — the first contribution — the first, I say — it is never the Magazine custom to pay for — you comprehend, eh? The truth is, we are usually the recipients in such case." [Mr. Crab smiled blandly as he emphasized the word "recipi- ents."] "For the most part, we are paid for the insertion of a maiden attempt — especially in verse. In the second place, Mr. Bob, the Magazine rule is never to disburse what we term in France the argent csmptant: — I have no doubt you understand. In a quarter or two after publication of the article — or in a year or two — we make no objection to giving our note at nine months : — provided always that we can so arrange our affairs as to be quite certain of a 'burst up' in six. I really do hope, Mr. Bob, that you will look upon this explanation as satisfactory." Here Mr. Crab concluded, and the tears stood in his eyes. Grieved to the soul at having been, however inno- cently, the cause of pain to so eminent and so sensitive a man, I hastened to apologize, and to reassure him, by expressing my perfect coincidence with his views, as well as my entire appreciation of the delicacy of his position. Having done all this in a neat speech, I took leave. One fine morning, very shortly afterwards, "I awoke and found myself famous." The extent of my renown will be best estimated by reference to the editorial opinions of the day. These opinions, it will be seen, were embodied in critical notices of the number of the " Lollipop " containing my poem, and are per- fectly satisfactory, conclusive and clear with the ex- ception, perhaps, of the hieroglyphical marks, " Sep. 15 — 1 t." appended to each of the critiques. 14 TALES. The "Owl," a journal of profound sagacity, and well known for the deliberate gravity of its literary decisions — the "Owl," I say, spoke as follows: "' The Lollipop!' The October number of this delicious Maga2ine surpasses its predecessors, and sets competition at defiance. In the beauty of its typography and paper — in the number and excellence of its steel plates — as well as in the literary merit of its contribu- tions — the 'Lollipop' compares with its slow-paced rivals as Hyperion with a Satyr. The ' Hum-Drum," the 'Rowdy-Dow,' and the 'Goosctherumfoodle," excel, it is true, in braggadocio, but, in all other points, give us the 'Lollipop!' How this celebrated journal can sustain its evidently tremendous expenses, is more than we can understand. To be sure, it has a circulation of 100,000, and its subscription-list has increased one fourth during the last month : but, on the other hand, the sums it disburses constantly for contributions are incon- ceivable. It is reported that Mr. Slyass received no less than thirty-seven and a half cents for his inimitable paper on ' Pigs.' With Mr. Crab, as editor, and with such names upon the list of contributors as Snob and Slyass, there can be no such word as 'fail' for the 'Lollipop.' Go and subscribe. Sep. 15 — 1 /." I must say that I was gratified with this high-toned notice from a paper so respectable as the "Owl." The placing my name — that is to say my nom de guerre—in priority of station to that of the great Slyass, was a compliment as happy as I felt it to be deserved. My attention was next arrested by these para- graphs in the "Toad " — a print highly distinguished for its uprightness, and independence — for its entire freedom from sycophancy and subservience to the givers of dinners: LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. IJ "The 'Lollipop' for October is out in advance of all its contemporaries, and infinitely surpasses them, of course, in the splendor of its embellishments, as well as in the richness of its literary contents. The 'Hum- Drum,' the 'Rowdy-Dow,' and the 'Goosetherum- foodle' excel, we admit, in braggadocio, but, in all other points, give us the • Lollipop." How this celebrated Maga2ine can sustain its evidently tremendous expenses, is more than we can understand. To be sure, it has a circulation of 200,000, and its subscription list has in- creased one third during the last fortnight, but on the other hand, the sums it disburses, monthly, for contribu- tions, are fearfully great. We learn that Mr. Mumble- thumb received no less than fifty cents for his late 'Monody in a Mud-Puddle.' "Among the original contributors to the present number we notice, (besides the eminent editor, Mr. Crab,) such men as Snob, Slyass, and Mumblethumb. Apart from the editorial matter, the most valuable paper, nevertheless, is, we think, a poetical gem by 'Snob,' on the 'Oil-of-Bob' — but our readers must not sup- pose, from the title of this incomparable bijou, that it bears any similitude to some balderdash on the same sub- ject by a certain contemptible individual whose name is unmentionable to ears polite. The present poem 'On the Oil-of-Bob,' has excited universal anxiety and curi- osity in respect to the owner of the evident pseudonym, 'Snob' — a curiosity which, happily, we have it in our power to satisfy. 'Snob' is the nom-de-plume of Mr. Thingum Bob, of this city, —a relative of the great Mr. Thingum, (after whom he is named,) and otherwise con- nected with the most illustrious families of the State. His father, Thomas Bob, Esq., is an opulent merchant in Smug. Sep. 15 — 1 /." This generous approbation touched me to the heart — the more especially as it emanated from a source so l6 TALES. avowedly — so proverbially pure as the "Toad." The word "balderdash," as applied to the "Oil-of- Bob '' of the Fly, I considered singularly pungent and appropriate. The words "gem "and "bijou," how- ever, used in reference to my composition, struck me as being, in some degree, feeble. They seemed to me to be deficient in force. They were not sufficiently prononc'es, (as we have it in France.) I had hardly finished reading the "Toad," when a friend placed in my hands a copy of the " Mole," a daily, enjoying high reputation for the keenness of its perception about matters in general, and for the open, honest, above-ground style of its editorials. The "Mole " spoke of the " Lollipop" as follows: "We have just received the 'Lollipop' for October, and must say that never before have we perused any single number of any periodical which afforded us a felicity so supreme. We speak advisedly. The 'Hum-Drum,' the 'Rowdy-Dow' and the 'Goosetherumfoodle' must look well to their laurels. These prints, no doubt, sur- pass every thing in loudness of pretension, but, in all other points, give us the 'Lollipop!' How this celebrated Maga2ine can sustain its evidently tremendous expenses, is more than we can comprehend. To be sure, it has a circulation of 300,000; and its subscription-list has in- creased one half within the last week, but then the sum it disburses, monthly, for contributions, is astoundingly enormous. We have it upon good authority, that Mr. Fatquack received no less than sixty-two cents and a half for his late Domestic Nouvelette, the 'Dish-Clout.' "The contributors to the number before us are Mr. Crab, (the eminent editor,) Snob, Mumblethumb, Fatquack and others; but, after the inimitable composi- tions of the editor himself, we prefer a diamond-like effusion from the pen of a rising poet who writes over the LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 17 signature • Snob' —a nam de guerre which we predict will one day extinguish the radiance of 'Bo2.' 'Snob,' we learn, is a Mr. Thingum Bob, sole heir of a wealthy merchant of this city, Thomas Bob, Esq., and a near relative of the distinguished Mr. Thingum. The title of Mr. B's admirable poem is the 'Oil-of-Bob' — a somewhat unfortunate name, by-the-bye, as some con- temptible vagabond connected with the penny press has already disgusted the town with a great deal of drivel upon the same topic. There will be no danger, however, of confounding the compositions. Sep. 15 — 1 t." The generous approbation of so clear-sighted a jour- nal as the "Mole" penetrated my soul with delight. The only objection which occurred to me was, that the terms " contemptible vagabond " might have been better written "odious and contemptible, wretch, villain and vigabond." This would have sounded more grace- fully, I think. "Diamond-like," also, was scarcely, it will be admitted, of sufficient intensity to express what the " Mole" evidently thought of the brilliancy of the "Oil-of-Bob." On the same afternoon in which I saw these notices in the "Owl," the "Toad," and the "Mole," I happened to meet with a copy of the "Daddy-Long- Legs," a periodical proverbial for the extreme extent of its understanding. And it was the " Daddy-Long- Legs'' which spoke thus: "The 'Lollipop!!' This gorgeous Maga2ine is al- ready before the public for October. The question of pre-eminence is forever put to rest, and hereafter it will be excessively preposterous in the 'Hum-Drum,' the 'Rowdy-Dow,' or the ' Goosetherumfoodle,' to make any farther spasmodic attempts at competition. These jour- nals may excel the 'Lollipop' in outcry, but, in all other points, give us the 'Lollipop!' How this celebrated Vol. VI. — 2 18 TALES. Maga2ine can sustain its evidently tremendous expenses, is past comprehension. To be sure it has a circulation of precisely half a million, and its subscription-list has in- creased seventy-five per cent, within the last couple of days; but then the sums it disburses, monthly, for con- tributions, are scarcely credible; we are cogni2ant of the fact, that Mademoiselle Cribalittle received no less than eighty-seven cents and a half for her late valuable Revo- lutionary Tale, entitled 'The York-Town Katy-Did, and the Bunker-Hill Katy-Didn't.' "The most able papers in the present number, are, of course, those furnished by the editor, (the eminent Mr. Crab,) but there are numerous magnificent contributions from such names as Snob ; Mademoiselle Cribalittle; Slyass ; Mrs. Fibalittle ; Mumblethumb; Mrs. Squibalittle; and last, though not least, Fatquack. The world may well be challenged to produce so rich a galaxy of genius. "The poem over the signature 'Snob' is, we find, attracting universal commendation, and, we are constrained to say, deserves, if possible, even more applause than it has received. The 'Oil-of-Bob' is the title of this mas- terpiece of eloquence and art. One or two of our readers may have a -very faint, although sufficiently disgusting rec- ollection of a poem (?) similarly entitled, the perpetration of a miserable penny-a-liner, mendicant, and cut-throat, connected in the capacity of scullion, we believe, with one of the indecent prints about the purlieus of the city; we beg them, for God's sake, not to confound the composi- tions. The author of the 'Oil-of-Bob' is, we hear, Thingum Bob, Esq., a gentleman of high genius, and a scholar. 'Snob' is merely a nom-de-guerre. Sept. 15 — it." I could scarcely restrain my indignation while I perused the concluding portions of this diatribe. It was clear to me that the yea-nay manner — not to say the gentleness — the positive forbearance with which the "Daddy-Long-Legs" spoke of that pig, the LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 19 editor of the " Gad-Fly " —it was evident to me, I say, that this gentleness of speech could proceed from nothing else than a partiality for the Fly — whom it was clearly the intention of the "Daddy-Long-Legs" to elevate into reputation at my expense. Any one, indeed, might perceive, with half an eye, that, had the real design of the "Daddy" been what it wished to appear, it, (the "Daddy,") might have expressed itself in terms more direct, more pungent, and alto- gether more to the purpose. The words "penny-a- liner," " mendicant," "scullion," and "cut-throat," were epithets so intentionally inexpressive and equivocal, as to be worse than nothing when applied to the author of the very worst stanzas ever penned by one of the human race. We all know what is meant by "damning with faint praise," and, on the other hand, who could fail seeing through the covert purpose of the "Daddy "— that of glorifying with feeble abuse? What the " Daddy" chose to say of the Fly, how- ever, was no business of mine. What is said of my- self was. After the noble manner in which the "Owl," the "Toad," the "Mole," had expressed themselves in respect to my ability, it was rather too much to be coolly spoken of by a thing like the "Daddy-Long-Legs," as merely "a gentleman of high genius and a scholar." Gentleman indeed! I made up my mind, at once, either to get a written apology from the "Daddy-Long-Legs," or to call it oat. Full of this purpose, I looked about me to find a friend whom I could entrust with a message to his Daddyship, and, as the editor of the " Lollipop" had given me marked tokens of regard, I at length con- cluded to seek assistance upon the present occasion. 20 TALES. I have never yet been able to account, in a manner satisfactory to my own understanding, for the very peculiar countenance and demeanor with which Mr. Crab listened to me, as I unfolded to him my design. He again went through the scene of the bell-rope and cudgel, and did not omit the duck. At one period I thought he really intended to quack. His fit, never- theless, finally subsided as before, and he began to act and speak in a rational way. He declined bearing the cartel, however, and in fact, dissuaded me from send- ing it at all; but was candid enough to admit that the "Daddy-Long-Legs" had been disgracefully in the wrong — more especially in what related to the epi- thets "gentleman and scholar." Towards the end of this interview with Mr. Crab, who really appeared to take a paternal interest in my welfare, he suggested to me that I might turn an honest penny and, at the same time, advance my rep- utation, by occasionally playing Thomas Hawk for the "Lollipop." I begged Mr. Crab to inform me who was Mr. Thomas Hawk, and how it was expected that I should play him. Here Mr. Crab again "made great eyes," (as we say in Germany,) but at length, recovering himself from a profound attack of astonishment, he assured me that he employed the words "Thomas Hawk" to avoid the colloquialism, Tommy, which was low — but that the true idea was Tommy Hawk —or toma- hawk— and that by "playing tomahawk" he referred to scalping, brow-beating and otherwise using-up the herd of poor-devil authors. I assured my patron that, if this was all, I was per- fectly resigned to the task of playing Thomas Hawk. LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 21 Hereupon Mr. Crab desired me to use-up the editor of the "Gad-Fly" forthwith, in the fiercest style within the scope of my ability, and as a specimen of my powers. This I did, upon the spot, in a review of tie original "Oil-of-Bob," occupying thirty-six pages of the "Lollipop." I found playing Thomas Hawk, indeed, a far less onerous occupation than poet- izing; for I went upon system altogether, and thus it was easy to do the thing thoroughly and well. My practice was this. I bought auction copies (cheap) of "Lord Brougham's Speeches," " Cobbett'sComplete Works," the "New Slang-Syllabus," the "Whole Art of Snubbing," "Prentice's Billingsgate," (folio edition,) and "Lewis G. Clarke on Tongue." These works I cut up thoroughly with a curry- comb, and then, throwing the shreds into a sieve, sifted out carefully all that might be thought decent, (a mere trifle) : reserving the hard phrases, which I threw into a large tin pepper-castor with longitudinal holes, so that an entire sentence could get through without material injury. The mixture was then ready for use. When called upon to play Thomas Hawk, I anointed a sheet of fools-cap with the white of a gander's egg; then, shredding the thing to be re- viewed as I had previously shredded the books, — only with more care, so as to get every word separate — I threw the latter shreds in with the former, screwed on the lid of the castor, gave it a shake, and so dusted out the mixture upon the egg'd foolscap; where it stuck. The effect was beautiful to behold. It was captivat- ing. Indeed the reviews I brought to pass by this simple expedient have never been approached, and were the wonder of the world. At first, through bashfulness — the result of inexperience — I was a little 22 TALES. put out by a certain inconsistency — a certain air of the bizarre, (as we say in France,) worn by the compo- sition as a whole. All the phrases did not Jit, (as we say in the Anglo-Saxon.) Many were quite awry. Some, even, were up-side-down; and there were none of them which were not, in some measure, in- jured, in regard to effect, by this latter species of acci- dent, when it occurred : — with the exception of Mr. Lewis Clarke's paragraphs, which were so vigorous, and altogether stout, that they seemed not particularly disconcerted by any extreme of position, but looked equally happy and satisfactory, whether on their heads, or on their heels. What became of the editor of the "Gad-Fly," after the publication of my criticism on his "Oil-of- Bob," it is somewhat difficult to determine. The most reasonable conclusion is, that he wept himself to death. At all events he disappeared instantaneously from the face of the earth, and no man has seen even the ghost of him since. This matter having been properly accomplished, and the Furies appeased, I grew at once into high favor with Mr. Crab. He took me into his confi- dence, gave me a permanent situation as Thomas Hawk of the "Lollipop," and as, for the present, he could afford me no salary, allowed me to profit, at discretion, by his advice. "My Dear Thingum," said he to me one day after dinner, "I respect your abilities and love you as a son. You shall be my heir. When I die I will bequeath you the 'Lollipop.' In the meantime I will make a man of you — I will— provided always that you follow my counsel. The first thing to do is to get rid of the old bore." LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 23 '' Boar ?'' said I inquiringly — •' pig, eh ? — aper? (as we say in Latin) — who ? — where?" "Your father," said he. "Precisely," I replied,— "pig." "You have your fortune to make, Thingum," re- sumed Mr. Crab, "and that governor of yours is a millstone about your neck. We must cut him at once." [Here I took out my knife.] "We must cut him," continued Mr. Crab, "decidedly and for- ever. He won't do — he won't. Upon second thoughts, you had better kick him, or cane him, or something of that kind." "What do you say," I suggested modestly, "to my kicking him in the first instance, caning him after- wards, and winding up by tweaking his nose?" Mr. Crab looked at me musingly for some moments, and then answered: "I think, Mr. Bob, that what you propose would answer sufficiently well — indeed remarkably well — that is to say, as far as it went — but barbers are exceedingly hard to cut, and I think, upon the whole, that, having performed upon Thomas Bob the opera- tions you suggest, it would be advisable to blacken, with your fists, both his eyes, very carefully and thoroughly, to prevent his ever seeing you again in fashionable promenades. After doing this, I really do not perceive that you can do any more. However — it might be just as well to roll him once or twice in the gutter, and then put him in charge of the police. Any time the next morning you can call at the watch-house and swear an assault.'' I was much affected by the kindness of feeling towards me personally, which was evinced in this ex- cellent advice of Mr. Crab, and I did not fail to profit 24 TALES. by it forthwith. The result was, that I got rid of the old bore, and began to feel a little independent and gentleman-like. The want of money, however, was, for a few weeks, a source of some discomfort; but at length, by carefully putting to use my two eyes, and observing how matters went just in front of my nose, I perceived how the thing was to be brought about. I say "thing " — be it observed — for they tell me the Latin for it is rem. By the way, talking of Latin, can any one tell me the meaning of quocunque — or what is the meaning of modo? My plan was exceedingly simple. I bought, for a song, a sixteenth of the " Snapping-Turtle: " — that was all. The thing was done, and I put money in my purse. There were some trivial arrangements after- wards, to be sure; but these formed no portion of the plan. They were a consequence — a result. For example, I bought pen, ink and paper, and put them into furious activity. Having thus completed a Maga- zine article, I gave it, for appellation, "Fol-Lol, by the Author of ' The Oil-of-Bob,'" and enveloped it to the "Goosetherumfoodle." That journal, how- ever, having pronounced it "twattle" in the "Monthly Notices to Correspondents," I reheaded the paper " ' Hey-Diddle-Diddle ' by Thingum Bob, Esq., Author of the Ode on 'The Oil-of-Bob,' and Editor of the 'Snapping-Turtle.'" With this amend- ment, I reenclosed it to the "Goosetherumfoodle," and, while I awaited a reply, published daily, in the "Turtle," six columns of what may be termed philo- sophical and analytical investigation of the literary merits of the "Goosetherumfoodle," as well as of the personal character of the editor of the "Goosetherum- foodle." At the end of a week the "Goosetherum- LIFE OF THINQUM BOB, ESQ. 25 foodie" discovered that it had, by some odd mistake, "confounded a stupid article, headed 'Hey-Diddle- Diddle' and composed by some unknown ignoramus, with a gem of resplendent lustre similarly entitled, the work of Thingum Bob, Esq., the celebrated author of 'The Oil-of-Bob.'" The "Goosetherumfoodle" deeply "regretted this very natural accident," and promised, moreover, an insertion of the genuine "Hey- Diddle-Diddle" in the very next number of the Magazine. The fact is I thought — I really thought — I thought at the time — I thought then — and have no reason for thinking otherwise now — that the "Goosetherum- foodle" did make a mistake. With the best inten- tions in the world, I never knew any thing that made as many singular mistakes as the "Goosetherumfoo- dle." From that day I took a liking to the " Goose- therumfoodle," and the result was I soon saw into the very depths of its literary merits, and did not fail to expatiate upon them, in the "Turtle," whenever a fitting opportunity occurred. And it is to be regarded as a very peculiar coincidence — as one of those posi- tively remarkable coincidences which set a man to seri- ous thinking — that just such a total revolution of opinion — just such entire bouleversement, (as we say in French,) — just such thorough topsiturviness, (if I may be permitted to employ a rather forcible term of the Choctaws,) as happened, pro and con, between myself on the one part, and the "Goosetherumfoodle" on the other, did actually again happen, in a brief period afterwards, and with precisely similar circumstances, in the case of myself and the "Rowdy-Dow," and in the case of myself and the " Hum-Drum." Thus it was that, by a master-stroke of genius, I at i6 TALES. length consummated my triumphs by "putting money in my purse" and thus may be said really and fairly to have commenced that brilliant and eventful career which rendered me illustrious, and which now enables me to say, with Chateaubriand, "I have made his- tory " — " J"ai faitl'histoire." I have indeed "made history." From the bright epoch which I now record, my actions — my works — are the property of mankind. They are familiar to the world. It is, then, needless for me to detail how, soaring rapidly, I fell heir to the "Lollipop " — how I merged this journal in the "Hum-Drum" —how again I made purchase of the "Rowdy-Dow," thus combining the three periodicals — how, lastly, I ef- fected a bargain for the sole remaining rival, and united all the literature of the country in one magnificent Mag- azine, known everywhere as the "Rowdy-Dow, Lollipop, Hum-Drum, and COOSETHER.UMFOODLE." Yes; I have made history. My fame is universal. It extends to the uttermost ends of the earth. You cannot take up a common newspaper in which you shall not see some allusion to the immortal Thingum Bob. It is Mr. Thingum Bob said so, and Mr. Thingum Bob wrote this, and Mr. Thingum Bob did that. But I am meek and expire with an humble heart. After all, what is it ? — this indescribable something which men will persist in terming "genius"? I agree with Buffon — with Hogarth — it is but diligence after all. Look at me ! — how I labored — how I toiled — LIFE OF THINGUM BOB, ESQ. 27 how I wrote! Ye Gods, did I not write? I knew not the word "ease." By day I adhered to my desk, ind at night, a pale student, I consumed the midnight oil. You should have seen me — you should. I leaned to the right. I leaned to the left. I sat forward. I sat backward. I sat upon end. I sat tete baissee, (as they have it in the Kickapoo,) bowing my head close to the alabaster page. And, through all, I — wrote. Through joy and through sorrow, I — wrote. Through hunger and through thirst, I — wrote. Through good report and through ill report, I — wrote. Through sunshine and through moonshine, I — wrote. What I wrote it is unnecessary to say. The style! — that was the thing. I caught it from Fatquack — whizz ! — fizz ! — and I am giving you a specimen of it now. THE PURLOINED LETTER. [Tie Gift, 1845; 1845. — Text corrected by J. L. Graham "*y.] Nil lapientiac odioaus acumine nimio. Seneca. At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, au troisiimc, No. 33, Rue Dunot, Fau- bourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might have seemed intently and ex- clusively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation be- tween us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attend- ing the murder of Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G , the Prefect of the Parisian police. We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the con- temptible about the man, and we had not seen him for THE PURLOINED LETTER. 29 several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without doing so, upon G.'s say- ing that he had called to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official business which had occasioned a great deal of trouble. "If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose in the dark." "That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who had a fashion of calling every thing " odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of " oddities." "Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visiter with a pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable chair. "And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more in the assassination way, I hope?" '' Oh no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd.'' "Simple and odd," said Dupin. "Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether." "Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at fault," said my friend. "What nonsense you do talk !" replied the Prefect, laughing heartily. "Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said Dupin. "Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?" 30 TALES. "A little too self-evident." "Ha! ha! ha! —ha ! ha ! ha ! —ho ! ho ! ho!" — roared our visiter, profoundly amused, " oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!'' "And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked. "Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair. "I will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I should most probably lose the position I now hold, were it known that I confided it to any one." "Proceed," said I. "Or not," said Dupin. "Well, then ; I have received personal information, from a very high quarter, that a certain document of the last importance, has been purloined from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in his possession." "How is this known ?" asked Dupin. "It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the nature of the document, and from the non- appearance of certain results which would at once arise from its passing out of the robber's possession ; — that is to say, from his employing it as he must design in the end to employ it." "Be a little more explicit," I said. "Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. "Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. The Purloined Lettlk. Drawn by H'ogct. THE PURLOINED LETTER. 31 "No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the honor of a personage of most exalted sta- tion ; and this fact gives the holder of the document an ascendancy over the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are so jeopardized." "But this ascendancy," I interposed, "would de- pend upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. Who would dare—" "The thief," said G., "is the Minister D , who dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of the theft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question — a letter, to be frank — had been received by the personage robbed while alone in the royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage from whom es- pecially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, open as it was, upon a table. The ad- dress, however, was uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the Minister D . His lynx eye immedi- ately perceives the paper, recognises the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some busi- ness transactions, hurried through in his ordinary man- ner, he produces a letter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he converses, for some fifteen minutes, upon the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter to which he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call 32 TALES. attention to the act, in the presence of the third per- sonage who stood at her elbow. The minister de- camped; leaving his own letter — one of no importance — upon the table." "Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what you demand to make the ascendancy complete — the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber." "Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained has, for some months past, been wielded, for political purposes, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot be done openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the matter to «..." me. "Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirl- wind of smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined.'' "You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible that some such opinion may have been enter- tained." "It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still in possession of the minister; since it is this possession, and not any employment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the employment the power departs." "True," said G.; "and upon this conviction I proceeded. My first care was to make thorough search of the minister's hotel; and here my chief embarrass- ment lay in the necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which would result from giving him reason to suspect our design." THE PURLOINED LETTER. 33 "But," said I, "you are quite au fait in these in- vestigations. The Parisian police have done this thing often before." "O yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is frequently absent from home all night. His servants are by no means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has not passed, during the greater part of which I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a more astute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook and comer of the premises in which it is possible that the paper can be concealed." "But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although the letter may be in possession of the minister, as it unquestionably is, he may have concealed it else- where than upon his own premises?" "This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The present peculiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in which D is known to be involved, would render the instant availability of the document — its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice — a point of nearly equal im- portance with its possession." "Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. "That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin. "True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then Vol. VI. — j 34 TALES. upon the premises. As for its being upon the person of the minister, we may consider that as out of the question." "Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person rigorously searched under my own inspection." "You might have spared yourself this trouble," said Dupin. "D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated these way- layings, as a matter of course." "Not altogether a fool," said G., "but then he 's a poet, which I take to be only one remove from a fool." "True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain doggerel myself." "Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of your search." "Why the fact is, we took our time, and we searched every where. I have had long experience in these affairs. I took the entire building, room by room ; devoting the nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer ; and I presume you know that, to a properly trained police agent, such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any man is a dolt who permits a 'secret ' drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The thing is so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk — of space — to be ac- counted for in every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine long needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops." THE PURLOINED LETTER. 35 "Why so?" "Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to conceal an article; then the leg is exca- vated, the article deposited within the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts are employed in the same way." "But could not the cavity be detected by sound- ing ?" I asked. "By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Be- sides, in our case, we were obliged to proceed without noise.'' "But you could not have removed — you could not have taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would have been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. A letter may be com- pressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted into the rung of a chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs ?'' "Certainly not ; but we did better— we examined the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the jointings of every description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect it instantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the glueing — any unusual gaping in the joints — would have sufficed to insure detection." "I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bed-clothes, as well as the curtains and carpets." "That of course; and when we had absolutely 36 TALES. completed every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before.'' "The two houses adjoining !" I exclaimed ; "you must have had a great deal of trouble." "We had ; but the reward offered is prodigious." "You include the grounds about the houses?" "All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found it undisturbed." "You looked among D 's papers, of course, and into the books of the library ?'' "Certainly ; we opened every package and parcel; we not only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some of our police officers. We also measured the thickness of every hooV.-cover, with the most accurate admeasure- ment, and applied to each the most jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been re- cently meddled with, it would have been utterly im- possible that the fact should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles." "You explored the floors beneath the carpets?" "Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards with the microscope." "And the paper on the walls )" "Yes." THE PURLOINED LETTER. 37 "Yon looked into the cellars?" "We did." "Then," I said, "you have been making a miscal- culation, and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose." "I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?" "To make a thorough re-search of the premises." "That is absolutely needless," replied G . "I am not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel." "I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. "You have, of course, an accurate description of the letter?" "Oh yes !" — And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, and especially of the external appearance of the missing document. Soon after finish- ing the perusal of this description, he took his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair and entered into some ordinary con- versation. At length I said, — "Well, but G , what of the purloined letter? I presume you have at last made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching the Minister ?'' "Confound him, say I — yes; I made the re- examination, however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would be." "How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked Dupin. 38 TALES. "Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward — I don't like to say how much, precisely ; but one thing I will say, that I would n't mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done." "Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of his meerschaum, " I really — think, G , you have not exerted yourself— to the utmost in this matter. You might — do a little more, I think, eh?" "How ? — in what way?" "Why — puff, puff—you might—puff, puff— employ counsel in the matter, eh ? — puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the story they tell of Abernethy ?'' "No; hang Abernethy!" "To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of spunging upon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private company, he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an imaginary individual. "'We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his symptoms are such and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed him to take?' "' Take!' said Abernethy, ' why, take advice, to be sure.'" "But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, " I am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter." "In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing a check-book, "you may as well fill me THE PURLOINED LETTER. 39 up a check for the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter.'' I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handed it across the tahle to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully and deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an tscriteiri, took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from the house, without having uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check. When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. "The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when G detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation — so far as his labors extended." "So far as his labors extended?" said I. ''Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not only the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter been deposited 40 TALES. within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyond a question, have found it." I merely laughed — but he seemed quite serious in all that he said. "The measures, then," he continued, "were good in their kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the case, and to the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow, for the matter in hand ; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in the game of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, , are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'odd,' and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, 'the simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd ;' — he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first, he would have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that in the first in- stance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will pro- THE PURLOINED LETTER. 41 pose to himself upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; bat then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even ;' — he guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows termed 'lucky,' — what, in its last analysis, is it?" "It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent." "It is," said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by what means he effected the thorough identifica- tion in which his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I wish to find out how wise, or bow stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as possible, in ac- cordance with the expression of his, and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' This response of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has been attributed to Roche- foucauld, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Cam- panella." "And the identification," I said, " of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent, depends, if I under- stand you aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect is admeasured." "For its practical value it depends upon this," re- plied Dupin ; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather through non- admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are engaged. They consider only their own ideas of inge- 42 TALES. nuity; and, in searching for anything hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would have hidden it. They are right in this much — that their own ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass; but when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in character from their own, the felon foils them, of course. This always happens when it is above their own, and very usually when it is below. They have no variation of principle in their investigations ; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency — by some extraordinary reward — they extend or exaggerate their old modes of practice,without touching their prin- ciples. What, for example, in this case of D , has been done to vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the building into registered square inches — what is it all but an exaggeration of the application of the one principle or set of principles of search, which are based upon the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal a letter, — not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg — but, at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thought which would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet- hole bored in a chair-leg? And do you not see also, that such recherches nooks for concealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would be adopted only by ordinary intellects ; for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article concealed — a disposal of it in this recherche manner, — is, in the very first instance, presumable and presumed ; and thus its discovery de- THE PURLOINED LETTER. 43 pends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, and determination of the seekers; and where the case is of importance — or, what amounts to the same thing in the policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude, — the qualities in question have never been known to fail. You will now understand what I meant in suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden any where within the limits of the Prefect's examination — in other words, had the principle of its concealment been comprehended within the principles of the Prefect — its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mysti- fied; and the remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a non Aistributio medii in thence inferring that all poets are fools." "But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in letters. The Minister I believe has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no poet." "You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the Prefect." "You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which have been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to set at naught the well- digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason has long been regarded as treason par excellence.,J "' II j a a parier, ' " replied Dupin, quoting from 44 TALES. Chamfort, "' que toute idee publique, toute convention recue, est une sottise, car elle a convenu au plus grand nomire.' The mathematicians, I grant you, have done their best to promulgate the popular error to which you allude, and which is none the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinuated the term 'analysis' into application to algebra. The French are the originators of this particular deception; but if a term is of any importance — if words derive any value from applicability — then 'analysis ' conveys 'algebra' about as much as, in Latin, 'ambitus' im- plies 'ambition,' ,religia' 'religion,' or 'homines honesti,' a set of honorable men." "You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, "with some of the algebraists of Paris; but proceed." "I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that reason which is cultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly logical. I dispute, in particu- lar, the reason educed by mathematical study. The mathematics are the science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied to ob- servation upon form and quantity. The great error lies in supposing that even the truths of what is called pure algebra, are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the uni- versality with which it has been received. Mathe- matical axioms are not axioms of general truth. What is true of relation — of form and quantity — is often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this latter science it is very usually «»true that the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom fails. In the consideration of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not. THE PURLOINED LETTER. 45 necessarily, a value when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are numerous other mathe- matical truths which are only truths within the limits of relation. But the mathematician argues, from his finite truths, through habit, as if they were of an absolutely general applicability — as "he world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant, in his very learned 'Mythology,' mentions an analogous source of error, when he says that ' although the Pagan fables are not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make inferences from them as existing realities.' With the algebraists, how- ever, who are Pagans themselves, the 'Pagan fables' ere believed, and the inferences are made, not so much through lapse of memory, as through an unaccountable addling of the brains. In short, I never yet en- countered the mere mathematician who could be trusted out of equal roots, or one who did not clandestinely bold it as a point of his faith that x2 -f- px was abso- lutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that you believe occasions may occur where xi-\-px is mot altogether equal to q, and, having made him under- stand what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, for, beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down. "I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed at his last observations, "that if the Minister had been no more than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been under no necessity of giving me this check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted to his capa- city, with reference to the circumstances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could 46 TALES. not fail to be aware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not have failed to anticipate — and events have proved that he did not fail to anticipate — the waylaviugs to which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His frequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford op- portunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner to impress them with the conviction to which G , in fact, did finally arrive — the convic- tion that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle of policial action in searches for articles concealed — I felt that this whole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of the Minister. It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that the most in- tricate and remote recess of his hotel would be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him so much on account of its being so very self-evident." "Yes," said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really thought he would have fallen into convul- sions." "Thematerial world," continued Dupin, "abounds THE PURLOINED LETTER. 47 with very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color of truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument, as well as to embellish a de- scription. The principle of the vis inertia, for example, seems to be identical in physics and meta- physics. It is not more true in the former, that a large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that its subsequent momentum is com- mensurate with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while more for- cihle, more constant, and more eventful in their move- ments than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed and full of hesita- tion in the first few steps of their progress. Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs, over the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?" "I have never given the matter a thought," I said. "There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is played upon a map. One party playing requires an- other to find a given word — the name of town, river, state or empire — any word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass his opponents by giv- ing them the most minutely lettered names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely lettered signs and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident. 48 TALES. But this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or be- neath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible, that the Minister had deposited the letter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing any por- tion of that world from perceiving it. "But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and discriminating ingenuity of D ;upon the fact that the document must always have been at hand, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the limits of that dignitary's ordinary search — the more satisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the Minister had resorted to the compre- hensive and sagacious expedient of not attempting to conceal it at all. "Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the Ministerial hotel. I found D at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive — but that is only when nobody sees him. "To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the apartment, while seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my host. "I paid special attention to a large writing-table near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, some miscellaneous letters and other papers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular suspicion. THE PURLOINED LETTER. 49 "At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell upon a trumpery fillagree card-rack of paste- board, that hung dangling by a dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle of the mantel- piece. In this rack, which had three or four compart- ments, were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle — as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, bearing the D .- cipher very conspicuously, and was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D , the minister, himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptu- ously, into one of the upper divisions of the rack. "No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I con- cluded it to be that of which I was in search. To be sore, it was, to all appearance, radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here the seal was large and black, with the D cipher ; there it was small and red, with the ducal arms of the S family. Here, the ad- dress, to the Minister, was diminutive and feminine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, was markedly bold and decided ; the size alone formed a point of correspondence. But, then, the radiculites* of these differences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and torn condition of the paper, so incon- sistent with the true methodical habits of D , and so suggestive of a design to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the document; these things, together with the hyperobtrusive situation of this docu- ment, full in the view of every visiter, and thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which I had Vol. VI. —4 5 cow of a blue color, having horn* four hundred in number." — Sale's Koran. * " The Entovoay or intestinal worms, have repeatedly been ob- served in the muscles, and in the cerebral substance of men.'' — St fPyatt's Physiology, p. 143. SCHEHERAZADE. 97 wis boiling water. In place of corn, he had black stones for his usual food; and yet, in spite of so hard a diet, he was so strong and swift that he would drag a load more weighty than the grandest temple in this city, at a rate surpassing that of the flight of most birds."" "Twattle !" said the king. "' I saw, also, among these people a hen without feathers, but bigger than a camel; instead of flesh and bone she had iron and brick; her blood, like that of the horse, (to whom in fact she was nearly related,) was boiling water; and like him she ate nothing but wood or black stones. This hen brought forth very frequently, a hundred chickens in the day ; and, after birth, they took up their residence for several weeks within the stomach of their mother.' " 2 "Fal lal !" said the king. "' One of this nation of mighty conjurors created a man out of brass and wood, and leather, and endowed him with such ingenuity that he would have beaten at chess, all the race of mankind with the exception of the great Caliph, Haroun Alraschid.3 Another of these magi constructed (of like material) a creature that put to shame even the genius of him who made it; for so great were its reasoning powers that, in a second, it performed calculations of so vast an extent that they would have required the united labor of fifty thousand fleshly men for a year.4 But a still more wonderful 1 On the great Western Railway, between London and Exeter, a (peed of 71 miles per hour has been attained. A train weighing 90 tons was whirled from Paddington to Didcot (53 miles,) in 51 minutes. * The Eccalcobion. 'Mael2el's Automaton Chess-player. 4 Babbagc's Calculating Machine. Vol. VI. - 7 98 TALES. conjuror fashioned for himself a mighty thing that was neither man nor beast, but which had brains of lead intermixed with a black matter like pitch, and fingers that it employed with such incredible speed and dex- terity that it would have had no trouble in writing out twenty thousand copies of the Koran in an hour; and this with so exquisite a precision, that in all the copies there should not be found one to vary from another by the breadth of the finest hair. This thing was of pro- digious strength, so that it erected or overthrew the mightiest empires at a breath; but its power was ex- ercised equally for evil and for good.'" "Ridiculous!" said the king. "' Among this nation of necromancers there was also one who had in his veins the blood of the sala- manders; for he made no scruple of sitting down to smoke his chibouc in a red-hot oven until his dinner was thoroughly roasted upon its floor.1 Another had the faculty of converting the common metals into gold, without even looking at them during the process.2 An- other had such delicacy of touch that he made a wire so fine as to be invisible.3 Another had such quickness of perception that he counted all the separate motions of an elastic body, while it was springing backwards and forwards at the rate of nine hundred millions of times in a second.' " * "Absurd !" said the king. 1 Chabtrt, and since him, a hundred others. * The Electrotype. 3 JVoIlauon made of platinum for the field of views in a telescope a wire one eighteen-thousandth part of an inch in thickness. It could be seen only by means of the microscope. 4 Newton demonstrated that the retina beneath the influence of the violet ray of the spectrum, vibrated 900,000,000 of times in a second. SCHEHERAZADE. 99 "'Another of these magicians, by means of a fluid that nobody ever yet saw, could make the corpses of his friends brandish their arms, kick out their legs, fight, or even get up and dance at his will.1 Another had cultivated his voice to so great an extent that he could have made himself heard from one end of the earth to the other.1 Another had so long an arm that he could sit down in Damascus and indite a letter at Bagdad — or indeed at any distance whatsoever.3 An- other commanded the lightning to come down to him out of the heavens, and it came at his call ; and served him for a plaything when it came. Another took two loud sounds and out of them made a silence. Another constructed a deep darkness out of two brilliant lights.4 Another made ice in a red-hot furnace.9 Another di- 1 The Voltaic pile. * The Electro Telegraph transmits intelligence instantaneously — at lent 10 far as regards any distance upon the earth. •The Electro Telegraph Printing Apparatus. 4 Common experiments in Natural Philosophy. If two red rays from two luminous points be admitted into a dark chamber so as to fail on a white surface, and differ in their length by 0.0000258 of an inch, their intensity is doubled. So also if the difference in length be any whole-number multiple of that fraction. A multiple by z}+, 1%, tec., gives an intensity equal to one ray only; but a multiple by %%, i'/i, &c, gives the result of total darkness. In violet rays similar effects arise when the difference in length is 0.000157 of an inch; and with all other rays the results are the tame — the difference varying with a uniform increase from the violet to the red. Analogous experiments in respect to sound produce analogous re- * Place a platina crucible over a spirit lamp, and keep it a red heat; pour in some sulphuric acid, which, though the most volatile of bodies at a common temperature, will be found to become com- pletely fixed in a hot crucible, and not a drop evaporates — being surrounded by an atmosphere of its own, it does not, in fact touch the sides. A few drops of water are now introduced, when the 25GG97H loo TALES. rcctcd the sun to paint his portrait, and the sun did.1 Another took this luminary with the moon and the planets, and having first weighed them with scrupulous accuracy, probed into their depths and found out the solidity of the substance of which they are made. But the whole nation is, indeed, of so surprising a necro- mantic ability, that not even their infants, nor their commonest cats and dogs have any difficulty in seeing objects that do not exist at all, or that for twenty thou- sand years before the birth of the nation itself, had been blotted out from the face of creation.' '' * "Preposterous!" said the king. "'The wives and daughters of these incomparably great and wise magi,''' continued Scheherazade, with- out being in any manner disturbed by these frequent and most ungentlemanly interruptions on the part of her husband — "'the wives and daughters of these acid immediately coming in contact with the heated sides of the cru- cible, Hies off in sulphurous acid vapor, and so rapid is it> progress, that the caloric of the water passes off with it, which falls a lump of ice to the bottom; by taking advantage of the moment before it is allowed to re-melt, it may be turned out a lump of ice from a red- hot vessel. 1 The Daguerreotype. 3 Although light travels 200,000 miles in a second, the distance of what we suppose to be the nearest fixed star (Sirius) is so incon- ceivably great, that its rays would require at lcan three years to reach the earth. For stars beyond this 20 — or even 1000 years — would be a moderate estimate. Thus, if they bad been annihilated 20 or 1000 years ago, we might still see them to-day, by the light which itarted from their surfaces, 20 or 1000 years in the past time. That many which we see daily are really extinct, is not impossible — not even improbable. [Broadway Journal Note.] The elder Herschel maintains that the light of the faintest neb- ulae seen through his great telescope, must have taken 3,000,000 years in reaching the earth. Some, made visible by Lord Ross' in- strument must, then, have required at least 20,000,000. [Gais- wold Note.] SCHEHERAZADE. IOI eminent conjurors are everything that is accomplished and refined; and would be everything that is interest- ing and beautiful, but for an unhappy fatality that besets them, and from which not even the miraculous powers of their husbands and fathers has, hitherto, been adequate to save. Some fatalities come in certain shapes, and some in others — but this of which I speak, has come in the shape of a crotchet.'" '' A what?" said the king. •"A crotchet,'" said Scheherazade. •, • One of the evil genii who are perpetually upon the watch to inflict ill, has put it into the heads of these accomplished ladies that the thing which we describe as personal beauty, consists altogether in the protuberance of the region which lies not very far below the small of the back. — Perfection of loveliness, they say, is in the direct ratio of the extent of this hump. Having been long possessed of this idea, and bolsters being cheap in that country, the days have long gone by since it was possible to distinguish a woman from a dromedary —' '' "Stop !" said the king, — "I can't stand that, and I won't. You have already given me a dreadful head- ache with your lies. The day, too, I perceive, is beginning to break. How long have we been married? — my conscience is getting to be troublesome again. And then that dromedary touch — do you take me for a fool? Upon the whole you might as well get up and be throttled." These words, as I learn from the "Isitsoornot," both grieved and astonished Scheherazade; but, as she knew the king to be a man of scrupulous integrity, and quite unlikely to forfeit his word, she submitted to her fate with a good grace. She derived, however, 102 TALES. great consolation, (during the tightening of the bow- string,) from the reflection that much of the history remained still untold, and that the petulance of her brute of a husband had reaped for him a most right- eous reward, in depriving him of many inconceivable adventures. THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. AN EXTRAVAGANZA. [Columbian Magazine, October, 1844.] It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic truffe formed not the least important item, and was sitting alone in the dining room, with my feet upon the fender, and at my elbow a small table, which I had rolled up to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for dessert, with some miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit and liqueur. In the morning I had been reading Glover's "Leonidas," Wilkie's "Epi- goniad," Lamartine's " Pilgrimage," Barlow's "Co- lambiad," Tuckerman's "Sicily," and Griswold's "Curiosities;" Iam willing to confess, therefore, that I now felt a little stupid. I made effort to arouse myself by aid of frequent Lafitte, and, all failing, I be- took myself to a stray newspaper in despair. Having carefully perused the column of " houses to let," and the column of " dogs lost," and then the two columns of "wives and apprentices runaway," I attacked with great resolution the editorial matter, and, reading it from beginning to end without understanding a syllable, conceived the possibility of its being Chinese, and so re-read it from the end to the beginning, but with no more satisfactory result. I was about throwing away in disgust, (.03) ic>4 TALES. This folio of four pages, happy work Which not even critics criticise, when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which follows: "The avenues to death are numerous and strange. A London paper mentions the decease of a person from a singular cause. He was playing at'puff the dart," which is played with a long needle inserted in some worsted, and blown at a target through a tin tube. He placed the needle at the wrong end of the tube, and drawing his breath strongly to puff the dart forward with force, drew the needle into his throat It entered the lungs, and in a few days killed him." Upon seeing this I fell into a great rage, without exactly knowing why. "This thing," I exclaimed, "is a contemptible falsehood— a poor hoax—the lees of the invention of some pitiable penny-a-liner — of some wretched concoctor of accidents in Cocaigne. These fellows, knowing the extravagant gullibility of the age, set their wits to work in the imagination of improbable possibilities — of odd accidents, as they term them; but to a reflecting intellect (like mine," I ad- ded, in parenthesis, putting my forefinger unconsciously to the side of my nose,) "to a contemplative under- standing, such as I myself possess, it seems evident at once that the marvellous increase of late in these 'odd accidents ' is by far the oddest accident of all. For my own part, I intend to believe nothing henceforward that has anything of the 'singular' about it." "Mein Gott, den, vat a vool you bees for dat!" replied one of the most remarkable voices I ever heard. At first I took it for a rumbling in my ears — such as a man sometimes experiences when getting very drunk The Angel of the Odd. Drawn by b\ C, 'Titncy, ºf A *t, * 1 s ºf ºr *-* * * * **** THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. 105 — but, upon second thought, I considered the sound as more nearly resembling that which proceeds from an empty barrel beaten with a big stick; and, in fact, this I should have concluded it to be, but for the articula- tion of the syllables and words. I am by no means naturally nervous, and the very few glasses of Lafitte which I had sipped served to embolden me no little, so that I felt nothing of trepidation, but merely uplifted my eyes with a leisurely movement, and looked care- fully around the room for the intruder. I could not, however, perceive any one at all. "Humph !" resumed the voice, as I continued my survey, "you mus pe so dronk as de pig, den, for not zee me as I zit here at your zidc." Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose, and there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage nondescript, although not altogether indescribable. His body was a wine- pipe, or a rum puncheon, or something of that char- acter, and had a truly Falstaffian air. In its nether extremity were inserted two kegs, which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs. For arms there dan- gled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably long bottles, with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I saw the monster possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which resemble a large snuff- box with a hole in the middle of the lid. This can- teen (with a funnel on its top, like a cavalier cap slouched over the eyes) was set on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole toward myself; and through this hole, which seemed puckered up like the mouth of a very precise old maid, the creature was emitting cer- tain rumbling and grumbling noises which he evidently intended for intelligible talk. 106 TALES. "I zay," said he, "you mos pc dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and not zee me zit ere; and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de goose, vor to dispelief vat iz print in de print. 'T iz de troof— dat it iz — eberry vord ob it." "Who are you, pray ?" said I, with much dignity, although somewhat puzzled ; "how did you get here? and what is it you are talking about ?'' "As vor ow I com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none ob your pizziness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I tink proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd here for to let you zee for yourzelf." "Vou are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and order my footman to kick you into the street." "He! he! he !" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do." "Can't do!" said I, "what do you mean? — I can't do what?" "Ring de pell ; " he replied, attempting a grin with his little villainous mouth. Upon this I made an effort to get up, in order to put my threat into execution; but the ruffian just reached across the table very deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the forehead with the neck of one of the long bottles, knocked me back into the arm-chair from which I had half arisen. I was utterly astounded ; and, for a moment, was quite at a loss what to do. In the meantime he continued his talk. "You zee," said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall know who I pe. Look at me! zee! I am te Angel ov te Odd.'' "And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply ; " but THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. 107 I was always under the impression that an angel had wings." "Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein Gott! do you take me vor a shicken?" "No — oh no!" I replied, much alarmed, "you are no chicken — certainly not.'' "Well, den, zit still and pehabe yourself, or I '11 rap you again mid me vist. It iz te shicken ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und te imp ab te wing, und te head-teuffel ab te wing. Te angel ab not te wing, and I.am te Angelov te Odd." "And your business with me at present is — is " — "My pizziness!" ejaculated the thing, "vy vat a low pred buppy you mos pe vor to ask a gentleman und an angel a pout his pizziness!" This language was rather more than I could bear, even from an angel ; so, plucking up courage, I seized a salt cellar which lay within reach, and hurled it*at the head of the intruder. Either he dodged, however, or my aim was inaccurate; for all I accomplished was the demolition of the crystal which protected the dial of the clock upon the mantel piece. As for the Angel he evinced his sense of my assault by giving me two or three hard consecutive raps upon the forehead as before. These reduced me at once to submission, and I am almost ashamed to confess that either through pain or vexation, there came a few tears into my eyes. "Mein Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, ap- parently much softened at my distress; "mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You mos not trink it so strong — you mos put te water in te wine. Here, trink dis, like a good veller, und don't gry now — don't!" 108 TALES. Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about a third full of Port) with a colorless fluid that he poured from one of his hand bottles. I observed that these bottles had labels about their necks, and that these labels were inscribed "Kirschenwasser." The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little measure; and, aided by the water with which he diluted my Port more than once, I at length regained sufficient temper to listen to his very extraordi- nary discourse. I cannot pretend to recount all that he told me, but I gleaned from what he said that he was the genius who presided over the contre-temps of mankind, and whose business it was to bring about the odd accidents which are continually astonishing the sceptic. Once or twice, upon my venturing to express my total incredulity in respect to his pretensions, he grew very angry indeed, so that at length I considered it the wiser policy to say nothing at all, and let him have his own way. He talked on, therefore, at great length, while I merely leaned back in my chair with my eyes shut, and amused myself with munching raisins and filliping the stems about the room. But, by and bye, the Angel suddenly construed this behavior of mine into contempt. He arose in a terrible passion, slouched his funnel down over his eyes, swore a vast oath, uttered a threat of some character which I did not precisely comprehend, and finally made me a low bow and departed, wishing me, in the language of the archbishop in Gil-Bias, " bcaucoup de bonkeur et un peu plus de ion sens.'' His departure afforded me relief. The very few glasses of Lafitte that I had sipped had the effect of rendering me drowsy, and I felt inclined to take a nap THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. 109 of some fifteen or twenty minutes, as is my custom after dinner. At six I had an appointment of conse- quence, which it was quite indispensable that I should keep. The policy of insurance for my dwelling house had expired the day before; and, some dispute having arisen, it was agreed that, at six, I should meet the board of directors of the company and settle the terms of a renewal. Glancing upward at the clock on the mantel-piece, (for I felt too drowsy to take out my watch), I had the pleasure to find that I had still twenty-five minutes to spare. It was half past five; I could easily walk to the insurance office in five minutes; and my usual post prandial siestas had never been known to exceed five and twenty. I felt suffi- ciently safe, therefore, and composed myself to my slumbers forthwith. Having completed them to my satisfaction, I again looked toward the time-piece and was half inclined to believe in the possibility of odd accidents when I found that, instead of my ordinary fifteen or twenty minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it still wanted seven and twenty of the appointed hour. I betook myself again to my nap, and at length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement, it still wanted twenty- seven minutes of six. I jumped up to examine the clock, and found that it had ceased running. My watch informed me that it was half past seven; and, of course, having slept two hours, I was too late for my appointment. "It will make no difference," I said; "I can call at the office in the morning and apologize; in the meantime what can be the matter with the clock ?'' Upon examining it I discovered that one of the raisin stems which I had been filliping about the room during the discourse of the Angel of no TALES. the Odd, had flown through the fractured crystal and lodging, singularly enough, in the key-hole, with an end projecting outward, had thus arrested the revolu- tion of the minute hand. "Ah!" said I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A natural accident, such as will happen now and then!" I gave the matter no farther consideration, and at my usual hour retired to bed. Here, having placed a candle upon a reading stand at the bed head, and having made an attempt to peruse some pages of the "Omnipresence of the Deity," I unfortunately fell asleep in less than twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was. My dreams were terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of the Odd. Methought he stood at the foot of the couch, drew aside the curtains, and, in the hollow, detestable tones of a rum puncheon, menaced me with the bitterest vengeance for the contempt with which I had treated him. He concluded a long harangue by taking off his funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus deluging me with an ocean of Kirschenwasser, which he poured, in a con- tinuous flood, from one of the long-necked bottles that stood him instead of an arm. My agony was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in time to perceive that a rat had run off with the lighted candle from the stand, but not in season to prevent his making his escape with it through the hole. Very soon, a strong suffocating odor assailed my nostrils; the house, I clearly perceived, was on fire. In a few minutes the blaze broke forth with violence, and in an incredibly brief period the entire building was wrapped in flames. All egress from my chamber, except through a window, THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. I 11 was cut off. The crowd, however, quickly procured and raised a long ladder. By means of this I was descending rapidly, and in apparent safety, when a huge hog, about whose rotund stomach, and indeed about whose whole air and physiognomy, there was something which reminded me of the Angel of the Odd — when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been quietly slumbering in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that his left shoulder needed scratching, and could find no more convenient rubbing post than that afforded by the foot of the ladder. In an instant I was precipitated and had the misfortune to fracture my arm. This accident, with the loss of my insurance, and with the more serious loss of my hair, the whole of which had been singed off by the fire, predisposed me to serious impressions, so that, finally, I made up my mind to take a wife. There was a rich widow disconsolate for the loss of her seventh spouse, and to her wounded spirit I offered the balm of my vows. She yielded a reluctant consent to my prayers. I knelt at her feet in gratitude and adoration. She blushed and bowed her luxuriant tresses into close contact with those supplied me, temporarily, by Grandjean. I know not how the entanglement took place, but so it was. I arose with a shining pate, wigless; she in disdain and wrath, half buried in alien hair. Thus ended my hopes of the widow by an accident which could not have been anticipated, to be sure, but which the natural sequence of events had brought about. Without despairing, however, I undertook the siege of a less implacable heart. The fates were again propitious for a brief period; but again a trivial inci- 112 TALES. dent interfered. Meeting my betrothed in an avenue thronged with the elite of the city, I was hastening to greet her with one of my best considered bows, when a small particle of some foreign matter, lodg- ing in the corner of my eye, rendered me, for the moment, completely blind. Before I could recover my sight, the lady of my love had disappeared — irreparably affronted at what she chose to consider my premeditated rudeness in passing her by ungreeted. While I stood bewildered at the suddenness of this accident, (which might have happened, neverthe- less, to any one under the sun), and while I still continued incapable of sight, I was accosted by the Angel of the Odd, who proffered me his aid with a civility which I had no reason to expect. He ex- amined my disordered eye with much gentleness and skill, informed me that I had a drop in it, and (whatever a "drop" was) took it out, and afforded me relief. I now considered it time to die, (since fortune had so determined to persecute me,) and accordingly made my way to the nearest river. Here, divesting myself of my clothes, (for there is no reason why we cannot die as we were born), I threw myself headlong into the current ; the sole witness of my fate being a soli- tary crow that had been seduced into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and so had staggered away from his fellows. No sooner had I entered the water than this bird took it into his head to fly away with the most indispensable portion of my apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the present, my suicidal design, I just slipped my nether extremities into the sleeves of my coat, and betook myself to a pursuit of the felon with all the nimbleness which the case required and its cir- THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. 113 cumstances would admit. But my evil destiny attended me still. As I ran at full speed, with my nose up in the atmosphere, and intent only upon the purloiner of my property, I suddenly perceived that my feet rested no longer upon terra-fir ma; the fact is, I had thrown myself over a precipice, and should inevitably have been dashed to pieces but for my good fortune in grasp- ing the end of a long guide-rope which depended from a passing balloon. As soon as I sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the terrific predicament in which I stood, or rather hung, I exerted all the power of my lungs to make that predicament known to the aeronaut over- head. But for a long time I exerted myself in vain. Either the fool could not, or the villain would not per- ceive me. Meantime the machine rapidly soared, while my strength even more rapidly failed. I was upon the point of resigning myself to my fate, and dropping quietly into the sea, when my spirits were suddenly revived by hearing a hollow voice from above, which seemed to be lazily humming an opera air. Looking up, I perceived the Angel of the Odd. He was leaning, with his arms folded, over the rim of the car ; and with a pipe in his mouth, at which he puffed leisurely, seemed to be upon excellent terms with himself and the universe. I was too much exhausted to speak, so I merely regarded him with an imploring air. For several minutes, although he looked me full in the nice, he said nothing. At length removing carefully his meerschaum from the right to the left corner of his mouth, he condescended to speak. "Who pe you?" he asked, "und what ter teuffel you pe do dare?" To this piece of impudence, cruelty and affectation, Vol. VI 8 114 TALES. I could reply only by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help!" "Elp!" echoed the ruffian—"not I. Dare iz te pottle — elp yourself, und pe tam'd!" With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirscheii- wasser which, dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to imagine that my brains were entirely knocked out. Impressed with this idea, I was about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost with a good grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who bade me hold on. "Old on!" he said; "don't pe in te urry — don't! Will you pe take de odder pottle, or ave you pe got zober yet and come to your zenses?" I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice — once in the negative, meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other bottle at present — and once in the affirmative, intending thus to imply that I was sober and had positively come to my senses. By these means I somewhat softened the Angel. "Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in te possibility of te odd ?'' I again nodded my head in assent. "Und you ave pelief in me, te Angel of te Odd?" I nodded again. "Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool ?'' I nodded once more. "Put your right hand into your left hand preeches' pocket, ten, in token ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd." This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it im- possible to do. In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall from the ladder, and, there- THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. 115 fore, had I let go my hold with the right hand, I must have let go altogether. In the second place, I could have no breeches until we came across the crow. I was therefore obliged, much to my regret, to shake my head in the negative — intending thus to give the Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at that moment, to comply with his very reasonable demand! No sooner, however, had I ceased shaking my head than — "Go to der teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd. In pronouncing these words, he drew a sharp knife across the guide-rope by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be precisely over my own house, (which, during my peregrinations, had been handsomely rebuilt,) it so occurred that I tumbled headlong down the ample chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth. Upon coming to my senses, (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned me,) I found it about four o'clock in the morning. I lay outstretched where I had fallen from the balloon. My head grovelled in the ashes of an extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the wreck of a small table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a miscellaneous dessert, inter- mingled with a newspaper, some broken glasses and shattered bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam Rirschenwasser. Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd. SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. [American JVbig Review, April, 1845; Broadway Journaly 11. 17.] The symposium of the preceding evening had been a little too much for my nerves. I had a wretched head-ache, and was desperately drowsy. Instead of going out, therefore, to spend the evening as I had proposed, it occurred to me that I could not do a wiser thing than just eat a mouthful of supper and go immedi- ately to bed. A light supper of course. I am exceedingly fond of Welsh rabbit. More than a pound at once, how- ever, may not at all times be advisable. Still, there can be no material objection to two. And really be- tween two and three, there is merely a single unit of difference. I ventured, perhaps, upon four. My wife will have it five ;— but, clearly, she has confounded two very distinct affairs. The abstract number, five, I am willing to admit; but, concretely, it has refer- ence to bottles of Brown Stout, without which, in the way of condiment, Welsh rabbit is to be eschewed. Having thus concluded a frugal meal, and donned my night-cap, with the serene hope of enjoying it till noon the next day, I placed my head upon the pillow, and through the aid of a capital conscience, fell into a profound slumber forthwith. But when were the hopes of humanity fulfilled ? I could not have completed my third snore when there (1.6) SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 117 came a furious ringing at the street-door bell, and then an impatient thumping at the knocker, which awakened me at once. In a minute afterward and while I was still rubbing my eyes, my wife thrust in my face a note from my old friend, Doctor Ponnonner. It ran thus: Come to me by all means, my dear good friend, as soon as you receive this. Come and help us to rejoice. At last, by long persevering diplomacy, I have gained the assent of the Directors of the City Museum, to my examination of the Mummy — you know the one I mean. I have permission to unswathe it and open it, if desirable. A few friends only will be present — you, of course. The Mummy is now at my house, and we shall begin to unroll it at eleven to-night. Yours ever, ; Ponnonner. By the time I had reached the "Ponnonner," it struck me that I was as wide awake as a man need be. I leaped out of bed in an ecstacy, overthrowing all in my way; dressed myself with a rapidity truly marvel- lous; and set off, at the top of my speed, for the Doctor's. There I found a very eager company assembled. They had been awaiting me with much impatience; the Mummy was extended upon the dining table; and the moment I entered, its examination was com- menced. It was one of a pair brought, several years pre- viously, by Captain Arthur Sabretash, a cousin of Ponnonner's, from a tomb near Eleithias, in the Lybian Mountains, a considerable distance above Thebes on the Nile. The grottoes at this point, although less 118 TALES. magnificent than the Theban sepulchres, are of higher interest, on account of affording more numerous illus- trations of the private life of the Egyptians. The chamber from which our specimen was taken, was said to be very rich in such illustrations; the walls being completely covered with fresco paintings and bas- reliefs, while statues, vases, and Mosaic work of rich patterns, indicated the vast wealth of the deceased. The treasure had been deposited in the Museum precisely in the same condition in which Captain Sab- retash had found it ; — that is to say, the coffin had not been disturbed. For eight years it had thus stood, subject only externally to public inspection. We had now, therefore, the complete Mummy at our disposal; and to those who are aware how very rarely the un- ransacked antique reaches our shores, it will be evident, at once, that we had great reason to congratulate our- selves upon our good fortune. Approaching the table, I saw on it a large box, or case, nearly seven feet long, and perhaps three feet wide, by two feet and a half deep. It was oblong — not coffin-shaped. The material was at first supposed to be the wood of the sycamore (jilatanus), but, upon cutting into it, we found it to be pasteboard, or more properly, papier maehe, composed of papyrus. It was thickly ornamented with paintings, representing funeral scenes, and other mournful subjects, interspersed among which in every variety of position, were certain series of hieroglyphical characters intended, no doubt, for the name of the departed. By good luck, Mr. Gliddon formed one of our party; and he had no difficulty in translating the letters, which were simply phonetic, and represented the word, Allamistakto. We had some difficulty in getting this case open SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 119 without injury, but, having at length accomplished the task, we came to a second, coffin-shaped, and very considerably less in size than the exterior one, but re- sembling it precisely in every other respect. The interval between the two was filled with resin, which had, in some degree, defaced the colors of the interior box. Upon opening this latter (which we did quite easily,) we arrived at a third case, also coffin-shaped, and varying from the second one in no particular, ex- cept in that of its material, which was cedar, and still emitted the peculiar and highly aromatic odor of that wood. Between the second and the third case there was no interval; the one fitting accurately within the other. Removing the third case, we discovered and took out the body itself. We had expected to find it, as usual, enveloped in frequent rolls, or bandages, of linen, but, in place of these, we found a sort of sheath, made of papyrus, and coated with a layer of plaster, thickly gilt and painted. The paintings represented sub- jects connected with the various supposed duties of the soul, and its presentation to different divinities, with numerous identical human figures, intended, very prob- ably, as portraits of the persons embalmed. Extending from head to foot, was a columnar, or perpendicular inscription in phonetic hieroglyphics, giving again his name and titles, and the names and titles of his rela- tions. Around the neck thus ensheathed, was a collar of cylindrical glass beads, diverse in color, and so arranged as to form images of deities, of the scarabaeus, etc., with the winged globe. Around the small of the waist was a similar collar, or belt. Stripping off the papyrus, we found the flesh in 120 TALES. excellent preservation, with no perceptible odor. The color was reddish. The skin was hard, smooth and glossy. The teeth and hair were in good condition. The eyes (it seemed) had been removed, and glass ones substituted, which were very beautiful and won- derfully life-like, with the exception of somewhat too determined a stare. The finger and toe nails were brilliantly gilded. Mr. Gliddon was of opinion, from the redness of the epidermis, that the embalmment had been effected altogether by asphaltum ; but, on scraping the surface with a steel instrument, and throwing into the fire some of the powder thus obtained, the flavor of camphor and other sweet-scented gums became apparent. We searched the corpse very carefully for the usual openings through which the entrails are extracted, but, to our surprise, we could discover none. No member of the party was at that period aware that entire or unopened mummies are not unfrequently met. The brain it was customary to withdraw through the nose; the intestines through an incision in the side; the body was then shaved, washed, and salted; then laid aside for several weeks, when the operation of embalming, properly so called, began. As no trace of an opening could be found, Doctor Ponnonner was preparing his instruments for dissec- tion, when I observed that it was then past two o'clock. Hereupon it was agreed to postpone the internal examination until the next evening; and we were about to separate for the present, when some one suggested an experiment or two with the Voltaic pile. The application of electricity to a Mummy three or SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 121 four thousand years old at the least, was an idea, if not very sage, still sufficiently original, and we all caught at it at once. About one tenth in earnest and nine tenths in jest, we arranged a battery in the Doctor's study, and conveyed thither the Egyptian. It was only after much trouble that we succeeded in laying bare some portions of the temporal muscle which appeared of less stony rigidity than other parts of the frame, but which, as we had anticipated, of course, gave no indication of galvanic susceptibility when brought in contact with the wire. This the first trial, indeed, seemed decisive, and, with a hearty laugh at our own absurdity, we were bidding each other good night, when my eyes, happening to fall upon those of the Mummy, were there immediately riveted in amaze- ment. My brief glance, in fact, had sufficed to assure me that the orbs which we had all supposed to be glass, and which were originally noticeable for a cer- tain wild stare, were now so far covered by the lids that only a small portion of the tunica albuginea re- mained visible. With a shout I called attention to the fact, and it became immediately obvious to all. I cannot say that I was alarmed at the phenomenon, because "alarmed" is, in my case, not exactly the word. It is possible, however, that, but for the Brown Stout, I might have been a little nervous. As for the rest of the company, they really made no attempt at concealing the downright fright which pos- sessed them. Doctor Ponnonner was a man to be pitied. Mr. Gliddon, by some peculiar process, rendered himself invisible. Mr. Silk Buckingham, I fancy, will scarcely be so bold as to deny that he made his way, upon all fours, under the table. 122 TALES. After the first shock of astonishment, however, we resolved, as a matter of course, upon farther experi- ment forthwith. Our operations were now directed against the great toe of the right foot. We made an incision over the outside of the exterior os sesamoideum pallicis pedis, and thus got at the root of the abductor muscle. Re-adjusting the battery, we now applied the fluid to the bisected nerves — when, with a move- ment of exceeding life-likeness, the Mummy first drew up its right knee so as to bring it nearly in contact with the abdomen, and then, straightening the limb with inconceivable force, bestowed a kick upon Doctor Pon- nonner, which had the effect of discharging that gen- tleman, like an arrow from a catapult, through a window into the street below. We rushed out en masse to bring in the mangled remains of the victim, but had the happiness to meet him upon the staircase, coming up in an unaccountable hurry, brimful! of the most ardent philosophy, and more than ever impressed with the necessity of prosecut- ing our experiments with rigor and with zeal. It was by his advice, accordingly, that we made, upon the spot, a profound incision into the tip of the subject's nose, while the Doctor himself, laying violent hands upon it, pulled it into vehement contact with the wire. Morally and physically — figuratively and literally— was the effect electric. In the first place, the corpse opened its eyes and winked very rapidly for several minutes, as does Mr. Barnes in the pantomime ; in the second place, it sneezed ; in the third, it sat upon end; in the fourth, it shook its fist in Doctor Ponnonner's face; in the fifth, turning to Messieurs Gliddon and Buckingham, it addressed them, in very capital Egyp- tian, thus: SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 123 '' I must say, gentlemen, that I am as much sur- prised as I am mortified, at your behaviour. Of Doctor Ponnonner nothing better was to be expected. He is a poor little fat fool who knows no better. I pity and forgive him. But you, Mr. Gliddon — and you, Silk — who have travelled and resided in Egypt until one might imagine you to the manor born — you, I say, who have been so much among us that you speak Egyp- tian fully as well, I think, as you write your mother tongue — you, whom I have always been led to regard as the firm friend of the mummies — I really did antici- pate more gentlemanly conduct from you. What am I to think of your standing quietly by and seeing me thus unhandsomely used? What am I to suppose by your permitting Tom, Dick and Harry to strip me of my coffins, and my clothes, in this wretchedly cold climate? In what light (to come to the point) am I to regard your aiding and abetting that miserable little villain, Doctor Ponnonner, in pulling me by the nose?" It will be taken for granted, no doubt, that upon hearing this speech under the circumstances, we all either made for the door, or fell into violent hysterics, or went off in a general swoon. One of these three things was, I say, to be expected. Indeed each and all of these lines of conduct might have been very plaus- ibly pursued. And, upon my word, I am at a loss to know how or why it was that we pursued neither the one or the other. But, perhaps, the true reason is to be sought in the spirit of the age, which proceeds by the rule of contraries altogether, and is now usually admitted as the solution of everything in the way of paradox and impossibility. Or, perhaps, after all, it was only the Mummy's exceedingly natural and matter- of-course air that divested his words of the terrible. 124 TALES. However this may be, the facts are clear, and no mem- ber of our party betrayed any very particular trepida- tion, or seemed to consider that any thing had gone very especially wrong. For my part I was convinced it was all right, and merely stepped aside, out of the range of the Egyptian's fist. Doctor Ponnonner thrust his hands into his breeches' pockets, looked hard at the Mummy, and grew excessively red in the face. Mr. Gliddon stroked his whiskers and drew up the collar of his shirt. Mr. Buckingham hung down his head, and put his right thumb into the left corner of his mouth. The Egyptian regarded him with a severe counte- nance for some minutes, and at length, with a sneer, said: "Why don't you speak, Mr. Buckingham? Did you hear what I asked you, or not? Do take your thumb out of your mouth!" Mr. Buckingham, hereupon, gave a slight start, took his right thumb out of the left corner of his mouth, and, by way of indemnification, inserted his left thumb in the right corner of the aperture above-mentioned. Not being able to get an answer from Mr. B., the figure turned peevishly to Mr. Gliddon, and, in a peremptory tone, demanded in general terms what we all meant. Mr. Gliddon replied at great length, in phonetics; and but for the deficiency of American printing-offices in hieroglyphical type, it would afford me much pleasure to record here, in the original, the whole of his very excellent speech. I may as well take this occasion to remark, that all the subsequent conversation in which the Mummy took a part, was carried on in primitive Egyptian, through SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 125 the medium (so far as concerned myself and other un- traTelled members of the company)—through the medium, I say, of Messieurs Gliddon and Bucking- ham, as interpreters. These gentlemen spoke the mother-tongue of the mummy with inimitable fluency and grace ; but I could not help observing that (owing, no doubt, to the introduction of images entirely modern, and, of coarse, entirely novel to the stranger,) the two travellers were reduced, occasionally, to the employ- ment of sensible forms for the purpose of conveying a particular meaning. Mr. Gliddon, at one period, for example, could not make the Egyptian comprehend the term "politics," until he sketched upon the wall, with a bit of charcoal, a little carbuncle-nosed gentleman, out at elbows, standing upon a stump, with his left leg drawn back, his right arm thrown forward, with the fist shut, the eyes rolled up toward Heaven, and the mouth open at an angle of ninety degrees. Just in the same way Mr. Buckingham failed to convey the abso- lutely modern idea, "wig," until, (at Doctor Ponnon- ner's suggestion,) he grew very pale in the face, and consented to take off his own. It will be readily understood that Mr. Gliddon's discourse turned chiefly upon the vast benefits accruing to science from the unrolling and disembowelling of mummies; apologizing, upon this score, for any dis- turbance that might have been occasioned him, in par- ticular, the individual Mummy called Allamistakeo; and concluding with a mere hint, (for it could scarcely be considered more,) that, as these little matters were now explained, it might be as well to proceed with the investigation intended. Here Doctor Ponnonner made ready his instruments. In regard to the latter suggestions of the orator, it 126 TALES. appears that Allamistakeo had certain scruples of con- science, the nature of which I did not distinctly learn; but he expressed himself satisfied with the apologies ten- dered, and, getting down from the table, shook hands with the company all round. When this ceremony was at an end, we imme- diately busied ourselves in repairing the damages which our subject had sustained from the scalpel. We sewed up the wound in his temple, bandaged his foot, and applied a square inch of black plaster to the tip of his nose. It was now observed that the Count, (this was the title, it seems, of Allamistakeo,) had a slight fit of shivering — no doubt from the cold. The doctor im- mediately repaired to his wardrobe, and soon returned with a black dress coat, made in Jennings' best man- ner, a pair of sky-blue plaid pantaloons with straps, a pink gingham chemise, a flapped vest of brocade, a white sack overcoat, a walking cane with a hook, a hat with no brim, patent-leather boots, straw-colored kid gloves, an eye-glass, a pair of whiskers, and a waterfall cravat. Owing to the disparity of size be- tween the Count and the doctor, (the proportion being as two to one,) there was some little difficulty in ad- justing these habiliments upon the person of the Egyp- tian; but when all was arranged, he might have been said to be dressed. Mr. Gliddon, therefore, gave him his arm, and led him to a comfortable chair by the fire, while the doctor rang the bell upon the spot and ordered a supply of cigars and wine. The conversation soon grew animated. Much curiosity was, of course, expressed in regard to the somewhat remarkable fact of Allamistakeo's still re- maining alive. SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 127 "Ilhould have thought," observed Mr. Bucking- ham, "that it is high time you were dead." "Why," replied the Count, very much astonished, "I am little more than seven hundred years old! My father lived a thousand, and was by no means in his dotage when he died." Here ensued a brisk series of questions and computa- tions, by means of which it became evident that the antiquity of the Mummy had been grossly misjudged. It had been five thousand and fifty years, and some months, since he had been consigned to the catacombs at Eleithias. "But my remark," resumed Mr. Buckingham, "had no reference to your age at the period of inter- ment; (I am willing to grant, in fact, that you are still a young man,) and my allusion was to the im- mensity of time during which, by your own showing, you must have been done up in asphaltum." "In what ?" said the Count. "In asphaltum," persisted Mr. B. "Ah, yes; I have some faint notion of what you mean; it might be made to answer, no doubt,— but in my time we employed scarcely anything else than the Bichloride of Mercury." "But what we are especially at a loss to under- stand," said Doctor Ponnonner, "is how it happens that, having been dead and buried in Egypt five thou- sand years ago, you are here to-day all alive, and look- ing so delightfully well." "Had I been, as you say, dead," replied the Count, "it is more than probable that dead I should still be; for I perceive you are yet in the infancy of Galvanism, and cannot accomplish with it what was a common thing among us in the old days. But the 128 TALES. fact is, I fell into catalepsy, and it was considered by my best friends that I was either dead or should be; they accordingly embalmed me at once — I presume you are aware of the chief principle of the embalming process ?'' "Why, not altogether." "Ah, I perceive ; — a deplorable condition of igno- rance! Well, I cannot enter into details just now: but it is necessary to explain that to embalm, (properly speaking,) in Egypt, was to arrest indefinitely all the animal functions subjected to the process. I use the word "animal" in its widest sense, as including the physical not more than the moral and vital being. I repeat that the leading principle of embalmment con- sisted, with us, in the immediately arresting, and hold- ing in perpetual abeyance, all the animal functions subjected to the process. To be brief, in whatever condition the individual was, at the period of embalm- ment, in that condition he remained. Now, as it is my good fortune to be of the blood of the Scarabaeus, I was embalmed alive, as you see me at present." "The blood of the Scarabaeus !" exclaimed Doctor Ponnonner. "Yes. The Scarabasus was the insignium, or the "arms," of a very distinguished and a very rare patrician family. To be "of the blood of the Scarabajus," is merely to be one of that family of which the Scarabaeus is the insignium. I speak fig- uratively." "But what has this to do with your being alive?" "Why it is the general custom, in Egypt, to deprive a corpse, before embalmment, of its bowels and brains; the race of the Scarabzi alone did not coin- cide with the custom. Had I not been a Scarabaeus, SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 129 therefore, I should have been without bowels and brains; and without either it is inconvenient to live." "I perceive that;" said Mr. Buckingham, "and I presume that all the entire mummies that come to hand are of the race of Scarabaei." "Beyond doubt." "I thought," said Mr. Gliddon very meekly, "that the Scarabaeus was one of the Egyptian gods." "One of the Egyptian what?" exclaimed the Mummy, starting to its feet. "Gods !" repeated the traveler. "Mr. Gliddon I really am astonished to hear you talk in this style," said the Count, resuming his chair. "No nation upon the face of the earth has ever ac- knowledged more than one god. The Scarabseus, the Ibis, etc., were with us, (as similar creatures have been with others) the symbols, or media, through which we offered worship to the Creator too august to be more directly approached." There was here a pause. At length the colloquy was renewed by Doctor Ponnonner. "It is not improbable, then, from what you have explained," said he, "that among the catacombs near the Nile, there may exist other mummies of the Scara- bzus tribe, in a condition of vitality." "There can be no question of it," replied the Count; "all the Scarabsi embalmed accidentally while alive, are alive now. Even some of those pur- posely so embalmed, may have been overlooked by their executors, and still remain in the tombs." "Will you be kind enough to explain," I said, "what you mean by 'purposely so embalmed ?'" "With great pleasure," answered the Mummy, after surveying me leisurely through his eye-glass — Vol. VI. - 9 13<3 TALES. for it was the first time I had ventured to address him a direct question. "With great pleasure," said he. "The usual duration of man's life, in my time, was about eight hundred years. Few men died, unless by most ex- traordinary accident, before the age of six hundred; few lived longer than a decade of centuries ; but eight were considered the natural term. After the discovery of the embalming principle, as I have already described it to you, it occurred to our philosophers that a lauda- ble curiosity might be gratified, and, at the same time, the interests of science much advanced, by living this natural term in instalments. In the case of history, indeed, experience demonstrated that something of this kind was indispensable. An historian, for example, having attained the age of five hundred, would write a book with great labor and then get himself carefully embalmed; leaving instructions to his executors prt tem., that they should cause him to be revivified after the lapse of a certain period — say five or six hundred years. Resuming existence at the expiration of this time, he would invariably find his great work con- verted into a species of hap-hazard note-book — that is to say, into a kind of literary arena for the conflict- ing guesses, riddles, and personal squabbles of whole herds of exasperated commentators. These guesses, etc., which passed under the name of annotations or emendations, were found so completely to have en- veloped, distorted, and overwhelmed the text, that the author had to go about with a lantern to discover his own book. When discovered, it was never worth the trouble of the search. After rewriting it through- out, it was regarded as the bounden duty of the historian to set himself to work, immediately, in cor- SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 131 recting from his own private knowledge and experience, the traditions of the day concerning the epoch at which he had originally lived. Now this process of re-scrip- tion and personal rectification, pursued by various individual sages, from time to time, had the effect of preventing our history from degenerating into absolute fable." "I beg your pardon," said Doctor Ponnonner at this point, laying his hand gently upon the arm of the Egyptian — "I beg your pardon, sir, but may I pre- sume to interrupt you for one moment?" "By all means, sir," replied the Count, drawing up. "I merely wished to ask you a question," said the Doctor. "You mentioned the historian's personal correction of traditions respecting his own epoch. Pray, sir, upon an average, what proportion of these Kabbala were usually found to be right?" "The Kabbala, as you properly term them, sir, were generally discovered to be precisely on a par with the facts recorded in the un-re-written histories them- selves ;— that is to say, not one individual iota of either, was ever known, under any circumstances, to be not totally and radically wrong." "But since it is quite clear," resumed the Doctor, "that at least five thousand years have elapsed since your entombment, I take it for granted that your histories at that period, if not your traditions, were sufficiently explicit on that one topic of universal inter- est, the Creation, which took place, as I presume you are aware, only about ten centuries before." "Sir !" said Count Allamistakeo. The Doctor repeated his remarks, but it was only after much additional explanation, that the foreigner 13 2 TALES. could be made to comprehend them. The latter at length said, hesitatingly: "The ideas you have suggested are to me, I confess, utterly novel. During my time I never knew any one to entertain so singular a fancy as that the universe (or this world if you will have it so) ever had a begin- ning at all. I remember, once, and once only, hearing something remotely hinted, by a man of many specula- tions, concerning the origin of the human race; and by this individual the very word Adam, (or Red Earth) which you make use of, was employed. He employed it, however, in a generical sense, with reference to the spontaneous germination from rank soil (just as a thousand of the lower genera of creatures are germi- nated)— the spontaneous germination, I say, of five vast hordes of men, simultaneously upspringing in five distinct and nearly equal divisions of the globe." Here, in general, the company shrugged their shoulders, and one or two of us touched our foreheads with a very significant air. Mr. Silk Buckingham, first glancing slightly at the occiput and then at the sinciput of Allamistakeo, spoke as follows : — "The long duration of human life in your time, together with the occasional practice of passing it, as you have explained, in instalments, must have had, indeed, a strong tendency to the general development and conglomeration of knowledge. I presume, therefore, that we are to attribute the marked inferiority of the old Egyptians in all particulars of science, when com- pared with the moderns, and more especially with the Yankees, altogether to the superior solidity of the Egyptian skull." "I confess again," replied the Count with much suavity, " that I am somewhat at a loss to comprehend SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 133 you; pray, to what particulars of science do you allude r" Here our whole party, joining voices, detailed, at great length, the assumptions of phrenology and the marvels of animal magnetism. Having heard us to an end, the Count proceeded to relate a few anecdotes, which rendered it evident that prototypes of Gall and Spurzheim had flourished and faded in Egypt so long ago as to have been nearly forgotten, and that the manoeuvres of Mcsmer were really very contemptible tricks when put in collation with the positive miracles of the Theban savans, who created lice and a great many other similar things. I here asked the Count if his people were able to calculate eclipses. He smiled rather contemptuously, and said they were. This put me a little out, but I began to make other inquiries in regard to his astronomical knowledge, when a member of the company, who had never as yet opened his mouth, whispered in my ear that, for in- formation on this head, I had better consult Ptolemy, (whoever Ptolemy is) as well as one Plutarch de facie Iun*. I then questioned the Mummy about burning-glasses and lenses, and, in general, about the manufacture of glass; but I had not made an end of my queries be- fore the silent member again touched me quietly on the elbow, and begged me for God's sake to take a peep at Diodorus Siculus. As for the Count, he merely asked me, in the way of reply, if we moderns pos- sessed any such microscopes as would enable us to cut cameos in the style of the Egyptians. While I was thinking how I should answer this question, little Doc- 134 TALES. tor Ponnonner committed himself in a very extraor- dinary way. "Look at our architecture !" he exclaimed, greatly to the indignation of both the travelers, who pinched him black and blue to no purpose. "Look," he cried with enthusiasm, "at the Bowling-Green Fountain in New York! or if this be too vast a contemplation, regard for a moment the Capitol at Washington, D. C. !" — and the good little medical man went on to detail very minutely the proportions of the fabric to which he referred. He explained that the portico alone was adorned with no less than four and twenty columns, five feet in diameter, and ten feet apart. The Count said that he regretted not being able to remember, just at that moment, the precise dimensions of any one of the principal buildings of the city of Aznac, whose foundations were laid in the night of Time, but the ruins of which were still standing, at the epoch of his entombment, in a vast plain of sand to the west- ward of Thebes. He recollected, however, (talking of porticoes) that one affixed to an inferior palace in a kind of suburb called Carnac, consisted of a hundred and forty-four columns, thirty-seven feet each in cir- cumference, and twenty-five feet apart. The approach of this portico, from the Nile, was through an avenue two miles long, composed of sphinxes, statues and obelisks, twenty, sixty, and a hundred feet in height. The palace itself (as well as he could remember) was, in one direction, two miles long, and might have been, altogether, about seven in circuit. Its walls were richly painted all over, within and without, with hieroglyphics. He would not pretend to assert that even fifty or sixty of the Doctor's Capitols might have been built within SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 13c these walls, but he was by no means sure that two or three hundred of them might not have been squeezed in with some trouble. That palace at Carnac was an insignificant little building after all. He, (the Count) however, could not conscientiously refuse to admit the ingenuity, magnificence, and superiority of the Foun- tain at the Bowling-Green, as described by the Doctor. Nothing like it, he was forced to allow, had ever been seen in Egypt or elsewhere. I here asked the Count what he had to say to our rail-roads. "Nothing," he replied, "in particular." They were rather slight, rather ill-conceived, and clumsily put together. They could not be compared, of course, with the vast, level, direct, iron-grooved causeways, upon which the Egyptians conveyed entire temples and solid obelisks of a hundred and fifty feet in altitude. I spoke of our gigantic mechanical forces. He agreed that we knew something in that way, but inquired how I should have gone to work in getting up the imposts on the lintels of even the little palace at Carnac. This question I concluded not to hear, and demanded if he had any idea of Artesian wells; but he simply raised his eye-brows; while Mr. Gliddon, winked at me very hard, and said, in a low tone, that one had been recently discovered by the engineers employed to bore for water in the Great Oasis. I then mentioned our steel; but the foreigner ele- vated his nose, and asked me if our steel could have executed the sharp carved work seen on the obelisks, and which was wrought altogether by edge-tools of copper. This disconcerted us so greatly that we thought it 136 TALES. advisable to vary the attack to Metaphysics. We sent for a copy of a book called the "Dial," and read out of it a chapter or two about something which is not very clear, but which the Bostonians call the Great Movement or Progress. The Count merely said that Great Movements were awfully common things in his day, and as for Progress it was at one time quite a nuisance, but it never pro- gressed. We then spoke of the great beauty and importance of Democracy, and were at much trouble in impressing the Count with a due sense of the advantages we en- joyed in living where there was suffrage ad libitum, and no king. He listened with marked interest, and in fact seemed not a little amused. When we had done, he said that, a great while ago, there had occurred something of a very similar sort. Thirteen Egyptian provinces deter- mined all at once to be free, and so set a magnificent example to the rest of mankind. They assembled their wise men, and concocted the most ingenious con- stitution it is possible to conceive. For a while they managed remarkably well; only their habit of bragging was prodigious. The thing ended, however, in the consolidation of the thirteen states, with some fifteen or twenty others, in the most odious and insupportable despotism that ever was heard of upon the face of the Earth. I asked what was the name of the usurping tyrant. As well as the Count could recollect, it was Mob. Not knowing what to say to this, I raised my voice, and deplored the Egyptian ignorance of steam. The Count looked at me with much astonishment, but made no answer. The silent gentleman, however, SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. 137 give me a violent nudge in the ribs with his elbows — told me I had sufficiently exposed myself for once — and demanded if I was really such a fool as not to know that the modern steam engine is derived from the invention of Hero, through Solomon de Caus. We were now in imminent danger of being discom- fited; but, as good luck would have it, Doctor Pon- nonner, having rallied, returned to our rescue, and inquired if the people of Egypt would seriously pretend to rival the moderns in the all-important particular of dress. The Count, at this, glanced downward to the straps of his pantaloons, and then, taking hold of the end of one of his coat-tails, held it up close to his eyes for some minutes. Letting it fall, at last, his mouth ex- tended itself very gradually from ear to ear; but I do not remember that he said anything in the way of reply. Hereupon we recovered our spirits, and the Doctor, approaching the Mummy with great dignity, desired it to say candidly, upon its honor as a gentleman, if the Egyptians had comprehended, at any period, the manu- facture of either Ponnonner's lozenges, or Brandreth's pills. We looked, with profound anxiety, for an answer; — but in vain. It was not forthcoming. The Egyp- tian blushed and hung down his head. Never was triumph more consummate; never was defeat borne with so ill a grace. Indeed I could not endure the spectacle of the poor Mummy's mortification. I reached my hat, bowed to him stiffly, and took leave. Upon getting home I found it past four o'clock, and went immediately to bed. It is now ten, a. m. I have been up since seven, penning these memoranda 138 TALES. for the benefit of my family and of mankind. The former I shall behold no more. My wife is a shrew. The truth is, I am heartily sick of this life and of the nineteenth century in general. I am convinced that every thing is going wrong. Besides, I am anxious to know who will be President in 2045. As soon, there- fore, as I shave and swallow a cup of coffee, I shall just step over to Ponnonner's and get embalmed for a couple of hundred years. THE POWER OF WORDS. [Democratic Review, June, 1845; Broadway yournal, II. 16.] Oinos. — Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with immortality! Agathos. — You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. Not even here is knowledge a thing of intuition. For wisdom ask of the angels freely, that it may be given! Oinos. — But in this existence, I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of all things, and thus at once happy in being cognizant of all. Agathos. — Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all were the curse of a fiend. Oinos. — But does not The Most High know all r Agathos. — That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing unknown even to Him. Oinos. — But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all things be known? Agathos. — Look down into the abysmal distances! — attempt to force the gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them thus — and thus — and thus! Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe ? — the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has appeared to blend into unity i (•39) 140 TALES. Oinos. — I clearly perceive that the infinity of mat- ter is no dream. Agathos.—There are no dreams in Aidenn — but it is here whispered that, of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford infinite springs, at which the soul may allay the thirst to know which is for ever un- quenchable within it — since to quench it would be to extinguish the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear. Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and violets, and heart's-ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple-tinted suns. Oinos. — And now, Agathos, as we proceed, in- struct me! speak to me in the earth's familiar tones! I understood not what you hinted to me, just now, of the modes or of the methods of what, during mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is not God? Agathos. — I mean to say that the Deity does not create. Oinos. — Explain! Agathos. — In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which are now, throughout the uni- verse, so perpetually springing into being, can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or immediate results of the Divine creative power. Oinos.—Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in the extreme. Agathos. — Among angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true. Oinos. — I can comprehend you thus far — that certain operations of what we term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give rise THE POWER OF WORDS. 141 to that which has all the appearance of creation. Shortly before the final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very successful experi- ments in what some philosphers were weak enough to denominate the creation of animalcule. Agathos. — The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the secondary creation — and of the : v.'v species of creation which has ever been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law. Oinos. — Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity, burst hourly forth into the heavens — are not these stars, Agathos, the immediate handi- work of the King? Agathos. — Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, we gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew. They made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid by special impulses, the subject of exact calculation — so that it became easy to determine in what precise period an impulse of given extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (for ever) every atom of the atmos- phere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no difficulty, from a given effect, under given conditions, in determining the value of the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless — and who saw 142 TALES. that a portion of these results were accurately traceable through the agency of algebraic analysis — who saw, too, the facility of the retrogradation — these men saw, at the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a capacity for indefinite progress — that there were no bounds conceivable to its advancement and applicability, except within the intellect of him who advanced or applied it. But at this point our mathematicians paused. Oinos. — And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded? Agathos. — Because there were some considerations of deep interest, beyond. It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite understanding — one to whom the perfection of the algebraic analysis lay unfolded — there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse given the air — and the ether through the air—to the remotest consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed demon- strable that every such impulse given the air, must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists within the universe ; — and the being of infinite under- standing — the being whom we have imagined — might trace the remote undulations of the impulse — trace them upward and onward in their influences upon all particles of all matter — upward and onward for ever in their modifications of old forms — or in other words in their creation of new — until he found them re- flected — unimpressive at last — back from the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such a being do this, but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded him — should one of these numberless comets, for example, be presented to his inspection — he could have no difficulty in determining, by the analytic retro- THE POWER OF WORDS. 143 gradation, to what original impulse it was due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and per- fection — this faculty of referring at all epochs, all effects to all causes — is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone — but in every variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the power itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic Intelligences. Oinos. — But you speak merely of impulses upon the air. Agathos. — In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth : — but the general proposition has refer- ence to impulses upon the ether — which, since it per- vades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great medium of creation. Omos. — Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates? Agathos. — It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all motion is thought — and the source of all thought is Oinos. — God. Agathos. — I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth which lately perished — of impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth. Oinos. — You did. Agathos. — And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an impulse on the air? Oinos. — But why, Agathos, do you weep ? — and why — oh why do your wings droop as we hover above this fair star — which is the greenest and yet most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream — but its fierce volcanoes like the passions of a turbulent heart. Agathos. — They are! — they are! This wild 144 TALES. star — it is now three centuries since with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my beloved — I spoke it — with a few passionate sen- tences — into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts. THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. [Graiam'i Magazine, July, 1845; Tie Mayflower, 1845.] In the consideration of the faculties and impulses — of the prima mobilia of the human soul, the phrenol- ogists have failed to make room for a propensity which, although obviously existing as a radical, primitive, irreducible sentiment, has been equally overlooked by all the moralists who have preceded them. In the pure arrogance of the reason, we have all overlooked it. We have suffered its existence to escape our senses, solely through want of belief— of faith ; — whether it be faith in Revelation, or faith in the Kabbala. The idea of it has never occurred to us, simply because of its supererogation. We saw no need of the impulse — for the propensity. We could not perceive its necessity. We could not understand, that is to say, we could not have understood, had the notion of this primum mobile ever obtruded itself; — we could not have understood in what manner it might be made to further the objects of humanity, either temporal or eternal. It cannot be denied that phre- nology, and in great measure, all metaphysicianism, have been concocted a priori. The intellectual or logical man, rather than the understanding or observant man, set himself to imagine designs — to dictate purposes to God. Having thus fathomed to his satisfaction the intentions of Jehovah, out of these intentions he built his innumerable systems of mind. In the matter of phre- Vol. VI. —10 (145) 146 TALES. nology, for example, we first determined, naturally enough, that it was the design of the Deity that man should eat. We then assigned to man an organ of alimentiveness, and this organ is the scourge with which the Deity compels man, will-I nill-I, into eat- ing. Secondly, having settled it to be God's will that man should continue his species, we discovered an organ of amativeness, forthwith. And so with com- bativeness, with ideality, with causality, with construc- tiveness, — so, in short, with every organ, whether representing a propensity, a moral sentiment, or a faculty of the pure intellect. And in these arrange- ments of the principia of human action, the Spurz- heimites, whether right or wrong, in part, or upon the whole, have but followed, in principle, the foot- steps of their predecessors ; deducing and establishing every thing from the preconceived destiny of man, and upon the ground of the objects of his Creator. It would have been wiser, it would have been safer to classify, (if classify we must,) upon the basis of what man usually or occasionally did, and was always occasionally doing, rather than upon the basis of what we took it for granted the Deity intended him to do. If we cannot comprehend God in his visible works, how then in his inconceivable thoughts, that call the works into being! If we cannot understand him in his objective creatures, how then in his substantive moods and phases of creation? Induction, a posteriori, would have brought phren- ology to admit, as an innate and primitive principle of human action, a paradoxical something, which we may call perverseness, for want of a more characteristic term. In the sense I intend, it is, in fact, a mobile without motive, a motive not motivirt. Through its THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. 147 promptings we act without comprehensible object; or, it this shall be understood as a contradiction in terms, we mar so far modify the proposition as to say, that through its promptings we act, for the reason that we should not. In theory, no reason can be more un- reasonable; but, in fact, there is none more strong. With certain minds, under certain conditions, it becomes absolutely irresistible. I am not more certain that I breathe, than that the assurance of the wrong or error of any action is often the one unconquerable force which impels us, and alone impels us to its prosecution. Nor will this overwhelming tendency to do wrong for the wrong's sake, admit of analysis, or resolution into ulterior elements. It is a radical, a primitive im- pulse— elementary. It will be said, I am aware, that when we persist in acts because we feel we should not persist in them, our conduct is but a modification of that which ordinarily springs from the tombativeness of phrenology. But a glance will show the fallacy of this idea. The phrenological combativeness has for its essence, the necessity of self-defence. It is our safe- guard against injury. Its principle regards our well- being; and thus the desire to be well, is excited simultaneously with its development. It follows, that the desire to be well must be excited simultaneously with any principle which shall be merely a modification of combativeness, but in the case of that something which I term pcrversencss, the desire to be well is not only not aroused, but a strongly antagonistical senti- ment exists. An appeal to one's own heart is, after all, the best reply to the sophistry just noticed. No one who trustingly consults and thoroughly questions his own soul, will be disposed to deny the entire radicalness of 148 TALES. the propensity in question. It is not more incompre- hensible than distinctive. There lives no man who at some period, has not been tormented, for example, by an earnest desire to tantalize a listener by circumlocu- tion. The speaker is aware that he displeases; he has every intention to please; he is usually curt, precise, and clear; the most laconic and luminous language is struggling for utterance upon his tongue; it is only with difficulty that he restrains himself from giving it flow ; he dreads and deprecates the anger of him whom he addresses; yet, the thought strikes him, that by certain involutions and parentheses, this anger may be engendered. That single thought is enough. The impulse increases to a wish, the wish to a desire, the desire to an uncontrollable longing, and the longing, (to the deep regret and mortification of the speaker, and in defiance of all consequences,) is indulged. We have a task before us which must be speedily performed. We know that it will be ruinous to make delay. The most important crisis of our life calls, trumpct-tongued, for immediate energy and action. We glow, we are consumed with eagerness to com- mence the work, with the anticipation of whose glori- ous result our whole souls arc on fire. It must, it shall be undertaken to-day, and yet we put it off until to-morrow; and why? There is no answer, except that we feel perverse, using the word with no comprehension of the principle. To-morrow arrives, and with it a more impatient anxiety to do our duty, but with this very increase of anxiety arrives, also, a nameless, a posi- tively fearful, because unfathomable craving for delay. This craving gathers strength as the moments fly. The last hour for action is at hand. We tremble with the violence of the conflict within us, — of the definite with THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. 149 the indefinite — of the substance with the shadow. Bat, if the contest have proceeded thus far, it is the shadow which prevails, — we struggle in vain. The clock strikes, and is the knell of our welfare. At the same time, it is the chanticleer-note to the ghost that has so long overawed us. It flies — it disappears — we are free. The old energy returns. We will labor now. Alas, it is too late! We stand upon the brink of a precipice. We peer into the abyss — we grow sick and dizzy. Our first impulse is to shrink from the danger. Unaccount- ably we remain. By slow degrees our sickness, and dizziness, and horror, become merged in a cloud of unnameable feeling. By gradations, still more imper- ceptible, this cloud assumes shape, as did the vapor from the bottle out of which arose the genius in the Arabian Nights. But out of this our cloud upon the precipice's edge, there grows into palpability, a shape, far more terrible than any genius, or any demon of a tale, and yet it is but a thought, although a fearful one, and one which chills the very marrow of our bones with the fierceness of the delight of its horror. It is merely the idea of what would be our sensations during the sweeping precipitancy of a fall from such a height. And this fall — this rushing annihilation — for the very reason that it involves that one most ghastly and loath- some of all the most ghastly and loathsome images of death and suffering which have ever presented them- selves to our imagination — for this very cause do we now the most vividly desire it. And because our rea- son violently deters us from the brink, therefore, do we the more impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him, who shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates 150 TALES. a plunge. To indulge for a moment, in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost; for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves back- ward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed. Examine these and similar actions as we will, we shall find them resulting solely from the spirit of the Perverse. We perpetrate them merely because we feel that we should not. Beyond or behind this, there is no intelligible principle: and we might, indeed, deem this perverseness a direct instigation of the arch-fiend, were it not occasionally known to operate in furtherance of good. I have said thus much, that in some measure I may answer your question — that I may explain to you why I am here — that I may assign to you something that shall have at least the faint aspect of a cause for my wearing these fetters, and for my tenanting this cell of the condemned. Had I not been thus prolix, you might either have misunderstood me altogether, or, with the rabble, have fancied me mad. As it is, you will easily perceive that I am one of the many un- counted victims of the Imp of the Perverse. It is impossible that any deed could have been wrought with a more thorough deliberation. For weeks, for months, I pondered upon the means of the murder. I rejected a thousand schemes, because their accomplishment involved a chance of detection. At length, in reading some French memoirs, I found an account of a nearly fatal illness that occurred to Madame Pilau, through the agency of a candle ac- cidentally poisoned. The idea struck my fancy at once. I knew my victim's habit of reading in bed. THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. 151 I knew, too, that his apartment was narrow and ill- ventilated. But I need not vex you with impertinent details. I need not describe the easy artifices by which I substituted, in his bed-room candle-stand, a wax- light of my own making, for the one which I there found. The next morning he was discovered dead in his bed, and the coroner's verdict was,— •, Death by the visitation of God." Having inherited his estate, all went well with me for years. The idea of detection never once entered my brain. Of the remains of the fatal taper, I had myself carefully disposed. I had left no shadow of a clue by which it would be possible to convict, or even to suspect me of the crime. It is inconceivable how rich a sentiment of satisfaction arose in my bosom as I reflected upon my absolute security. For a very long period of time, I was accustomed to revel in this senti- ment. It afforded me more real delight than all the mere worldly advantages accruing from my sin. But there arrived at length an epoch, from which the pleas- urable feeling grew, by scarcely perceptible gradations, into a haunting and harassing thought. It harassed be- cause it haunted. I could scarcely get rid of it for an instant. It is quite a common thing to be thus annoyed with the ringing in our ears, or rather in our memories, of the burthen of some ordinary song, or some unim- pressive snatches from an opera. Nor will we be the less tormented if the song in itself be good, or the opera air meritorious. In this manner, at last, I would perpetually catch myself pondering upon my security, and repeating, in a low under-tone, the phrase, "I am safe." One day, while sauntering along the streets, I arrested myself in the act of murmuring, half aloud, these cus- 15* TALES. tomary syllables. In a fit of petulance, I re-modelled them thus:— "I am safe — I am safe — yes — if I be not fool enough to make open confession !'' No sooner had I spoken these words, than I felt an icy chill creep to my heart. I had had some experience in these fits of perversity, (whose nature I have been at some trouble to explain,) and I remembered well, that in no instance, I had successfully resisted their at- tacks. And now my own casual self-suggestion, that I might possibly be fool enough to confess the murder of which I had been guilty, confronted me, as if the very ghost of him whom I had murdered — and beckoned me on to death. At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the soul. I walked vigorously — faster — still faster — at length I ran. I felt a maddening desire to shriek aloud. Every succeeding wave of thought over- whelmed me with new terror, for, alas! I well, too well understood that, to think, in my situation, was to be lost. I still quickened my pace. I bounded like a madman through the crowded thoroughfares. At length, the populace took the alarm, and pursued me. J felt then the consummation of my fate. Could I have torn out my tongue, I would have done it — but a rough voice resounded in my ears — a rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder. I turned — I gasped for breath. For a moment, I experienced all the pangs of suffocation; I became blind, and deaf, and giddy; and then, some invisible fiend, I thought, struck me with his broad palm upon the back. The long-im- prisoned secret burst forth from my soul. They say that I spoke with a distinct enunciation, but with marked emphasis and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding the brief but THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. I 53 pregnant sentences that consigned me to the hangman and to hell. Having related all that was necessary for the fullest judicial conviction, I fell prostrate in a swoon. But why shall I say more ? To-day I wear these chains, and am here / To-morrow I shall be fetterless — but where P THE FACTS IN THE CASE M. VALDEMAR. [American lVbig Revinv, December, 1845 ; Broadway Journal, II., 04.] Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of* M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not — especially under the circum- stances. Through the desire of all parties concerned, to keep the affair from the public, at least for the pres- ent, or until we had farther opportunities for investi- gation — through our endeavors to effect this — a gar- bled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepre- sentations, and, very naturally, of a great deal of dis- belief. It is now rendered necessary that I give thefactj — as far as I comprehend them myself. They are, suc- cinctly, these: My attention, for the last three years, had been repeatedly drawn to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about nine months ago, it occurred to me, quite sud- denly, that in the series of experiments made hitherto, there had been a very remarkable and most unaccount- able omission : — no person had as yet been mes- ('54) I hº V. At it war ast. Dru... n. * * * * M. VALDEMAR. 155 merized in articulo mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility to the magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any existed, it was impaired or increased by the condition; thirdly, to what extent, or for how long a period, the encroachments of Death might be arrested by the process. There were other points to be ascertained, but these most excited my curiosity — the last in especial, from the immensely important character of its consequences. In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. Ernest Valdemar, the well- known compiler of the "Bibliotheca Forensica," and author (under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the Polish versions of "Wallenstein" and "Gargan- tua." M. Valdemar, who has resided principally at Harlaem, N. Y., since the year 1839, is (or was) par- ticularly noticeable for the extreme spareness of his person — his lower limbs much resembling those of John Randolph; and, also, for the whiteness of his whiskers, in violent contrast to the blackness of his hair — the latter, in consequence, being very generally mistaken for a wig. His temperament was markedly nervous, and rendered him a good subject for mesmeric experiment. On two or three occasions I had put him to sleep with little difficulty, but was disappointed in other results which his peculiar constitution had natu- rally led me to anticipate. His will was at no period positively, or thoroughly, under my control, and in regard to clairvoyance, I could accomplish with him nothing to be relied upon. I always attributed my failure at these points to the disordered state of his health. For some months previous to my becoming 156 TALES. acquainted with him, his physicians had declared him in a confirmed phthisis. It was his custom, indeed, to speak calmly of his approaching dissolution, as of a matter neither to be avoided nor regretted. When the ideas to which I have alluded first oc- curred to me, it was of course very natural that I should think of M. Valdemar. I knew the steady philosophy of the man too well to apprehend any scruples from him; and he had no relatives in America who would be likely to interfere. I spoke to him frankly upon the subject; and, to my surprise, his in- terest seemed vividly excited. I say to my surprise; for, although he had always yielded his person freely to my experiments, he had never before given me any tokens of sympathy with what I did. His disease was of that character which would admit of exact calcula- tion in respect to the epoch of its termination in death; and it was finally arranged between us that he would send for me about twenty-four hours before the period announced by his physicians as that of his decease. It is now rather more than seven months since I received, from M. Valdemar himself, the subjoined note: My dear P , You may as well come now. D and F are agreed that I cannot hold out beyond to-morrow mid- night; and I think they have hit the time very nearly. Valdemar. I received this note within half an hour after it was written, and in fifteen minutes more I was in the dying man's chamber. I had not seen him for ten days, and was appalled by the fearful alteration which the brief interval had wrought in him. His face wore a leaden M. VALDEMAR. 157 hue; the eyes were utterly lustreless; and the emacia- tion was so extreme that the skin had been broken through by the cheek-bones. His expectoration was excessive. The pulse was barely perceptible. He retained, nevertheless, in a very remarkable manner, both his mental power and a certain degree of physical strength. He spoke with distinctness — took some palliative medicines without aid — and, when I entered the room, was occupied in penciling memoranda in a pocket-book. He was propped up in the bed by pil- lows. Doctors D and F were in attendance. After pressing Valdemar's hand, I took these gentle- men aside, and obtained from them a minute account of the patient's condition. The left lung had been for eighteen months in a semi-osseous or cartilaginous state, and was, of course, entirely useless for all purposes of vitality. The right, in its upper portion, was also par- tially, if not thoroughly, ossified, while the lower region was merely a mass of purulent tubercles, running one into another. Several extensive perforations existed; and, at one point, permanent adhesion to the ribs had taken place. These appearances in the right lobe were of comparatively recent date. The ossification had proceeded with very unusual rapidity; no sign of it had been discovered a month before, and the adhesion had only been observed during the three previous days. Independently of the phthisis, the patient was suspected of aneurism of the aorta; but on this point the osseous symptoms rendered an exact diagnosis impossible. It was the opinion of both physicians that M. Valdemar would die about midnight on the morrow (Sunday). It was then seven o'clock on Saturday evening. On quitting the invalid's bed-side to hold conversa- tion with myself, Doctors D and F had bid- IS8 TALES. den him a final farewell. It had not been their intention to return; but, at my request, they agreed to look in upon the patient about ten the next night. When they had gone, I spoke freely with M. Val- demar on the subject of his approaching dissolution, as well as, more particularly, of the experiment proposed. He still professed himself quite willing and even anxious to have it made, and urged me to commence it at once. A male and a female nurse were in attendance; but I did not feel myself altogether at liberty to engage in a task of this character with no more reliable witnesses than these people, in case of sudden accident, might prove. I therefore postponed operations until about eight the next night, when the arrival of a medical stu- dent with whom I had some acquaintance, ( Mr. Theo- dore L 1,) relieved me from farther embarrassment. It had been my design, originally, to wait for the phy- sicians; but I was induced to proceed, first, by the urgent entreaties of M. Valdemar, and secondly, by my conviction that I had not a moment to lose, as he was evidently sinking fast. Mr. L 1 was so kind as to accede to my desire that he would take notes of all that occurred; and it is from his memoranda that what I now have to re- late is, for the most part, either condensed or copied verbatim. It wanted about five minutes of eight when, taking the patient's hand, I begged him to state, as distinctly as he could, to Mr. L 1, whether he (M. Val- demar) was entirely willing that I should make the experiment of mesmerizing him in his then condition. He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, "Yes, I wish to be mesmerized '' — adding immediately afterwards, "I fear you have deferred it too long." M. VALDEMAR. 159 While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which I had already found most effectual in subduing him. He was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all my powers, no farther perceptible effect was induced until some minutes after ten o'clock, when Doctors D and F called, according to appointment. I explained to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they opposed no objection, saying that the patient was already in the death agony, I proceeded without hesitation — exchanging, how- ever, the lateral passes for downward ones, and direct- ing my gaze entirely into the right eye of the sufferer. By this time his pulse was imperceptible and his breathing was stertorous, and at intervals of half a minute. This condition was nearly unaltered for a quarter of an hour. At the expiration of this period, however, a natural although a very deep sigh escaped the bosom of the dying man, and the stertorous breathing ceased — that is to say, its stertorousness was no longer ap- parent; the intervals were undiminished. The pa- tient's extremities were of an icy coldness. At five minutes before eleven I perceived unequiv- ocal signs of the mesmeric influence. The glassy roll of the eye was changed for that expression of uneasy inward examination which is never seen except in cases of sleep-waking, and which it is quite impos- sible to mistake. With a few rapid lateral passes I made the lids quiver, as in incipient sleep, and with a few more I closed them altogether. I was not satisfied, however, with this, but continued the manipulations vigorously, and with the fullest exertion of the will, until I had completely stiffened the limbs of the slum- 160 TALES. berer, after placing them in a seemingly easy position. The legs were at full length; the arms were nearly so, and reposed on the bed at a moderate distance from the loins. The head was very slightly elevated. When I had accomplished this, it was fully mid- night, and I requested the gentlemen present to ex- amine M. Valdemar's condition. After a few experiments, they admitted him to be in an unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance. The curiosity of both the physicians was greatly excited. Dr. D resolved at once to remain with the patient all night, while Dr. F took leave with a promise to return at daybreak. Mr. L 1 and the nurses remained. We left M. Valdemar entirely undisturbed until about three o'clock in the morning, when I approached him and found him in precisely the same condition as when Dr. F went away — that is to say, he lay in the same position ; the pulse was imperceptible ; the breathing was gentle (scarcely noticeable, unless through the application of a mirror to the lips); the eyes were closed naturally; and the limbs were as rigid and as cold as marble. Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death. As I approached M. Valdemar I made a kind of half effort to influence his right arm into pursuit of my own, as I passed the latter gently to and fro above his person. In such experiments with this patient I had never perfectly succeeded before, and assuredly I had little thought of succeeding now; but to my astonish- ment, his arm very readily, although feebly, followed every direction I assigned it with mine. I determined to hazard a few words of conversation. "M. Valdemar," I said, "are you asleep?" He made no answer, but I perceived a tremor about the M. VALDEMAR. l6l lips, and was thus induced to repeat the question, again and again. At its third repetition, his whole frame was agitated by a very slight shivering; the eye- lids unclosed themselves so far as to display a white line of the ball; the lips moved sluggishly, and from between them, in a barely audible whisper, issued the words: "Yes; — asleep now. Do not wake me! — let me die so!" I here felt the limbs and found them as rigid as ever. The right arm, as before, obeyed the direction of my hand. I questioned the sleep-waker again: "Do you still feel pain in the breast, M. Valde- mar?" The answer now was immediate, but even less audible than before: "No pain — I am dying." I did not think it advisable to disturb him farther just then, and nothing more was said or done until the arrival of Dr. F , who came a little before sun- rise, and expressed unbounded astonishment at finding the patient still alive. After feeling the pulse and ap- plying a mirror to the lips, he requested me to speak to the sleep-waker again. I did so, saying: "M. Valdemar, do you still sleep?" As before, some minutes elapsed ere a reply was made; and during the interval the dying man seemed to be collecting his energies to speak. At my fourth repetition of the question, he said very faintly, almost inaudibly: "Yes; still asleep — dying." It was now the opinion, or rather the wish, of the physicians, that M. Valdemar should be suffered to remain undisturbed in his present apparently tranquil Vol. VI.—ii l6z TALES. condition, until death should supervene — and this, it was generally agreed, must now take place within a few minutes. I concluded, however, to speak to him once more, and merely repeated my previous question. While I spoke, there came a marked change over the countenance of the sleep-waker. The eyes rolled themselves slowly open, the pupils disappearing up- wardly; the skin generally assumed a cadaverous hue, resembling not so much parchment as white paper; and the circular hectic spots which, hitherto, had been strongly defined in the centre of each cheek, went out at once. I use this expression, because the suddenness of their departure put me in mind of nothing so much as the extinguishment of a candle by a puff of the breath. The upper lip, at the same time, writhed it- self away from the teeth, which it had previously cov- ered completely; while the lower jaw fell with an audible jerk, leaving the mouth widely extended, and disclosing in full view the swollen and blackened tongue. I presume that no member of the party then present had been unaccustomed to death-bed horrors; but so hideous beyond conception was the appearance of M. Valdemar at this moment, that there was a general shrinking back from the region of the bed. I now feel that I have reached a point of this narra- tive at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to pro- ceed. There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M. Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue. This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration of this period, there issued from the dis- M. VALDEMAR. 163 tended and motionless jaws a voice — such as it would be madness in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or three epithets which might be consid- ered as applicable to it in part; I might say, for ex- ample, that the sound was harsh, and broken and hollow; but the hideous whole is indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity. There were two particulars, nevertheless, which I thought then, and still think, might fairly be stated as characteristic of the intonation — as well adapted to convey some idea of its unearthly peculiarity. In the first place, the voice seemed to reach our ears — at least mine — from a rast distance, or from some deep cavern within the earth. In the second place, it impressed me (I fear, indeed, that it will be impossible to make myself com- prehended) as gelatinous or glutinous matters impress the sense of touch. I have spoken both of "sound "and of "voice." I mean to say that the sound was one of distinct—of even wonderfully, thrillingly distinct — syllabification. M. Valdemar spoke — obviously in reply to the ques- tion I had propounded to him a few minutes before. I had asked him, it will be remembered, if he still slept. He now said: "Yes ;— no"; — I have been sleeping — and now — now — / am dead." No person present even affected to deny, or at- tempted to repress, the unutterable, shuddering horror which these few words, thus uttered, were so well calculated to convey. Mr. L 1 (the student) swooned. The nurses immediately left the chamber, and could not be induced to return. My own impres- sions I would not pretend to render intelligible to the 164 TALES. reader. For nearly an hour, we busied ourselves, silently — without the utterance of a word — in en- deavors to revive Mr. L 1. When he came to himself, we addressed ourselves again to an investiga- tion of M. Valdemar's condition. It remained in all respects as I have last described it, with the exception that the mirror no longer afforded evidence of respiration. An attempt to draw blood from the arm failed. I should mention, too, that this limb was no farther subject to my will. I endeavored in vain to make it follow the direction of my hand. The only real indication, indeed, of the mesmeric in- fluence, was now found in the vibratory movement of the tongue, whenever I addressed M. Valdemar a question. He seemed to be making an effort to reply, but had no longer sufficient volition. To queries put to him by any other person than myself he seemed ut- terly insensible — although I endeavored to place each member of the company in mesmeric rapport with him. I believe that I have now related all that is necessary to an understanding of the sleep-waker's state at this epoch. Other nurses were procured; and at ten o'clock I left the house in company with the two phy- sicians and Mr. L 1. In the afternoon we all called again to see the patient. His condition remained precisely the same. We had now some discussion as to the propriety and feasibility of awakening him; but we had little difficulty in agree- ing that no good purpose would be served by so doing. It was evident that, so far, death (or what is usually termed death) had been arrested by the mesmeric process. It seemed clear to us all that to awaken M. Valdemar would be merely to insure his instant, or at least his speedy dissolution. < M. VALDEMAR. 165 From this period until the close of last week — an interval of nearly seven months — we continued to make daily calls at M. Valdemar's house, accompanied, now and then, by medical and other friends. All this time the sleeper-waker remained exactly as I have last described him. The nurses' attentions were continual. It was on Friday last that we finally resolved to make the experiment of awakening, or attempting to awaken him; and it is the (perhaps) unfortunate result of this latter experiment which has given rise to so much discussion in private circles — to so much of what I cannot help thinking unwarranted popular feeling. For the purpose of relieving M. Valdemar from the mesmeric trance, I made use of the customary passes. These, for a time, were unsuccessful. The first indi- cation of revival was afforded by a partial descent of the iris. It was observed, as especially remarkable, that this lowering of the pupil was accompanied by the profuse out-flowing of a yellowish ichor (from beneath the lids) of a pungent and highly offensive odor. It was now suggested that I should attempt to influ- ence the patient's arm, as heretofore. I made the attempt and failed. Dr. F then intimated a desire to have me put a question. I did so, as follows: "M. Valdemar, can you explain to us what are your feelings or wishes now i" There was an instant return of the hectic circles on the cheeks; the tongue quivered, or rather rolled vio- lently in the mouth (although the jaws and lips re- mained rigid as before ;) and at length the same hideous voice which I have already described, broke forth: "For God's sake ! — quick !— quick !— put me to sleep — or, quick ! — waken me !— quick !— / say to you that I am dead!" 166 TALES. I was thoroughly unnerved, and for an instant re- mained undecided what to do. At first I made an endeavor to re-compose the patient; but, failing in this through total abeyance of the will, I retraced my steps and as earnestly struggled to awaken him. In this attempt I soon saw that I should be successful — or at least I soon fancied that my success would be complete — and I am sure that all in the room were prepared to see the patient awaken. For what really occurred, however, it is quite im- possible that any human being could have been prepared. As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejacu- lations of "dead! dead!" absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at once — within the space of a single minute, or even less, shrunk — crumbled — absolutely rotted away beneath my hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome — of detestable putridity. THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. [Godty'i Ltdy'i Book, November, 1846.] The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled — but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation. He had a weak point — this Fortunato — although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this (•67) 168 TALES. respect I did not differ from him materially ; — I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him —" My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts." "How?" said he. "Amontillado? A pipe? Im- possible! And in the middle of the carnival !'' "I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without con- sulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain." "Amontillado!" "I have my doubts." "Amontillado!" "And I must satisfy them." "Amontillado!" "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me" "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry." "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own." "Come, let us go." "Whither?" THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. 169 '•To your vaults." "My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi" "I have no engagement; — come." "My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre." "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado." Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a nquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the boose. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. "The pipe," he said. 170 TALES. "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls." He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxi- cation. "Nitre?" he asked, at length. "Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough ?'' "Ugh! ugh! ugh !— ugh! ugh! ugh !— ugh! ugh! ugh !— ugh ! ugh ! ugh !— ugh ! ugh ! ugh !'' My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. "It is nothing," he said, at last. "Come," I said, with decision, " we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved ; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be respon- sible. Besides, there is Luchresi '' "Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." "True — true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily — but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps." Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould. "Drink," I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us." THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. 171 "And I to your long life." He again took my arm, and we proceeded. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family." "I forget your arms." "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are im- bedded in the heel." "And the motto?" "Nemo me impune lacessit.,, "Good !" he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. "The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough '' "It is nothing," he said; "let us goon. But first, another draught of the Medoc." I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement — a grotesque one. "You do not comprehend?" he said. "Not I," I replied. 172 TALES. "Then you are not of the brotherhood." "How?" "You are not of the masons." "Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes." "You? Impossible! A mason?" "A mason," I replied. "A sign," he said, "a sign." "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel. "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado." "Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the cata- combs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite. THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. 173 It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi '' "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed im- mediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a pad- lock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. "Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.'' "The Amontillado !" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. "True," I replied; "the Amontillado." As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throw- ing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of build- ing stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry 174 TALES. when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indi- cation I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall ; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still. It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. 17c the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunate The voice said — "Ha! ha! ha !— he! he! he !— a very good joke, indeed — an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo — he! he! he !— over our wine — he! he! he!" "The Amontillado !" I said. "He! he! he ! — he! he! he ! — yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!" "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud — "Fortunato!" No answer. I called again — "Fortunato!" No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat! THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. [ Columbian Magazine, March, 1847. — This piece afterwards in' 'corporated the Landscape Garden. ] The garden like a lady fair was cut, That lay as if she slumbered in delight, And to the open skies her eyes did shut. The a2ure fields of Heaven were 'sembled right In a large round set with the flowers of light. The flowers de luce and the round sparks of dew That hung upon their a2ure leaves did shew Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the evening blue.1 Giles Fletcher. From his cradle to his grave a gale of prosperity bore my friend Ellison along. Nor do 1 use the word pros- perity in its mere worldly sense. I mean it as synony- mous with happiness. The person of whom I speak seemed born for the purpose of foreshadowing the doc- trines of Turgot, Price, Priestley and Condorcet — of exemplifying by individual instance what has been deemed the chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of Ellison I fancy that I have seen refuted the dogma, that in man's very nature lies some hidden principle, the antagonist of bliss. An anxious exami- nation of his career has given me to understand that, in general, from the violation of a few simple laws of humanity arises the wretchedness of mankind — that as a species we have in our possession the as yet un- 1 Poe moderni2ed the spelling of this extract from Fletcher's "Christ's Victory on Earth."—Ed. (.76) THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 177 wrought elements of content — and that, even now, in the present darkness and madness of all thought on the great question of the social condition, it is not im- possible that man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions, may be happy. With opinions such as these my young friend, too, was fully imbued; and thus it is worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which distinguished his life was, in great measure, the result of preconcert. It is, indeed, evident that with less of the instinctive phi- losophy which, now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr. Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinary success of his life, into the common vortex of unhappiness which yawns for those of pre-eminent endowments. But it is by no means my object to pen an essay on happiness. The ideas of my friend may be sum- med up in a few words. He admitted but four elementary principles, or, more strictly, conditions, of bliss. That which he considered chief was (strange to say !) the simple and purely physical one of free ex- ercise in the open air. "The health," he said, "at- tainable by other means is scarcely worth the name." He instanced the ecstacies of the fox-hunter, and pointed to the tillers of the earth, the only people who, as a class, can be fairly considered happier than others. His second condition was the love of woman. His third, and most difficult of realization, was the con- tempt of ambition. His fourth was an object of un- ceasing pursuit; and he held that, other things being equal, the extent of attainable happiness was in propor- tion to the spirituality of this object. Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion of good gifts lavished upon him by fortune. In personal Vol. VI. — » 178 TALES. grace and beauty he exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order to which the acquisition of knowl- edge is less a labor than an intuition and a necessity. His family was one of the most illustrious of the em- pire. His bride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His possessions had been always ample ; but, on the attainment of his majority, it was discovered that one of those extraordinary freaks of fate had been played in his behalf which startle the whole social world amid which they occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the moral constitution of those who are their objects. It appears that, about a hundred years before Mr. Ellison's coming of age, there had died, in a remote province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This gentleman had amassed a princely fortune, and, having no imme- diate connections, conceived the whim of suffering his wealth to accumulate for a century after his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing the various modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amount to the nearest of blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at the end of the hundred years. Many attempts had been made to set aside this singular be- quest; their ex post facto character rendered them abortive ; but the attention of a jealous government was aroused, and a legislative act finally obtained, forbidding all similar accumulations. This act, however, did not prevent young Ellison from entering into possession, on his twenty-first birth-day, as the heir of his ancestor Seabright, of a fortune offour hundred and fifty millions of dollars. * 1 An incident, similar in outline to the one here imagined, oc- curred, not very long ago, in England. The name of the fortunate heir was Thelluson. I first saw an account of this matter in the THE DOMAIN OP ARNHEIM. 179 When it had become known that such was the enor- mous wealth inherited, there were, of course, many speculations as to the mode of its disposal. The mag- nitude and the immediate availability of the sum be- wildered all who thought on the topic. The possessor of any appreciable amount of money might have been imagined to perform any one of a thousand things. With riches merely surpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy to suppose him engaging to su- preme excess in the fashionable extravagances of his time — or busying himself with political intrigue — or aiming at ministerial power—-or purchasing increase of nobility — or collecting large museums of virtu — or playing the munificent patron of letters, of science, of art — or endowing, and bestowing his name upon, ex- tensive institutions of charity. But for the inconceiva- ble wealth in the actual possession of the heir, these objects and all ordinary objects were felt to afford too limited a field. Recourse was had to figures, and these but sufficed to confound. It was seen that, even at three per cent., the annual income of the inheritance amounted to no less than thirteen millions and five hun- dred thousand dollars; which was one million and one hundred and twenty-five thousand per month; or thirty-six thousand nine hundred and eighty-six per "Tour " of Prince Puckler-Muskau, who makes the sum inherited mntty millions of pounds, and justly observes that " in the contem- plation of so vast a sum, and of the services to which it might be applied, there is something even of the sublime." To suit the views of this article I have followed the Prince's statement, although a grossly exaggerated one. The germ, and, in fact, the commence- ment of the present paper was published many years ago — pre- vious to the issue of the first number of Sue's admirable "Juif Errant," which may possibly have been suggested to him by Mus- kau's account. 180 TALES. day; or one thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour; or six and twenty dollars for every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of supposition was thor- oughly broken up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were some who even conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest himself of at least one half of his fortune, as of utterly superfluous opulence — enriching whole troops of his relatives by division of his superabundance. To the nearest of these he did, in fact, abandon the very unusual wealth which was his own before the in- heritance. I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he had long made up his mind on a point which had occa- sioned so much discussion to his friends. Nor was I greatly astonished at the nature of his decision. In regard to individual charities he had satisfied his con- science. In the possibility of any improvement, prop- erly so called, being effected by man himself in the general condition of man, he had (I am sorry to con- fess it) little faith. Upon the whole, whether happily or unhappily, he was thrown back, in very great measure, upon self. In the widest and noblest sense he was a poet. He comprehended, moreover, the true character, the august aims, the supreme majesty and dignity of the poetic sentiment. The fullest, if not the sole proper satisfaction of this sentiment he instinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of beauty. Some peculiarities, either in his early education, or in the nature of his intellect, had tinged with what is termed materialism all his ethical speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which led him to believe that the most advantageous at least, if not the sole legiti- mate field for the poetic exercise, lies in the creation THE DOMAIN OP ARNHEIM. l8l of novel moods of purely physical loveliness. Thus it happened he became neither musician nor poet — if we use this latter term in its every-day accepta- tion. Or it might have been that he neglected to become either, merely in pursuance of his idea that in contempt of ambition is to be found one of the essential principles of happiness on earth. Is it not, indeed, possible that, while a high order of genius is necessarily ambitious, the highest is above that which is termed ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far greater than Milton have con- tentedly remained " mute and inglorious?" I believe that the world has never seen — and that, unless through some series of accidents goading the noblest order of mind into distasteful exertion, the world will never see — that full extent of triumphant execution, in the richer domains of art, of which the human nature is absolutely capable. Ellison became neither musician nor poet; although no man lived more profoundly enamored of music and poetry. Under other circumstances than those which invested him, it is not impossible that he would have become a painter. Sculpture, although in its nature rigorously poetical, was too limited in its extent and consequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his attention. And I have now mentioned all the provinces in which the common understanding of the poetic sentiment has declared it capable of expatiating. But Ellison maintained that the richest, the truest and most natural, if not altogether the most extensive province, had been unaccountably neglected. No definition had spoken of the landscape-gardener as of the poet; yet it seemed to my friend that the creation of the landscape-garden offered to the proper Muse 182 TALES. the most magnificent of opportunities. Here, indeed, was the fairest field for the display of imagination in the endless combining of forms of novel beauty ; the elements to enter into combination being, by a vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford. In the multiform and multicolor of the flower and the trees, he recognised the most direct and energetic efforts of Nature at physical loveliness. And in the direction or concentration of this effort — or, more properly, in its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it on earth — he perceived that he should be employing the best means — laboring to the greatest advantage — in the fulfilment, not only of his own destiny as poet, but of the august purposes for which the Deity had implanted the poetic sentiment in man. "Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it on earth." In his explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much toward solving what has always seemed to me an enigma : — I mean the fact (which none but the ignorant dispute) that no such combination of scenery exists in nature as the painter of genius may produce. No such paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed on the canvass of Claude. In the most enchanting of natural land- scapes there will always be found a defect or an excess — many excesses and defects. While the com- ponent parts may defy, individually, the highest skill of the artist, the arrangement of these parts will always be susceptible of improvement. In short, no position can be attained on the wide surface of the natural earth, from which an artistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of offence in what is termed the "composition" of the landscape. And V THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 183 yet how unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justly instructed to regard nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to improve the proportions of the lily of the valley ? The criticism which says, of sculpture or portraiture, that here nature is to be exalted or idealized rather than imitated, is in error. No pictorial or sculptural com- binations of points of human loveliness do more than approach the living and breathing beauty. In land- scape alone is the principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here, it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has led him to pronounce it true throughout all the domains of art. Having, I say, felt its truth here; for the feeling is no affecta- tion or chimera. The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations than the sentiment of his art yields the artist. He not only believes, but posi- tively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter constitute and alone constitute the true beauty. His reasons, however, have not yet been matured into expression. It remains for a more profound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to investigate and express them. Nevertheless he is confirmed in his instinctive opinions by the voice of all his brethren. Let a " composition" be defective; let an emendation be wrought in its mere arrange- ment of form; let this emendation be submitted to every artist in the world; by each will its ne- cessity be admitted. And even far more than this : — in remedy of the defective composition, each insulated member of the fraternity would have suggested the identical emendation. I repeat that in landscape arrangements alone is the 184 TALES. physical nature susceptible of exaltation, and that, there- fore, her susceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery I had been unable to solve. My own thoughts on the subject had rested in the idea that the primitive intention of nature would have so arranged the earth's surface as to have fulfilled at all points man's sense of perfection in the beautiful, the sublime, or the picturesque; but that this primitive intention had been frustrated by the known geological disturbances — dis- turbances of form and color-grouping, in the correction or allaying of which lies the soul of art. The force of this idea was much weakened, however, by the neces- sity which it involved of considering the disturbances abnormal and unadapted to any purpose. It was Elli- son who suggested that they were prognostic of death. He thus explained : — Admit the earthly immortality of man to have been the first intention. We have then the primitive arrangement of the earth's surface adapted to his blissful estate, as not existent but designed. The disturbances were the preparations for his subsequently conceived deathful condition. "Now," said my friend, "what we regard as ex- altation of the landscape may be really such, as respects only the moral or human point of vine. Each alterna- tion of the natural scenery may possibly effect a blemish in the picture, if we can suppose this picture viewed at large — in mass — from some point distant from the earth's surface, although not beyond the limits of its atmosphere. It is easily understood that what might improve a closely scrutinized detail, may at the same time injure a general or more distantly observed effect. There may be a class of beings, human once, but now invisible to humanity, to whom, from afar, our disor- der may seem order — our unpicturesqueness pictur- THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 185 esque; in a word, the earth-angels, for whose scrutiny more especially than our own, and for whose death- refined appreciation of the beautiful, may have been set in array by God the wide landscape-gardens of the hemispheres." In the course of discussion, my friend quoted some passages from a writer on landscape-gardening, who has been supposed to have well treated his theme: "There are properly but two styles of landscape- gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to recall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means to the surrounding scenery ; cultivating trees in harmony with the hills or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color which, hid from the common observer, are revealed everywhere to the experienced student of nature. The result of the nat- ural style of gardening, is seen rather in the absence of all defects and incongruities — in the prevalence of a healthy harmony and order — than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as there are different tastes to gratify. It has a certain general relation to the vari- ous styles of building. There are the stately avenues and retirements of Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed old English style, which bears some rela- tion to the domestic Gothic or English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against the abuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure ar t in a garden scene adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the eye, by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with an old moss- covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye the fair forms that have passed there in other days. The 186 TALES. slightest exhibition of art is an evidence of care and human interest." "From what I have already observed," said Ellison, "you will understand that I reject the idea, here ex- pressed, of recalling the original beauty of the country. The original beauty is never so great as that which may be introduced. Of course, everything depends on the selection of a spot with capabilities. What is said about detecting and bringing into practice nice rela- tions of size, proportion, and color, is one of those mere vaguenesses of speech which serve to veil inaccuracy of thought. The phrase quoted may mean anything, or nothing, and guides in no degree. That the true result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in the absence of all defects and incongruities than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles, is a propo- sition better suited to the grovelling apprehension of the herd than to the fervid dreams of the man of genius. The negative merit suggested appertains to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addison into apotheosis. In truth, while that virtue which consists in the mere avoidance of vice appeals directly to the understanding, and can thus be circumscribed in rule, the loftier virtue, which flames in creation, can be ap- prehended in its results alone. Rule applies but to the merits of denial — to the excellencies which refrain. Beyond these, the critical art can but suggest. We may be instructed to build a "Cato," but we are in vain told how to conceive a Parthenon or an "Inferno." The thing done, however; the wonder accomplished; and the capacity for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the negative school who, through in- ability to create, have scoffed at creation, are now found the loudest in applause. What, in its chrysalis THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 187 condition of principle, affronted their demure reason, never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment, to ex- tort admiration from their instinct of beauty. "The author's observations on the artificial style," continued Ellison, "are less objectionable. A mixture of pure art in a garden scene adds to it a great beauty. This i s just; as also is the reference to the sense of human interest. The principle expressed is incon- trovertible— but there may be something beyond it. There may be an object in keeping with the principle — an object unattainable by the means ordinarily pos- sessed by individuals, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm to the landscape-garden far surpassing that which a sense of merely human interest could be- stow. A poet, having very unusual pecuniary re- sources, might, while retaining the necessary idea of art, or culture, or, as our author expresses it, of interest, so imbue his designs at once with extent and novelty of beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual in- terference. It will be seen that, in bringing about such result, he secures all the advantages of interest or design, while relieving his work of the harshness or technicality of the worldly art. In the most rugged of wilder- nesses — in the most savage of the scenes of pure nature — there is apparent the art of a creator; yet this art is apparent to reflection only ; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now let us suppose this sense of the Almighty design to be one step depressed — to be brought into something like harmony or con- sistency with the sense of human art — to form an intermedium between the two : — let us imagine, for example, a landscape whose combined vastness and definitiveness — whose united beauty, magnificence, and strangeness, shall convey the idea of care, or culture, 188 TALES. or superintendence, on the part of beings superior, yet akin to humanity — then the sentiment of interest vs. preserved, while the art intervolved is made to assume the air of an intermediate or secondary nature — a nature which is not God, nor an emanation from God, but which still is nature in the sense of the handiwork of the angels that hover between man and God." It was in devoting his enormous wealth to the em- bodiment of a vision such as this — in the free exercise in the open air ensured by the personal superintendence of his plans — in the unceasing object which these plans afforded — in the high spirituality of the object —in the contempt of ambition which it enabled him truly to feel — in the perennial springs with which it gratified, without possibility of satiating, that one master passion of his soul, the thirst for beauty; above all, it was in the sympathy of a woman, not unwomanly, whose loveliness and love enveloped his existence in the purple atmosphere of Paradise, that Ellison thought to find, and found, exemption from the ordinary cares of humanity, with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed in the rapt day-dreams of DeStael./- I despair of conveying to the reader any distinct conception of the marvels which my friend did actually accomplish. I wish to describe, but am disheartened by the difficulty of description, and hesitate between detail and generality. Perhaps the better course will be to unite the two in their extremes. Mr. Ellison's first step regarded, of course, the choice of a locality; and scarcely had he commenced thinking on this point, when the luxuriant nature of the Pacific Islands arrested his attention. In fact, he had made up his mind for a voyage to the South Seas, when a THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 189 night's reflection induced him to abandon the idea. "Were I misanthropic," he said, " such a locale would suit me. The thoroughness of its insulation and seclu- sion, and the difficulty of ingress and egress, would in such case be the charm of charms j but as yet I am not Timon. I wish the composure but not the depression of solitude. There must remain with me a certain control over the extent and duration of my repose. There will be frequent hours in which I shall need, too, the sympathy of the poetic in what I have done. Let me seek, then, a spot not far from a populous city — whose vicinity, also, will best enable me to execute my plans." In search of a suitable place so situated, Ellison tra- velled for several years, and I was permitted to ac- company him. A thousand spots with which I was enraptured he rejected without hesitation, for reasons which satisfied me, in the end, that he was right. We came at length to an elevated table-land of wonderful fertility and beauty, affording a panoramic prospect very little less in extent than that of ^Etna, and, in Ellison's opinion as well as my own, surpassing the far-famed view from that mountain in all the true ele- ments of the picturesque. "I am aware," said the traveller, as he drew a sigh of deep delight after gazing on this scene, en- tranced, for nearly an hour, "I know that here, in my circumstances, nine-tenths of the most fastidious of men would rest content. This panorama is indeed glorious, and I should rejoice in it but for the excess of its glory. The taste of all the architects I have ever known leads them, for the sake of 'prospect,' to put up buildings on hill-tops. The error is obvious. Grandeur in any of its moods, but especially in that of 190 TALES. extent, startles, excites — and then fatigues, depresses. For the occasional scene nothing can be better — for the constant view nothing worse. And, in the con- stant view, the most objectionable phase of grandeur is that of extent; the worst phase of extent, that of dis- tance. It is at war with the sentiment and with the sense of seclusion — the sentiment and sense which we seek to humor in 'retiring to the country.' In looking from the summit of a mountain we cannot help feeling abroad in the world. The heart-sick avoid distant prospects as a pestilence." It was not until toward the close of the fourth year of our search that we found a locality with which Elli- son professed himself satisfied. It is, of course, need- less to say where was the locality. The late death of my friend, in causing his domain to be thrown open to certain classes of visiters, has given to Arnheim a species of secret and subdued if not solemn celebrity, similar in kind, although infinitely superior in degree, to that which so long distinguished Fonthill. The usual approach to Arnheim was by the river. The visiter left the city in the early morning. During the forenoon he passed between shores of a tranquil and domestic beauty, on which grazed innumerable sheep, their white fleeces spotting the vivid green of rolling meadows. By degrees the idea of cultivation subsided into that of merely pastoral care. This slowly became merged in a sense of retirement — this again in a consciousness of solitude. As the evening approached the channel grew more narrow; the banks more and more precipitous; and these latter were clothed in richer, more profuse, and more sombre foliage. The water increased in transparency. The stream took a thousand turns, so that at no moment could its gleam- THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 191 ing surface be seen for a greater distance than a furlong. At every instant the vessel seemed imprisoned within an enchanted circle, having insuperable and impenetra- ble walls of foliage, a roof of ultra-marine satin, and no floor — the keel balancing itself with admirable nicety on that of a phantom bark which, by some accident having been turned upside down, floated in constant company with the substantial one, for the purpose of sustaining it. The channel now became a gorge — although the term is somewhat inapplicable, and I employ it merely because the language has no word which better represents the most striking — not the most distinctive — feature of the scene. The char- acter of gorge was maintained only in the height and parallelism of the shores; it was lost altogether in their other traits. The walls of the ravine (through which the clear water still tranquilly flowed) arose to an ele- vation of a hundred and occasionally of a hundred and fifty feet, and inclined so much toward each other as, in a great measure, to shut out the light of day; while the long plume-like moss which depended densely from the intertwining shrubberies overhead, gave the whole chasm an air of funereal gloom. The windings became more frequent and intricate, and seemed often as if returning in upon themselves, so that the voyager had long lost all idea of direction. He was, moreover, en- wrapt in an exquisite sense of the strange. The thought of nature still remained, but her character seemed to have undergone modification: there was a weird sym- metry, a thrilling uniformity, a wizard propriety in these her works. Not a dead branch —not a withered leaf— not a stray pebble — not a patch of the brown earth was anywhere visible. The crystal water welled up against the clean granite, or the unblemished moss, 192 TALES. with a sharpness of outline that delighted while it be- wildered the eye. Having threaded the mazes of this channel for some hours, the gloom deepening every moment, a sharp and unexpected turn of the vessel brought it suddenly, as if dropped from heaven, into a circular basin of very considerable extent when compared with the width of the gorge. It was about two hundred yards in diam- eter, and girt in at all points but one — that immedi- ately fronting the vessel as it entered — by hills equal in general height to the walls of the chasm, although of a thoroughly different character. Their sides sloped from the water's edge at an angle of some forty-five degrees, and they were clothed from base to summit— not a perceptible point escaping — in a drapery of the most gorgeous flower-blossoms; scarcely a green leaf being visible among the sea of odorous and fluctuating color. This basin was of great depth, but so trans- parent was the water that the bottom, which seemed to consist of a thick mass of small round alabaster peb- bles, was distinctly visible by glimpses — that is to say, whenever the eye could permit itself not to see, far down in the inverted Heaven, the duplicate blooming of the hills. On these latter there were no trees, nor even shrubs of any size. The impressions wrought on the observer were those of richness, warmth, color, quietude, uniformity, softness, delicacy, daintiness, vo- luptuousness, and a miraculous extremeness of culture that suggested dreams of a new race of fairies, labori- ous, tasteful, magnificent and fastidious; but as the eye traced upward the myriad-tinted slope, from its sharp junction with the water to its vague termination amid the folds of overhanging cloud, it became, indeed, diffi- cult not to fancy a panoramic cataract of rubies, sap- < "X THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 193 phires, opals and golden onyxes, rolling silently out of the sky. The visiter, shooting suddenly into this bay from out the gloom of the ravine, is delighted but astounded by the full orb of the declining sun, which he had supposed to be already far below the horizon, but which now con- fronts him, and forms the sole termination of an other- wise limitless vista seen through another chasm-like rift in the hills. But here the voyager quits the vessel which has borne him so far, and descends into a light canoe of ivory, stained with Arabesque devices in vivid scarlet, both within and without. The poop and beak of this boat arise high above the water, with sharp points, so that the general form is that of an irregular crescent. It lies on the surface of the bay with the proud grace of a swan. On its ermined floor reposes a single feathery paddle of satin-wood; but no oarsman or attendant is to be seen. The guest is bidden to be of good cheer — that the fates will take care of him. The larger vessel disappears, and he is left alone in the canoe, which lies apparently motionless in the middle of the lake. While he considers what course to pursue, how- ever, he becomes aware of a gentle movement in the fairy bark. It slowly swings itself around until its prow points toward the sun. It advances with a gen- de but gradually accelerated velocity, while the slight ripples it creates seem to break about the ivory sides in divinest melody — seem to offer the only possible ex- planation of the soothing yet melancholy music for whose unseen origin the bewildered voyager looks around him in vain. The canoe steadily proceeds, and the rocky gate of the vista is approached, so that its depths can be more Vol. VI.— ij 194 TALES. distinctly seen. To the right arise a chain of lofty hills rudely and luxuriantly wooded. It is observed, however, that the trait of exquisite cleanness where the bank dips into the water, still prevails. There is not one token of the usual river debris. To the left the character of the scene is softer and more obviously arti- ficial. Here the bank slopes upward from the stream in a very gentle ascent, forming a broad sward of grass of a texture resembling nothing so much as velvet, and of a brilliancy of green which would bear comparison with the tint of the purest emerald. This plateau varies in width from ten to three hundred yards ; reach- ing from the river bank to a wall, fifty feet high, which extends, in an infinity of curves, but following the general direction of the river, until lost in the distance to the westward. This wall is of one continuous rock, and has been formed by cutting perpendicularly the once rugged precipice of the stream's southern bank; but no trace of the labor has been suffered to remain. The chiselled stone has the hue of ages and is pro- fusely overhung and overspread with the ivy, the coral honeysuckle, the eglantine, and the clematis. The uniformity of the top and bottom lines of the wall is fully relieved by occasional trees of gigantic height, growing singly or in small groups, both along the plateau and in the domain behind the wall, but in close proximity to it; so that frequent limbs (of the black walnut especially) reach over and dip their pen- dent extremities into the water. Farther back within the domain, the vision is impeded by an impenetrable screen of foliage. These things are observed during the canoe's gradual approach to what I have called the gate of the vista. On drawing nearer to this, however, its chasm-like ap- THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. 195 pearance vanishes; a new outlet from the bay is dis- covered to the left — in which direction the wall is also seen to sweep, still following the general course of the stream. Down this new opening the eye cannot penetrate very far; for the stream, accompanied by the wall, still bends to the left, until both are swallowed up by the leaves. The boat, nevertheless, glides magically into the winding channel ; and here the shore opposite the wall is found to resemble that opposite the wall in the straight vista. Lofty hills, rising occasionally into mountains, and covered with vegetation in wild luxuriance, still shut in the scene. Floating gently onward, but with a velocity slightly augmented, the voyager, after many short turns, finds his progress apparently barred by a gigantic gate or rather door of burnished gold, elaborately carved and fretted, and reflecting the direct rays of the now fast- sinking sun with an effulgence that seems to wreath the whole surrounding forest in flames. This gate is in- serted in the lofty wall; which here appears to cross the river at right angles. In a few moments, how- ever, it is seen that the main body of the water still sweeps in a gentle and extensive curve to the left, the wall following it as before, while a stream of consider- able volume, diverging from the principal one, makes its way, with a slight ripple, under the door, and is thus hidden from sight. The canoe falls into the lesser channel and approaches the gate. Its ponderous wings are slowly and musically expanded. The boat glides between them, and commences a rapid descent into a vast amphitheatre entirely begirt with purple mountains, whose bases are laved by a gleaming river throughout the full extent of their circuit. Meantime the whole 196 TALES. r Paradise of Arnheim bursts upon the view. There is a gush of entrancing melody; there is an oppressive sense of strange sweet odor ; — there is a dream-like intermingling to the eye of tall slender Eastern trees — bosky shrubberies — flocks of golden and crimson birds — lily-fringed lakes — meadows of violets, tulips, poppies, hyacinths and tuberoses — long intertangled lines of silver streamlets — and, upspringing confusedly from amid all, a mass of semi-Gothic, semi-Saracenic architecture, sustaining itself as if by miracle in mid- air, glittering in the red sunlight with a hundred oriels, minarets, and pinnacles ; and seeming the phantom handiwork, conjointly, of the Sylphs, of the Fairies, of the Genii, and of the Gnomes. MELLONTA TAUTA. [GeJey'i Lady'i Book, February, 1849.] On Board Balloon "Skylark," April 1, 2848. Now, my dear friend — now, for your sins, you are to suffer the infliction of a long gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I am going to punish you for all your impertinences by being as tedious, as discursive, as incoherent and as unsatisfactory as possible. Be- sides, here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloon, with some one or two hundred of the canaille, all bound on a pleasure excursion, (what a funny idea some people have of pleasure !) and I have no prospect of touching terra Jirma for a month at least. Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the time to correspond with one's friends. You perceive, then, why it is that I write you this letter — it is on account of my ennui and your sins. Get ready your spectacles and make up your mind to be annoyed. I mean to write at you every day during this odious voyage. Heigho! when will any Invention visit the human pericranium? Are we forever to be doomed to the thousand inconveniences of the balloon? Will nobody contrive a more expeditious mode of progress? This jog-trot movement, to my thinking, is little less than (-97) 198 TALES. positive torture. Upon my word we have not made more than a hundred miles the hour since leaving home! The very birds beat us — at least some of them. I assure you that I do not exaggerate at all. Our motion, no doubt, seems slower than it actually is — this on account of our having no objects about us by which to estimate our velocity, and on account of our going with the wind. To be sure, whenever we meet a balloon we have a chance of perceiving our rate, and then, I admit, things do not appear so very bad. Accustomed as I am to this mode of traveling, I cannot get over a kind of giddi- ness whenever a balloon passes us in a current directly overhead. It always seems to me like an immense bird of prey about to pounce upon us and carry us off in its claws. One went over us this morning about sunrise, and so nearly overhead that its drag rope actually brushed the net-work suspending our car, and caused us very serious apprehension. Our captain said that if the material of the bag had been the trumpery varnished "silk" of five hundred or a thousand years ago, we should inevitably have been damaged. This silk, as he explained it to me, was a fabric composed of the entrails of a species of earth- worm. The worm was carefully fed on mulberries — a kind of fruit resembling a water-melon — and, when sufficiently fat, was crushed in a mill. The paste thus arising was called papyrus in its primary state, and went through a variety of processes until it finally became "silk." Singular to relate, it was once much admired as an article oft female dress! Balloons were also very generally constructed from it. A better kind of material, it appears, was subsequently found in the down sur- rounding the seed-vessels of a plant vulgarly called MELLONTA TAUTA. 199 euphorbium, and at that time botanically termed milk- weed. This latter kind of silk was designated as silk- buckingham, on account of its superior durability, and was usually prepared for use by being varnished with a solution of gum caoutchouc — a substance which in some respects must have resembled the gutta percha now in common use. This caoutchouc was occasion- ally called India rubber or rubber of whist, and was no doubt one of the numerous fungi. Never tell me again that I am not at heart an antiquarian. Talking of drag-ropes — our own, it seems, has this moment knocked a man overboard from one of the small magnetic propellers that swarm in ocean below us—a boat of about six thousand tons, and, from all accounts, shamefully crowded. These diminutive barques should be prohibited from carrying more than a definite number of passengers. The man, of course, wu not permitted to get on board again, and was soon out of sight, he and his life-preserver. I rejoice, my dear friend, that we live in an age so enlightened that no such a thing as an individual is supposed to exist. It is the mass for which the true Humanity cares. By the by, talking of Humanity, do you know that our immortal Wiggins is not so original in his views of the Social Condition and so forth, as his contemporaries are inclined to suppose? Pundit assures me that the same ideas were put, nearly in the same way, about a thousand years ago, by an Irish philosopher called Furrier, on account of his keeping a retail shop for cat- peltries and other furs. Pundit knows, you know; there can be no mistake about it. How very wonder- fully do we see verified, every day, the profound observation of the Hindoo Aries Tottle (as quoted by Pundit) —" Thus must we say that, not once or 2Oo TALES. twice, or a few times, but with almost infinite repeti- tions, the same opinions come round in a circle among men.’’ April 2. — Spoke to-day the magnetic cutter in charge of the middle section of floating telegraph wires. I learn that when this species of telegraph was first put into operation by Horse, it was considered quite impossible to convey the wires over sea; but now we are at a loss to comprehend where the difficulty lay ! So wags the world. Tempora mutantur — excuse me for quoting the Etruscan. What would we do without the Atalantic telegraph (Pundit says Atlantic was the ancient adjective.) We lay to a few minutes to ask the cutter some questions, and learned, among other glorious news, that civil war is raging in Africa, while the plague is doing its good work beauti- fully both in Yurope and Ayesher. Is it not truly remarkable that, before the magnificent light shed upon philosophy by Humanity, the world was accustomed to regard War and Pestilence as calamities : Do you know that prayers were actually offered up in the ancient temples to the end that these evil: (1) might not be visited upon mankind Is it not really difficult to comprehend upon what principle of interest our forefathers acted Were they so blind as not to per- ceive that the destruction of a myriad of individuals is only so much positive advantage to the mass | April 3. — It is really a very fine amusement to ascend the rope-ladder leading to the summit of the balloon-bag and thence survey the surrounding world. From the car below, you know, the prospect is not so comprehensive—you can see little vertically. But seated here (where I write this) in the luxuriously- cushioned open piazza of the summit, one can see MELLONTA TAUTA. 201 everything that is going on in all directions. Just now, there is quite a crowd of balloons in sight, and they present a very animated appearance, while the air is resonant with the hum of so many millions of human voices. I have heard it asserted that when Yellow or (as Pundit will have it) Violet, who is supposed to have been the first aeronaut, maintained the practica- bility of traversing the atmosphere in all directions, by merely ascending or descending until a favorable current was attained, he was scarcely hearkened to at all by his cotemporaries, who looked upon him as merely an ingenious sort of madman, because the philosophers (?) of the day declared the thing im- possible. Really now it does seem to me quite unac- countable how anything so obviously feasible could have escaped the sagacity of the ancient savans. But in all ages the great obstacles to advancement in Art have been opposed by the so-called men of science. To be sure, our men of science are not quite so bigoted as those of old : — oh, I have something so queer to tell you on this topic. Do you know that it is not more than a thousand years ago since the metaphysicians consented to relieve the people of the singular fancy that there existed but two possible roads for the at- tainment of Truth! Believe it if you can! It appears that long, long ago, in the night of Time, there lived a Turkish philosopher (or Hindoo possibly) called Aries Tottle. This person introduced, or at all events propagated what was termed the deductive or a priori mode of investigation. He started with what he maintained to be axioms or "self-evident truths," and thence proceeded "logically" to results. His greatest disciples were one Neuclid and one Cant. Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme until the advent 20Z TALES. of one Hog, surnamed the " Ettrick Shepherd," who preached an entirely different system, which he called the a posteriori or /z/ductive. His plan referred altogether to Sensation. He proceeded by observing, analyzing and classifying facts — instantite nature, as they were affectedly called — into general laws. Aries Tottle's mode, in a word, was based on noumena; Hog's on phenomena. Well, so great was the admiration excited by this latter system that, at its first introduction, Aries Tottle fell into disrepute; but finally he recovered ground, and was permitted to divide the realm of Truth with his more modern rival. The savans now maintained that the Aristotelian and Baconian roads were the sole possible avenues to knowledge. "Baconian," you must know, was an adjective invented as equivalent to Hog-ian and more euphonious and dignified. Now, my dear friend, I do assure you, most positively, that I represent this matter fairly, on the soundest authority; and you can easily understand how a notion so absurd on its very face must have operated to retard the progress of all true knowledge — which makes its advances almost invariably by intuitive bounds. The ancient idea confined investigation to crawling; and for hundreds of years so great was the infatuation about Hog especially, that a virtual end was put to all thinking properly so called. No man dared utter a truth to which he felt himself indebted to his Sou: alone. It mattered not whether the truth was even demonstrably a truth, for the bullet-headed savans of the time regarded only the road by which he had at- tained it. They would not even look at the end. "Let us see the means," they cried, "the means!" If, upon investigation of the means, it was found to come MELLONTA TAUTA. 203 neither under the category Aries (that is to say Ram) nor under the category Hog, why then the savans went no farther, but pronounced the "theorist" a fool, and would have nothing to do with him or his truth. Now, it cannot be maintained, even, that by the crawling system the greatest amount of truth would be attained in any long series of ages, for the repression of imagination was an evil not to. be compensated for by any superior certainty in the ancient modes of investigation. The error of these Jurmains, these Vrinch, these Inglitch and these Amriccans, (the lat- ter, by the way, were our own immediate progeni- tors,) was an error quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who fancies that he must necessarily see an object the better the more closely he holds it to his eyes. These people blinded themselves by details. When they proceeded Hoggishly, their '' facts'' were by no means always facts — a matter of little consequence had it not been for assuming that they were facts and must be facts because they appeared to be such. When they proceeded on the path of the Ram, their course was scarcely as straight as a ram's horn, for they never had an axiom which was an axiom at all. They must have been very blind not to see this, even in their own day; for even in their own day many of the long "established " axioms had been rejected. For example — " Ex nihilo nihil fit;" "a body can- not act where it is not;" "there cannot exist anti- podes ;" "darkness cannot come out of light " — all these, and a dozen other similar propositions, formerly admitted without hesitation as axioms, were, even at the period of which I speak, seen to be untena- ble. How absurd in these people, then, to persist in putting faith in " axioms " as immutable bases of Truth! 204 TALES. But even out of the mouths of their soundest reasoners it is easy to demonstrate the futility, the impalpability of their axioms in general. Who was the soundest of their logicians? Let me see! I will go and ask Pundit and be back in a minute . . . Ah, here we have it! Here is a book written nearly a thousand years ago and lately translated from the Inglitch — which, by the way, appears to have been the rudiment of the Amriccan. Pundit says it is decidedly the cleverest ancient work on its topic, Logic. The author (who was much thought of in his day) was one Miller, or Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some importance, that he had a mill-horse called Bentham. But let us glance at the treatise! Ah! — "Ability or inability to conceive," says Mr. Mill, very properly, "is in no case to be re- ceived as a criterion of axiomatic truth." What modern in his senses would ever think of disputing this truism? The only wonder with us must be, how it happened that Mr. Mill conceived it necessary even to hint at any thing so obvious. So far good —but let us turn over another page. What have we here ? — "Contradictories cannot both be true — that is, can- not co-exist in nature." Here Mr. Mill means, for example, that a tree must be either a tree or not a tree — that it cannot be at the same time a tree and not a tree. Very well; but I ask him why. His reply is this — and never pretends to be any thing else than this— " Because it is impossible to conceive that contradictories can both be true." But this is no answer at all, by his own showing; for has he not just admitted as a truism that "ability or inability to conceive is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth." MELLONTA TAUTA. 205 Now I do not complain of these ancients so much because their logic is, by their own showing, utterly baseless, worthless and fantastic altogether, as because of their pompous and imbecile proscription of all other roads of Truth, of all other means for its attainment than the two preposterous paths — the one of creeping and the one of crawling —to which they have dared to confine the Soul that loves nothing so well as to soar. By the by, my dear friend, do you not think it would have puzzled these ancient dogmaticians to have determined by which of their two roads it was that the most important and most sublime of all their truths was, in effect, attained? I mean the truth of Gravi- tation. Newton owed it to Kepler. Kepler ad- mitted that his three laws were guessed at — these three laws of all laws which led the great Inglitch mathematician to his principle, the basis of all physical principle — to go behind which we must enter the Kingdom of Metaphysics. Kepler guessed — that is to say, imagined. He was essentially a "theorist" — that word now of so much sanctity, formerly an epithet of contempt. Would it not have puzzled these old moles, too, to have explained by which of the two "roads" a cryptographist unriddles a cryptograph of more than usual secrecy, or by which of the two roads Champollion directed mankind to those enduring and almost innumerable truths which resulted from his deciphering the Hieroglyphics? One word more on this topic and I will be done boring you. Is it not passing strange that, with their eternal prating about roads to Truth, these bigoted people missed what we now so clearly perceive to be the great highway — that of Consistency? Does it not seem singular how they should have failed to de- 206 TALES. duce from the works of God the vital fact that a per- fect consistency must be an absolute truth! How plain has been our progress since the late announce- ment of this proposition! Investigation has been taken out of the hands of the ground-moles and given, as a task, to the true and only true thinkers, the men of ardent imagination. These latter theorize. Can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which my words would be received by our progenitors were it pos- sible for them to be now looking over my shoulder? These men, I say, theorize; and their theories are simply corrected, reduced, systematized — cleared, little by little, of their dross of inconsistency — until, finally, a perfect consistency stands apparent which even the most stolid admit, because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and an unquestionable truth. April 4. — The new gas is doing wonders, in con- junction with the new improvement with gutta percha. How very safe, commodious, manageable, and in every respect convenient are our modern balloons! Here is an immense one approaching us at the rate of at least a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It seems to be crowded with people — perhaps there are three or four hundred passengers — and yet it soars to an elevation of nearly a mile, looking down upon poor us with sovereign contempt. Still a hundred or even two hundred miles an hour is slow traveling, after all. Do you remember our flight on the railroad across the Kanadaw continent ? — fully three hundred miles the hour — that was traveling. Nothing to be seen, though — nothing to be done but flirt, feast and dance in the magnificent saloons. Do you remember what an odd sensation was experienced when, by chance, we caught a glimpse of external objects while the cars MELLONTA TAUTA. 207 were in full flight? Everything seemed unique — in one mass. For my part, I cannot say but that I pre- ferred the traveling by the slow train of a hundred miles the hour. Here we were permitted to have glass windows — even to have them open — and some- thing like a distinct view of the country was attain- able. . . . Pundit says that the route for the great Kanadaw railroad must have been in some meas- ure marked out about nine hundred years ago! In fact, he goes so far as to assert that actual traces of a road are still discernible —- traces referable to a period quite as remote as that mentioned. The track, it appears, was double only; ours, you know, has twelve paths; and three or four new ones are in preparation. The ancient rails were very slight, and placed so close together as to be, according to modern notions, quite frivolous, if not dangerous in the extreme. The present width of track — fifty feet — is considered, indeed, scarcely secure enough. For my part, I make no doubt that a track of some sort must have existed in very remote times, as Pundit asserts; for nothing can be clearer, to my mind, than that, at some period — not less than seven centuries ago, certainly — the Northern and Southern Kanadaw continents were united; the Kanawdians, then, would have been driven, by necessity, to a great railroad across the continent. April 5.— I am almost devoured by ennui. Pundit is the only conversible person on board; and he, poor soul! can speak of nothing but antiquities. He has been occupied all the day in the attempt to convince me that the ancient Amriccans governed themselves ! — did ever anybody hear of such an absurdity ? — that they existed in a sort of every-man-fbr-himself con- federacy, after the fashion of the "prairie dogs" that 208 TALES. we read of in fable. He says that they started with the queerest idea conceivable, viz: that all men are bom free and equal — this in the very teeth of the laws of gradation so visibly impressed upon all things both in the moral and physical universe. Every man "voted," as they called it — that is to say, meddled with public affairs — until, it length, it was discovered that what is everybody's business is nobody's, and that the " Republic" (so the absurd thing was called) was without a government at all. It is related, however, that the first circumstance which disturbed, very par- ticularly, the self-complacency of the philosophers who constructed this "Republic," was the startling dis- covery that universal suffrage gave opportunity for fraudulent schemes, by means of which any desired number of votes might at any time be polled, without the possibility of prevention or even detection, .by any party which should be merely villanous enough not to be ashamed of the fraud. A little reflection upon this discovery sufficed to render evident the consequences, which were that rascality must predominate — in a word, that a republican government could never be anything but a rascally one. While the philosophers, however, were busied in blushing at their stupidity in not having foreseen these inevitable evils, and intent upon the invention of new theories, the matter was put to an abrupt issue by a fellow of the name of Mob, who took everything into his own hands and set up a despotism, in comparison with which those of the fabulous Zeros and Hellofagabaluses were respectable and delectable. This Mob (a foreigner, by the by), is said to have been the most odious of all men that ever encumbered the earth. He was a giant in stature — insolent, rapacious, filthy; had the gall of a bullock MELLONTA TAUTA. 209 with the heart of an hyena and the brains of a pea- cock. He died, at length, by dint of his own ener- gies, which exhausted him. Nevertheless, he had his uses, as everything has, however vile, and taught man- kind a lesson which to this day it is in no danger of forgetting — never to run directly contrary to the natural analogies. As for Republicanism, no analogy could be found for it upon the face of the earth — unless we except the case of the "prairie dogs," an exception which seems to demonstrate, if anything, that democracy is a very admirable form of govern- ment— for dogs. April 6.— Last night had a fine view of Alpha Lyr«e, whose disk, through our captain's spy-glass, subtends an angle of half a degree, looking very much as our sun does to the naked eye on a misty day. Alpha Lyrae, although so very much larger than our sun, by the by, resembles him closely as regards its spots, its atmosphere, and in many other particulars. It is only within the last century, Pundit tells me, that the binary relation existing between these two orbs be- gan even to be suspected. The evident motion of our system in the heavens was (strange to say !) referred to an orbit about a prodigious star in the centre of the galaxy. About this star, or at all events about a centre of gravity common to all the globes of the Milky Way and supposed to be near Alcyone in the Pleiades, every one of these globes was declared to be revolving, our own performing the circuit in a period of 117,000,000 of years! We, with our present lights, our vast tele- scopic improvements and so forth, of course find it difficult to comprehend the ground of an idea such as this. Its first propagator was one Mudler. He was led, we must presume, to this wild hypothesis by mere Vol. VI. —14 2IO TALES. analogy in the first instance; but, this being the case, he should have at least adhered to analogy in its de- velopment. A great central orb was, in fact, suggested; so far Mudler was consistent. This central orb, how- ever, dynamically, should have been greater than all its surrounding orbs taken together. The question might then have been asked — " Why do we not see it?" — we, especially, who occupy the mid region of the cluster — the very locality near which, at least, must be situated this inconceivable central sun. The astron- omer, perhaps, at this point, took refuge in the suggestion of non-luminosity ; and here analogy was suddenly let fall. But even admitting the central orb non-luminous, how did he manage to explain its failure to be rendered visible by the incalculable host of glorious suns glaring in all directions about it? No doubt what he finally maintained was merely a centre of gravity common to all the revolving orbs — but here again analogy must have been let fall. Our system revolves, it is true, about a common centre of gravity, but it does this in connection with and in consequence of a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances the rest of the system. The mathematical circle is a curve composed of an infinity of straight lines; but this idea of the circle — this idea of it which, in regard to all earthly geometry, we consider as merely the mathematical, in contradistinction from the practical, idea — is, in sober fact, the practical conception which alone we have any right to entertain in respect to those Titanic circles with which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose our system, with its fellows, revolving about a point in the centre of the galaxy. Let the most vigorous of human imaginations but attempt to take a single step towards the comprehension of a circuit so MELLONTA TAUTA. 211 unutterable ! It would scarcely be paradoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself, traveling forever upon the circumference of this inconceivable circle, would still forever be traveling in a straight line. That the path of our sun along such a circumference — that the direction of our system in such an orbit — would, to any human perception, deviate in the slightest de- gree from a straight line even in a million of years, is a proposition not to be entertained; and yet these ancient astronomers were absolutely cajoled, it appears, into believing that a decisive curvature had become apparent during the brief period of their astronomical history — during the mere point — during the utter nothingness of two or three thousand years! How incomprehen- sible, that considerations such as this did not at once indicate to them the true state of affairs — that of the binary revolution of our sun and Alpha Lyra around a common centre of gravity! April "J.— Continued last night our astronomical amusements. Had a fine view of the five Nepturian asteroids, and watched with much interest the putting up of a huge impost on a couple of lintels in the new temple at Daphnis in the moon. It was amusing to think that creatures so diminutive as the lunarians, and bearing so little resemblance to humanity, yet evinced a mechanical ingenuity so much superior to our own. One finds it difficult, too, to conceive the vast masses which these people handle so easily, to be as light as our reason tells us they actually are. April 8. — Eureka! Pundit is in his glory. A balloon from Kanadaw spoke us to-day and threw on board several late papers: they contain some exceed- ingly curious information relative to Kanawdian or rather to Amriccan antiquities. You know, I presume, 212 TALES. that laborers have for some months been employed in preparing the ground for a new fountain at Paradise, the emperor's principal pleasure garden. Paradise, it appears, has been, literally speaking, an island time out of mind — that is to say, its northern boundary was always (as far back as any records ex- tend) a rivulet, or rather a very narrow arm of the sea. This arm was gradually widened until it attained its present breadth — a mile. The whole length of the island is nine miles ; the breadth varies materially. The entire area (so Pundit says) was, about eight hundred years ago, densely packed with houses, some of them twenty stories high; land (for some most unaccount- able reason) being considered as especially precious just in this vicinity. The disastrous earthquake, how- ever, of the year 2050, so totally uprooted and over- whelmed the town (for it was almost too large to be called a village) that the most indefatigable of our antiquarians have never yet been able to obtain from the site any sufficient data (in the shape of coins, medals or inscriptions) wherewith to build up even the ghost of a theory concerning the manners, customs, &c. &c. &c, of the aboriginal inhabitants. Nearly all that we have hitherto known of them is, that they were a portion of the Knickerbocker tribe of savages infesting the continent at its first discovery by Recorder Riker, a knight of the Golden Fleece. They were by no means uncivilized, however, but cultivated various arts and even sciences after a fashion of their own. It is related of them that they were acute in many respects, but were oddly afflicted with a monomania for build- ing what, in the ancient Amriccan, was denominated "churches"—a kind of pagoda instituted for the worship of two idols that went by the names of MELLONTA TAUT A. 213 Wealth and Fashion. In the end, it is said, the island became, nine-tenths of it, church. The women, too, it appears, were oddly deformed by a natural pro- tuberance of the region just below the small of the back — although, most unaccountably, this deformity was looked upon altogether in the light of a beauty. One or two pictures of these singular women have, in fact, been miraculously preserved. They look very odd, very — like something between a turkey-cock and a dromedary. Well, these few details are nearly all that have de- scended to us respecting the ancient Knickerbockers. It seems, however, that while digging in the centre of the emperor's garden, (which, you know, covers the whole island,) some of the workmen unearthed a cubical and evidently chiseled block of granite, weigh- ing several hundred pounds. It was in good preserva- tion, having received, apparently, little injury from the convulsion which entombed it. On one of its surfaces was a marble slab with (only think of it !) an inscription — a legible inscription. Pundit is in ecstasies. Upon detaching the slab, a cavity appeared, containing a leaden box filled with various coins, a long scroll of names, several documents which appear to resemble newspapers, with other matters of intense interest to the antiquarian! There can be no doubt that all these are genuine Amriccan relics belonging to the tribe called Knickerbocker. The papers thrown on board our balloon are filled with fac-similes of the coins, MSS., typography, &c. &c. I copy for your amusement the Knickerbocker inscription on the marble slab : — 214 TALES. THIS CORNER STONE OF A MONUMENT TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, WAS LAID WITH APPROPRIATE CEREMONIES ON THE 19TH DAY OF OCTOBER, 1847, THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE SURRENDER OF LORD CORNWALLIS TO GENERAL WASHINGTON AT YORKTOWN. A. 0. 1781, UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT ASSOCIATION OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK. This, as I give it, is a verbatim translation done by Pundit himself, so there can be no mistake about it. From the few words thus preserved, we glean several important items of knowledge, not the least interesting of which is the fact that a thousand years ago actual monuments had fallen into disuse — as was all very proper — the people contenting themselves, as we do now, with a mere indication of the design to erect a monument at some future time ; a corner-stone being cautiously laid by itself" solitary and alone " (excuse me for quoting the great Amriccan poet Benton !) as a guar- antee of the magnanimous intention. We ascertain, too, very distinctly, from this admirable inscription, the how, as well as the where and the what, of the great surrender in question. As to the where, it was Yorktown (wherever that was), and as to the what, it MELLONTA TAUTA. 215 was General Cornwallis (no doubt some wealthy dealer in corn). He was surrendered. The inscrip- tion commemorates the surrender of— what ? — why, "of Lord Cornwallis." The only question is what could the savages wish him surrendered for. But when we remember that these savages were undoubtedly cannibals, we are led to the conclusion that they in- tended him for sausage. As to the how of the sur- render, no language can be more explicit. Lord Cornwallis was surrendered (for sausage) "under the auspices of the Washington Monument Association '' — no doubt a charitable institution for the depositing of corner-stones. — But, Heaven bless me ! what is the matter? Ah ! I see — the balloon has collapsed, and we shall have a tumble into the sea. I have, therefore, only time enough to add that, from a hasty inspection of fac-similes of newspapers, &c, I find that the great men in those days among the Amriccans were one John, a smith, and one Zacchary, a tailor. Good bye, until I see you again. Whether you ever get this letter or not is a point of little importance, as I write altogether for my own amusement. I shall cork the MS. up in a bottle however, and throw it into the sea. Yours everlastingly, Pundita. HOP-FROG. [TJu Flag of Our Union, 1849. — Grinvold is followed.'] I never knew any one so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the surest road to his favor. Thus it hap- pened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine; but certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terris. About the refinements, or, as he called them, the "ghosts" of wit, the king troubled himself very little. He had an especial admiration for breadth in a jest, and would often put up with length, for the sake of it. Over-niceties wearied him. He would have preferred Rabelais's "Garganrua," to the "Zadig" of Vol- taire: and, upon the whole, practical jokes suited his taste far better than verbal ones. At the date of my narrative, professing jesters had not altogether gone out of fashion at court. Several of the great continental "powers" still retained their "fools," who wore motley, with caps and bells, and who were expected to be always ready with sharp (*.6) HOP-FROG. 217 witticisms, at a moment's notice, in consideration of the crumbs that fell from the royal table. Our king, as a matter of course, retained his " fool.'' The fact is, he required something in the way of foUy — if only to counterbalance the heavy wisdom of the seven wise men who were his ministers — not to mention himself. His fool, or professional jester, was not only a fool, however. His value was trebled in the eyes of the ting, by the fact of his being also a dwarf and a crip- ple. Dwarfs were as common at court, in those days, as fools; and many monarchs would have found it difficult to get through their days (days are rather longer at court than elsewhere) without both a jester to laugh with, and a dwarf to laugh at. But, as I have already observed, your jesters, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, are fat, round and unwieldy — so that it was no small source of self-gratulation with our king that, in Hop-Frog (this was the fool's name,) he possessed a triplicate treasure in one person. I believe the name "Hop-Frog" was not that given to the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was con- ferred upon him, by general consent of the seven minis- ters, on account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact, Hop-Frog could only get along by a sort of inter- jectional gait— something between a leap and a wriggle — a movement that afforded illimitable amusement, and of course consolation, to the king, for (notwithstanding the protuberance of his stomach and a constitutional swelling of the head) the king, by his whole court, was accounted a capital figure. But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty 218 TALES. along a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs, enabled him to perform many feats of wonder- ful dexterity, where trees or ropes were in question, or anything else to climb. At such exercises he certainly much more resembled a squirrel, or a small monkey, than a frog. I am not able to say, with precision, from what country Hop-Frog originally came. It was from some barbarous region, however, that no person ever heard of— a vast distance from the court of our king. Hop- Frog, and a young girl very little less dwarfish than himself (although of exquisite proportions, and a mar- vellous dancer,) had been forcibly carried off* from their respective homes in adjoining provinces, and sent as presents to the king, by one of his ever-victorious generals. Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that a close intimacy arose between the two little captives. Indeed, they soon became sworn friends. Hop-Frog, who, although he made a great deal of sport, was by no means popular, had it not in his power to render Trippetta many services; but she, on account of her grace and exquisite beauty (although a dwarf,) was universally admired and petted: so she possessed much influence; and never failed to use it, whenever she could, for the benefit of Hop-Frog. On some grand state occasion— I forget what — the king determined to have a masquerade ; and when- ever a masquerade, or anything of that kind, occurred at our court, then the talents both of Hop-Frog and Trippetta were sure to be called in play. Hop-Frog, in especial, was so inventive in the way of getting up HOP Frog. Draix-n by It'ogti. , ,'i - ， HOP-FROG. 219 pageants, suggesting novel characters, and arranging costume, for masked balls, that nothing could be done, it seems, without his assistance. The night appointed for the fete had arrived. A gorgeous hall had been fitted up, under Trippetta's eye, with every kind of device which could possibly give eclat to a masquerade. The whole court was in a fever of expectation. As for costumes and characters, it might well be supposed that everybody had come to a decision on such points. Many had made up their minds (as to what riles they should assume) a week, or even a month, in advance; and, in fact, there was not a particle of indecision anywhere — except in the case of the king and his seven ministers. Why thej hesitated I never could tell, unless they did it by way of a joke. More probably, they found it difficult, on account of being so fat, to make up their minds. At all events, time flew ; and, as a last resource, they sent for Trippetta and Hop-Frog. When the two little friends obeyed the summons of the king, they found him sitting at his wine with the seven members of his cabinet council ; but the monarch appeared to be in a very ill humor. He knew that Hop-Frog was not fond of wine; for it excited the poor cripple almost to madness; and madness is no comfortable feeling. But the king loved his practical jokes, and took pleasure in forcing Hop-Frog to drink and (as the king called it) "to be merry." "Come here, Hop-Frog," said he, as the jester and his friend entered the room: "swallow this bumper to the health of your absent friends [here Hop-Frog sighed,J and then let us have the benefit of your in- vention. We want characters — characters, man — something novel — out of the way. We are wearied 220 TALES. with this everlasting sameness. Come, drink! the wine will brighten your wits." Hop-Frog endeavored, as usual, to get up a jest in reply to these advances from the king; but the effort was too much. It happened to be the poor dwarf's birthday, and the command to drink to his "absent friends" forced the tears to his eyes. Many large, bitter drops tell into the goblet as he took it, humbly, from the hand of the tyrant. "Ah! ha! ha! ha!" roared the latter, as the dwarf reluctantly drained the beaker. "See what a glass of good wine can do! Why, your eyes are shining already!" Poor fellow! his large eyes gleamed, rather than shone ; for the effect of wine on his excitable brain was not more powerful than instantaneous. He placed the goblet nervously on the table, and looked round upon the company with a half-insane stare. They all seemed highly amused at the success of the king's "joke." "And now to business," said the prime minister, a very fat man. "Yes," said the king; "come, Hop-Frog, lend us your assistance. Characters, my fine fellow; we stand in need of characters — all of us — ha ! ha ! ha!" and as this was seriously meant for a joke, his laugh was chorused by the seven. Hop-Frog also laughed, although feebly and some- what vacantly. "Come, come," said the king, impatiently, "have you nothing to suggest ?'' "I am endeavoring to think of something novel," replied the dwarf, abstractedly, for he was quite be- wildered by the wine. HOP-FROG. 2*1 "Endeavoring !" cried the tyrant, fiercely ; "what do you mean by that? Ah, I perceive. You are sulky, and want more wine. Here, drink this !" and he poured out another goblet full and offered it to the cripple, who merely gazed at it, gasping for breath. "Drink, I say!" shouted the monster, "or by the fiends—" The dwarf hesitated. The king grew purple with rage. The courtiers smirked. Trippetta, pale as a corpse, advanced to the monarch's seat, and, falling on her knees before him, implored him to spare her friend. The tyrant regarded her, for some moments, in evident wonder at her audacity. He seemed quite at a loss what to do or say — how most becomingly to express his indignation. At last, without uttering a syllable, he pushed her violently from him, and threw the contents of the brimming goblet in her face. The poor girl got up as best she could, and, not daring even to sigh, resumed her position at the foot of the table. There was a dead silence for about a half a minute, during which the falling of a leaf, or of a feather might have been heard. It was interrupted by a low, but harsh and protracted grating sound which seemed to come at once from every corner of the room. "What— what — what are you making that noise for?" demanded the king, turning furiously to the dwarf. The latter seemed to have recovered, in great meas- ure, from his intoxication, and looking fixedly but quietly into the tyrant's face, merely ejaculated: "I — I? How could it have been me?" "The sound appeared to come from without," *22 TALES. observed one of the courtiers. "I fancy it was the parrot at the window, whetting his bill upon his cage- wires. '' "True," replied the monarch, as if much relieved by the suggestion; "but, on the honor of a knight, I could have sworn that it was the gritting of this vagabond's teeth." Hereupon the dwarf laughed (the king was too confirmed a joker to object to any one's laughing), and displayed a set of large, powerful, and very re- pulsive teeth. Moreover, he avowed his perfect will- ingness to swallow as much wine as desired. The monarch was pacified; and having drained another bumper with no very perceptible ill effect, Hop-Frog entered at once, and with spirit, into the plans for the masquerade. "I cannot tell what was the association of idea," observed he, very tranquilly, and as if he had never tasted wine in his life, "but just after your majesty had struck the girl and thrown the wine in her face,— just after your majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making that odd noise outside the window, there came into my mind a capital diversion — one of my own country frolics — often enacted among us, at our masquerades: but here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately, however, it requires a company of eight persons, and — '' "Here we are !'' cried the king, laughing at his acute discovery of the coincidence; "eight to a fraction — I and my seven ministers. Come! what is the di- version?" "We call it," replied the cripple, "the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sport if well enacted." HOP-FROG. 223 "We will enact it," remarked the king, drawing himself up, and lowering his eyelids. "The beauty of the game," continued Hop-Frog, "lies in the fright it occasions among the women." "Capital!" roared in chorus the monarch and his ministry. "/will equip you as ourang-outangs," proceeded the dwarf; "leave all that to me. The resemblance shall be so striking, that the company of masqueraders will take you for real beasts — and, of course, they will be as much terrified as astonished." "O, this is exquisite!" exclaimed the king. "Hop-Frog! I will make a man of you." "The chains are for the purpose of increasing the confusion by their jangling. You are supposed to have escaped, en masse, from your keepers. Your majesty cannot conceive the effect produced, at a masquerade, by eight chained ourang-outangs, imag- ined to be real ones by most of the company; and rushing in with savage cries, among the crowd of delicately and gorgeously habited men and women. The contrast is inimitable." "It must be," said the king: and the council arose hurriedly (as it was growing late), to put in execution the scheme of Hop-Frog. His mode of equipping the party as ourang-outangs was very simple, but effective enough for his purposes. The animals in question had, at the epoch of my story, very rarely been seen in any part of the civilized world; and as the imitations made by the dwarf were sufficiently beast-like and more than sufficiently hideous, their truthfulness to nature was thus thought to be secured. The king and his ministers were first encased in 224 TALES. tight-fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were then saturated with tar. At this stage of the process, some one of the party suggested feathers; but the sug- gestion was at once overruled by the dwarf, who soon convinced the eight, by ocular demonstration, that the hair of such a brute as the ourang-outang was much more efficiently represented by fiax. A thick coating of the latter was accordingly plastered upon the coat- ing of tar. A long chain was now procured. First, it was passed about the waist of the king, and tied; then about another of the party, and also tied; then about all successively, in the same manner. When this chaining arrangement was complete, and the party stood as far apart from each other as possible, they formed a circle; and to make all things appear natural, Hop-Frog passed the residue of the chain, in two diameters, at right angles, across the circle, after the fashion adopted, at the present day, by those who capture Chimpanzees, or other large apes, in Borneo. The grand saloon in which the masquerade was to take place, was a circular room, very lofty, and receiv- ing the light of the sun only through a single window at top. At night (the season for which the apartment was especially designed,) it was illuminated principally by a large chandelier, depending by a chain from the centre of the sky-light, and lowered, or elevated, by means of a counter-balance as usual; but (in order not to look unsightly) this latter passed outside the cupola and over the roof. The arrangements of the room had been left to Trip- petta's superintendence ; but, in some particulars, it seems, she had been guided by the calmer judgment of her fHend the dwarf. At his suggestion it was that, on this occasion, the chandelier was removed. HOP-FROG. 225 Its waxen drippings (which, in weather so warm, it was quite impossible to prevent,) would have been seriously detrimental to the rich dresses of the guests, who, on account of the crowded state of the saloon, could not all be expected to keep from out its centre — that is to say, from under the chandelier. Ad- ditional sconces were set in various parts of the hall, out of the way; and a flambeau, emitting sweet odor, was placed in the right hand of each of the Caryatides that stood against the wall — some fifty or sixty alto- gether. The eight ourang-outangs, taking Hop-Frog's advice, waited patiently until midnight (when the room was thoroughly filled with masqueraders) before making their appearance. No sooner had the clock ceased striking, however, than they rushed, or rather rolled in, all together — for the impediment of their chains caused most of the party to fall, and all to stumble as they entered. The excitement among the masqueraders was pro- digious, and filled the heart of the king with glee. As had been anticipated, there were not a few of the guests who supposed the ferocious-looking creatures to be beasts of some kind in reality, if not precisely ourang- outangs. Many of the women swooned with affright; and had not the king taken the precaution to exclude all weapons from the saloon, his party might soon have expiated their frolic in their blood. As it was, a general rush was made for the doors; but the king had ordered them to be locked immediately upon his entrance; and, at the dwarf's suggestion, the keys had been deposited with him. While the tumult was at its height, and each mas- querader attentive only to his own safety — (for, in Vol. VI.—is 226 TALES. fact, there was much real danger from the pressure of the excited crowd,) — the chain by which the chan- delier ordinarily hung, and which had been drawn up on its removal, might have been seen very gradually to descend, until its hooked extremity came within three feet of the floor. Soon after this, the king and his seven friends, hav- ing reeled about the hall in all directions, found them- selves, at length, in its centre, and, of course, in immediate contact with the chain. While they were thus situated, the dwarf, who had followed closely at their heels, inciting them to keep up the commotion, took hold of their own chain at the intersection of the two portions which crossed the circle diametrically and at right angles. Here, with the rapidity of thought, he inserted the hook from which the chandelier had been wont to depend; and, in an instant, by some unseen agency, the chandelier-chain was drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of reach, and, as an inevitable consequence, to drag the ourang-outangs together in close connection, and face to face. The masqueraders, by this time, had recovered, in some measure, from their alarm; and, beginning to regard the whole matter as a well-contrived pleasantry, set up a loud shout of laughter at the predicament of the apes. "Leave them to me/" now screamed Hop-Frog, his shrill voice making itself easily heard through all the din. "Leave them to me. I fancy / know them. If I can only get a good look at them, / can soon tell who they are." Here, scrambling over the heads of the crowd, he managed to get to the wall; when, seizing a flambeau from one of the Caryatides, he returned, as he went, HOP-FROG. 227 to the centre of the room — leaped, with the agility of a monkey, upon the king's head — and thence clam- bered a few feet up the chain — holding down the torch to examine the group of ourang-outangs, and still screaming, "/shall soon find out who they are!" And now, while the whole assembly (the apes in- cluded) were convulsed with laughter, the jester sud- denly uttered a shrill whistle; when the chain flew violently up for about thirty feet—dragging with it the dismayed and struggling ourang-outangs, and leaving them suspended in mid-air between the sky-light and the floor. Hop-Frog, clinging to the chain as it rose, still maintained his relative position in respect to the eight maskers, and still (as if nothing were the matter) continued to thrust his torch down towards them, as though endeavoring to discover who they were. So thoroughly astonished were the whole company at this ascent, that a dead silence, of about a minute's duration, ensued. It was broken by just such a low, harsh, grating sound, as had before attracted the atten- tion of the king and his councillors, when the former threw the wine in the face of Trippetta. But, on the present occasion, there could be no question as to whence the sound issued. It came from the fang-like teeth of the dwarf, who ground them and gnashed them as he foamed at the mouth, and glared, with an expression of maniacal rage, into the upturned counte- nances of the king and his seven companions. "Ah, ha!" said at length the infuriated jester. "Ah, ha! I begin to see who these people are, now!" Here, pretending to scrutinize the king more closely, he held the flambeau to the flaxen coat which enveloped him, and which instantly burst into a sheet of vivid flame. In less than half a minute the whole 228 TALES. eight ourang-outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror-stricken, and without the power to render them the slightest assistance. At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out of their reach ; and, as he made this movement, the crowd again sank, for a brief instant, into silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke: “I now see diſtinctly,” he said, “what manner of people these maskers are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors — a king who does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl, and his seven councillors who abet him in the outrage. As for my- self, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester — and this is my laſt jest.” Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistin- guishable mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light. It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their escape to their own country : for neither was seen again. X-ING A PARAGRAB, ſcrivald.) As it is well known that the “wise men” . auw “from the East,” and as Mr. Touch-and-aw Bulle head came from the East, it follows that Mr. Mullet head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be needed, here we have it Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his sure future ; ſº in tº tier obstimacy of which men accused him was anytimº uº his foible, since he justiy considerøe º is for w. 1 was his strong point-he virtue; auc r wºult' is ave required all the lºgic of a Bruwºn to ºvºvº nºu that it was “anytning eise.” I have shows that Tºucº-au-gº bººt-º was a wise man; and use ºniº wansºn ºn wºn a 4- ºr prove infallibºr, was wers. aurºrº use ºrºv home for a wise meet tº Leº, º ºsewº w, tº city of Aizzanart-º-º-º-ºws, ºr * * of a simise-tººt, we wº I mus: aa ium ur lºv se lºw-e--- * * * he made u: iu mur huau v -> * * wr-e --> anºr ºr trºpºrº tºe ºr -º- ºr ---- -tuºrritº nº eanºr -º- + ºr º-º-º- - - - - tº use cºuntr * : ***** **** * * *--- * - -- - - - - - - - - --" - ---- finer" ºr * * * * * *** -, i. fºr sº hº---> *---------- - - - ---> 228 TALES. eight ourang-outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror-stricken, and without the power to render them the slightest assistance. At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out of their reach; and, as he made this movement, the crowd again sank, for a brief instant, into silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke: "I now see distinctly," he said, "whatmanner of people these maskers are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors — a king who does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl, and his seven councillors who abet him in the outrage. As for my- self, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester — and this is my last jest." Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistin- guishable mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light. It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their escape to their own country: for neither was seen again. X-ING A PARAGRAB. \Grimiold.\ As it is well known that the "wise men" came "from the East," and as Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet- head came from the East, it follows that Mr. Bullet- head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be needed, here we have it — Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his sole foible ; for in fact the obstinacy of which men accused him was anything but his foible, since he justly considered it his forte. It was his strong point — his virtue; and it would have required all the logic of a Brownson to convince him that it was "anything else." I have shown that Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man ; and the only occasion on which he did not prove infallible, was when, abandoning that legitimate home for all wise men, the East, he migrated to the city of Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or some place of a similar title, out West. I must do him the justice to say, however, that when he made up his mind finally to settle in that town, it was under the impression that no newspaper, and con- sequently no editor, existed in that particular section of the country. In establishing " The Tea-Pot," he expected to have the field all to himself. I feel con- fident he never would have dreamed of taking up his residence in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, had he (229) 230 TALES. been aware that, in Alcxandcr-the-Great-o-nopolis, there lived a gentleman named John Smith (if I rightly remember), who, for many years, had there quietly grown fat in editing and puhlishing the "Alexander- the-Great-o-nopolis Gazette." It was solely, therefore, on account of having been misinformed, that Mr. Bul- let-head found himself in Alex — suppose we call it Nopolis, "for short" — but, as he did find himself there, he determined to keep up his character for obst — for firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did more; he unpacked his press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly opposite to that of the "Gazette," and, on the third morning after his arrival, issued the first number of "The Alexan " — that is to say, of "The Nopolis Tea-Pot: "— as nearly as I can recollect, this was the name of the new paper. The leading article, I must admit, was brilliant — not to say severe. It was especially bitter about things in general —and as for the editor of " The Gazette," he was torn all to pieces in particular. Some of Bul- let-head's remarks were really so fiery that I have always, since that time, been forced to look upon John Smith, who is still alive, in the light of a salamander. I cannot pretend to give all the Tea-Pot's paragraphs verbatim, but one of them runs thus: "Oh, yes !— Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way is a genius — O, my! Oh, goodness, gracious ! — what is this world coming to? Oh, temporal Oh, Moses!" A philippic at once so caustic and so classical, alighted like a bombshell among the hitherto peaceful citizens of Nopolis. Groups of excited individuals gathered at the corners of the streets. Every one X-ING A PARAGRAB. 231 awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of the digni- fied Smith. Next morning it appeared, as follows: "We quote from ' The Tea-Pot ' of yesterday the subjoined paragraph :— 'Oh, yes! Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh, tem- pora! Oh, Moses!' Why, the fellow is all O! That accounts for his reasoning in a circle, and ex- plains why there is neither beginning nor end to him, nor to anything that he says. We really do not be- lieve the vagabond can write a word that has n't an O in it. Wonder if this O-ing is a habit of his? By the by, he came away from Down-East in a great hurry. Wonder if he O's as much there as he does here? '0/it is pitiful.'" The indignation of Mr. Bullet-head at these scan- dalous insinuations, I shall not attempt to describe. On the eel-skinning principle, however, he did not seem to be so much incensed at the attack upon his integrity as one might have imagined. It was the sneer at his style that drove him to desperation. What !— he Touch-and-go Bullet-head ! — not able to write a word without an O in it! He would soon let the jackanapes see that he was mistaken. Yes! he would let him see how much he was mistaken, the puppy! He, Touch-and-go Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would let Mr. John Smith perceive that he, Bullet- head, could indite, if it so pleased him, a whole para- graph — ay! a whole article — in which that con- temptible vowel should not once — not even once — make its appearance. But no; — that would be yielding a point to the said John Smith. He, Bullet- head, would make no alteration in his style, to suit the caprices of any Mr. Smith in Christendom. Perish so vile a thought! The O forever! He would persist 232 TALES. in the O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy could be. Burning with the chivalry of this determination, the great Touch-and-go, in the next "Tea-Pot," came out merely with this simple but resolute paragraph, in reference to this unhappy affair: "The editor of the 'Tea-Pot' has the honor of ad- vising the editor of , The Gazette' that he, (the 'Tea- Pot,') will take an opportunity in to-morrow morning's paper, of convincing him (the 'Gazette,') that he (the 'Tea-Pot,') both can and will be his own master, as regards style; — he (the 'Tea-Pot') intending to show him, (the 'Gazette,') the supreme, and indeed the withering contempt with which the criticism of him (the 'Gazette,') inspires the independent bosom of him (the , Tea-Pot,') by composing for the especial gratification (?) of him, (the 'Gazette,') a leading arti- cle, of some extent, in which the beautiful vowel — the emblem of Eternity — yet so inoffensive to the hyper-exquisite delicacy of him, (the 'Gazette,') shall most certainly not be avoided by his (the 'Gazette's') most obedient, humble servant, the 'Tea-Pot.' 'So much for Buckingham !'" In fulfilment of the awful threat thus darkly inti- mated rather than decidedly enunciated, the great Bullet-head, turning a deaf ear to all entreaties for "copy," and simply requesting his foreman to "go to the d 1," when he (the foreman) assured him (the "Tea-Pot ! ") that ;it was high time to "go to press :'' turning a deaf ear to everything, I say, the great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming the midnight oil, and absorbed in the composition of the really unparalleled paragraph, which follows: "So ho, John! how now? Told you so, you X-INQ A PARAGRAB. 233 know. Don't crow, another time, before you 're out of the woods! Does your mother know you 're out? Oh, no, no !— so go home at once, now, John, to your odious old woods of Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl, —go! You won't? Oh, poh, poh, John, don't do so! You 've got to go, you know! So go at once, and don't go slow; for no- body owns you here, you know. Oh, John, John, if you '/«»'/ go you 're no homo—no! You 're only a fowl, an owl ; a cow, a sow; a doll, a poll; a poor, old, good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or frog, come out of a Concord bog. Cool, now — cool! Do be cool, you fool! None of your crowing, old cock! Don't frown so — don't! Don't hollo, nor howl, nor growl, nor bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told you so, you know — but stop rolling your goose of an old poll about so, and go and drown your sorrows in a bowl!" Exhausted, very naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great Touch-and-go could attend to nothing farther that night. Firmly, composedly, yet with an air of conscious power, he handed his MS. to the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisurely home, retired, with ineffable dignity, to bed. Meantime the devil to whom the copy was en- trusted, ran up stairs to his "case," in an unutterable hurry, and forthwith made a commencement at "setting" the MS. "up." In the first place, of course, — as the opening word was "So"—he made a plunge into the capital S hole and came out in triumph with a capital S. Elated by this success, he immediately threw himself upon the little-a box with a blindfold impetuosity — but who shall describe his horror when his fingers 234 TALES. came up without the anticipated letter in their clutch? who shall paint his astonishment and rage at perceiving, as he rubbed his knuckles, that he had been only thumping them to no purpose, against the bottom of an empty box. Not a single little-* was in the little-« hole ; and, glancing fearfully at the capital-O partition, he found that, to his extreme terror, in a precisely similar predicament. Awe-stricken, his first impulse was to rush to the foreman. "Sir!" said he, gasping for breath, "I can't never set up nothing without no o's." "What do you mean by that ?" growled the fore- man, who was in a very ill-humor at being kept up so late. "Why, sir, there beam an o in the office, neither a big un nor a little un!" "What — what the d—1 has become of all that were in the case?" "/don't know, sir," said the boy, "but one of them ere G'zette devils is bin prowling bout here all night, and I spect he's gone and cabbaged em every one." "Dod rot him! I haven't a doubt of it," replied the foreman, getting purple with rage—" but I tell you what you do, Bob, that's a good boy — you go over the first chance you get and hook every one of their i's and (d—n them !) their izzards." "Jist so," replied Bob, with a wink and a frown — "I'llbe into em, /'// let em know a thing or two; but in de meantime, that ere paragrab? Mas go in to-night, you know — else there'll be the d—1 to pay, and —" "And not a bit of pitch hot," interrupted the foreman, with a deep sigh and an emphasis on the "bit." "Is it a very long paragraph, Bob?" X-ING A PARAGRAB. 235 "Shouldn't call it a wery long paragrab," said Bob. "Ah, well, then! do the best you can with it! we must get to press," said the foreman, who was over head and ears in work; '' just stick in some other letter for a, nobody 's going to read the fellow's trash, any how." "Wery well," replied Bob, "here goes it !" and off he hurried to his case ; muttering as he went — "Considdeble veil, them ere expressions, perticcler for a man as doese n't swar. So I 's to gouge out all their eyes, eh? and d n all their gizzards! Veil ! this here's the chap as is jist able for to do it." The fact is, that although Bob was but twelve years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of fight, in a small way. The exigency here described i s by no means of rare occurrence in printing-offices ; and I cannot tell how to account for it, but the fact is indisputable, that when the exigency does occur, it almost always happens that x is adopted as a substitute for the letter defi- cient. The true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the most superabundant letter in the cases, or at least was so in old times — long enough to render the substitu- tion in question an habitual thing with printers. As for Bob, he would have considered it heretical to em- ploy any other character, in a case of this kind, than the x to which he had been accustomed. "I shell have to x this ere paragrab," said he to himself, as he read it over in astonishment, "but it's jest about the awfulest o-vry paragrab I ever did see:" so .v it he did, unflinchingly, and to press it went x-ed. Next morning the population of Nopolis were taken 236 TALES. all aback by reading, in " The Tea-Pot " the following extraordinary leader: "Sx hx, Jxhn! hxw nxw! Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw. Dxn't crxw, anxther time, befxre yxu're xut xf the wxxds! Dxes yxur mxther btxw yxur 're xut? Xh, nx, nx! sx gx hxme at xnce, nxw, Jxhn, tx yxur xdixus xld wxxds xf Cxncxrd! Gx hxme tx yxur wxxds, xld xwl, — gx! Yxuwxn't? Xh, pxh, pxh, Jxhn, dxn't dx sx! Yxu'vegxt tx gx, yxu knxw! sx gx at xnce, and dxn't gx slxw; fxr nxbxdy xwns yxu here, yxu knxw. Xh, Jxhn, Jxhn, if yxu dxn't gx yxu're nx bxmx — nx! Yxu're xnly a fxw), an xwl; a cxw, a sxw; a dxll, a pxll; a pxxr xld gxxd-fxr-nxthing-tx-nxbxdy Ixg, dxg, hxg, xr frxg, cxme xut xf a Cxncxrd bxg. Cxxl, nxw — cxxl! Dx be cxxl, yxu fxxl! Nxne xf yxur crxwing, xld cxck! Dxn't frxwn sx — dxn't I Dxn't hxllx, nxr hxwl, nxr grxwl, nxr bxw-wxw-wxw! Gxxd Lxrd, Jxhn, hxw yxu dx lxxk! Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw, but stxp rxlling yxur gxxse xf an xld pxll abxut sx, and gx and drxwn yxur sxrrxws in a bxwl!" The uproar occasioned by this mystical and cabalis- tical article, is not to be conceived. The first definite idea entertained by the populace was, that some diabol- ical treason lay concealed in the hieroglyphics; and there was a general rush to Bullet-head's residence, for the purpose of riding him on a rail; but that gentle- man was nowhere to be found. He had vanished, no one could tell how; and not even the ghost of him has ever been seen since. Unable to discover its legitimate object, the popular fury at length subsided ; leaving behind it, by way of sediment, quite a medley of opinion about this unhappy affair. One gentleman thought the whole an X-ellent joke. X-INQ A PARAGRAB. 237 Another said that, indeed, Bullet-head had shown much X-uberance of fancy. A third admitted him X-entric, but no more. A fourth could only suppose it the Yankee's design to X-press, in a general way, his X-asperation. "Say, rather, to set an X-ample to posterity," sug- gested a fifth. That Bullet-head had been driven to an extremity, was clear to all; and in fact, since that editor could not be found, there was some talk about lynching the other one. The more common conclusion, however, was, that the affair was, simply, X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician confessed that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, everybody knew, was an unknown quantity; but in this case (as he properly observed), there was an unknown quantity of X. The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept dark "about his having X-ed the paragrab"), did not meet with so much attention as I think it deserved, although it was very openly and very fearlessly ex- pressed. He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all, that it was a clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head never could be "persvaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas rowtinually a-svigging o' that ere blessed XXX ale, and, as a naiteral con- sekvence, it just puffed him up savage, and made him X (cross) in the X-treme." THE SPHINX. [CramU] During the dread reign of the Cholera in New York, I had accepted the invitation of a relative to spend a fortnight with him in the retirement of his cottage true on the banks of the Hudson. We had here around us all the ordinary means of summer amusement; and what with rambling in the woods, sketching, boating, fishing, bathing, music and books, we should have passed the time pleasantly enough, but for the fearful intelligence which reached us every morning from the populous city. Not a day elapsed which did not bring us news of the decease of some acquaintance. Then, as the fatality increased, we learned to expect daily the loss of some friend. At length we trembled at the approach of every messenger. The very air from the South seemed to us redolent with death. That palsying thought, indeed, took entire possession of my soul. I could neither speak, think, nor dream of anything else. My host was of a less excitable temperament, and, although greatly depressed in spirits, exerted himself to sustain my own. His richly philosophical intellect was not at any time affected by unrealities. To the substances of terror he was sufficiently alive, but of its shadows he had no apprehension. His endeavors to arouse me from the condition of THE SPHINX. 239 abnormal gloom into which I had fallen, were frus- trated in great measure, by certain volumes which I had found in his library. These were of a character to force into germination whatever seeds of hereditary superstition lay latent in my bosom. I had been reading these books without his knowledge, and thus he was often at a loss to account for the forcible im- pressions which had been made upon my fancy. A favorite topic with me was the popular belief in omens — a belief which, at this one epoch of my life, I was almost seriously disposed to defend. On this subject we had long and animated discussions — he maintaining the utter groundlessness of faith in such matters — I contending that a popular sentiment aris- ing with absolute spontaneity — that is to say, without apparent traces of suggestion — had in itself the un- mistakable elements of truth, and was entitled to much respect. The fact is, that soon after my arrival at the cottage, there had occurred to myself an incident so entirely inexplicable, and which had in it so much of the por- tentous character, that I might well have been excused for regarding it as an omen. It appalled, and at the same time so confounded and bewildered me, that many days elapsed before I could make up my mind to communicate the circumstance to my friend. Near the close of an exceedingly warm day, I was sitting, book in hand, at an open window, command- ing, through a long vista of the river banks, a view of a distant hill, the face of which nearest my position, had been denuded, by what is termed a land-slide, of the principal portion of its trees. My thoughts had been long wandering from the volume before me to the gloom and desolation of the neighboring city. 240 TALES. Uplifting my eyes from the page, they fell upon the naked face of the hill, and upon an object — upon some living monster of hideous conformation, which very rapidly made its way from the summit to the bottom, disappearing finally in the dense forest below. As this creature first came in sight, I doubted my own sanity — or at least the evidence of my own eyes ; and many minutes passed before I succeeded in convincing myself that I was neither mad nor in a dream Yet when I describe the monster, (which I distinctly saw, and calmly surveyed through the whole period of its progress,) my readers, I fear, will feel more difficulty in being convinced of these points than even I did myself. Estimating the size of the creature by comparison with the diameter of the large trees near which it passed — the few giants of the forest which had escaped the fury of the land-slide — I concluded it to be far larger than any ship of the line in existence. I say ship of the line, because the shape of the monster suggested the idea — the hull of one of our seventy- fours might convey a very tolerable conception of the general outline. The mouth of the animal was situ- ated at the extremity of a proboscis some sixty or seventy feet in length, and about as thick as the body of an ordinary elephant. Near the root of this trunk was an immense quantity of black shaggy hair — more than could have been supplied by the coats of a score of buffaloes; and projecting from this hair downwardly and laterally, sprang two gleaming tusks not unlike those of the wild boar, but of infinitely greater dimen- sion. Extending forward, parallel with the proboscis, and on each side of it, was a gigantic staff, thirty or forty feet in length, formed seemingly of pure crystal, THE SPHINX. 241 and in shape a perfect prism : — it reflected in the most gorgeous manner the rays of the declining sun. The trunk was fashioned like a wedge with the apex to the earth. From it there were outspread two pairs of wings — each wing nearly one hundred yards in length — one pair being placed above the other, and all thickly covered with metal scales; each scale apparently some ten or twelve feet in diameter. I observed that the upper and lower tiers of wings were connected by a strong chain. But the chief peculiarity of this horrible thing, was the representation of a Death's Head, which covered nearly the whole surface of its breast, and which was as accurately traced in glaring white, upon the dark ground of the body, as if it had been there carefully designed by an artist. While I regarded this terrific animal, and more especially the appearance on its breast, with a feeling of horror and awe — with a sentiment of forthcoming evil, which I found it impossible to quell by any effort of the reason, I perceived the huge jaws at the extrem- ity of the proboscis, suddenly expand themselves, and from them there proceeded a sound so loud and so expressive of wo, that it struck upon my nerves like a knell, and as the monster disappeared at the foot of the hill, I fell at once, fainting, to the floor. Upon recovering, my first impulse of course was, to inform my friend of what I had seen and heard — and I can scarcely explain what feeling of repugnance it was, which, in the end, operated to prevent me. At length, one evening, some three or four days after the occurrence, we were sitting together in the room in which I had seen the apparition — I occu- pying the same seat at the same window, and he lounging on a sofa near at hand. The association of Vol. VI. —16 242 TALES. the place and time impelled me to give him an account of the phenomenon. He heard me to the end—at first laughed heartily — and then lapsed into an exces- sively grave demeanor, as if my insanity was a thing beyond suspicion. At this instant I again had a dis- tinct view of the monster — to which, with a shout of absolute terror, I now directed his attention. He looked eagerly — but maintained that he saw nothing — although I designated minutely the course of the creature, as it made its way down the naked face of the hill. I was now immeasurably alarmed, for I considered the vision either as an omen of my death, or, worse, as the forerunner of an attack of mania. I threw my- self passionately back in my chair, and for some mo- ments buried my face in my hands. When I uncovered my eyes, the apparition was no longer visible. My host, however, had in some degree resumea the calmness of his demeanor, and questioned me very rigorously in respect to the conformation of the vision- ary creature. When I had fully satisfied him on this head, he sighed deeply, as if relieved of some intolera- ble burden, and went on to talk, with what I thought a cruel calmness, of various points of speculative phi- losophy, which had heretofore formed subject of dis- cussion between us. I remember his insisting very especially (among other things) upon the idea that the principal source of error in all human investigations, lay in the liability of the understanding to under-rate or to over-value the importance of an object, through mere misadmeasurement of its propinquity. "To estimate properly, for example," he said, "the influence to be exercised on mankind at large by the thorough diffusion of Democracy, the distance of the epoch at THE SPHINX. 243 which such diffusion may possibly be accomplished, should not fail to form an item in the estimate. Yet can you tell me one writer on the subject of govern- ment, who has ever thought this particular branch of the subject worthy of discussion at all?" He here paused for a moment, stepped to a book- case, and brought forth one of the ordinary synopses of Natural History. Requesting me then to exchange seats with him, that he might better distinguish the fine print of the volume, he took my arm-chair at the window, and, opening the book, resumed his discourse very much in the same tone as before. "But for your exceeding minuteness,'' he said, "in describing the monster, I might never have had it in my power to demonstrate to you what it was. In the first place, let me read to you a school-boy account of the genus Sphinx, of the family Crtpuscularia, of the order Ltpidopttra, of the class of Insect a — or insects. The account runs thus: "Four membraneous wings covered with little colored scales of a metallic appearance; mouth forming a rolled proboscis, produced by an elongation of the jaws, upon the sides of which are found the rudiments of mandibles and downy palpi ; the inferior wings retained to the supe- rior by a stiff hair; antennae in the form of an elongated club, prismatic; abdomen pointed. The Death' s-headed Sphinx has occasioned much terror among the vulgar, at times, by the melancholy kind of cry which it utters, and the insignia of death which it wears upon its cors- let." He here closed the book and leaned forward in the chair, placing himself accurately in the position which I had occupied at the moment of beholding "the monster." 244 TALES. "Ah, here it is !'' he presently exclaimed — " it is reascending the face of the hill, and a very remarkable looking creature, I admit it to be. Still, it is by no means so large or so distant as you imagined it; for the fact is that, as it wriggles its way up this thread, which some spider has wrought along the window- sash, I find it to be about the sixteenth of an inch in its extreme length, and also about the sixteenth of an inch distant from the pupil of my eye." VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. After the very minute and elaborate paper by Arago, to say nothing of the summary in " Silliman's Journal," with the detailed statement just published by Lieutenant Maury, it will not be supposed, of course, that in offering a few hurried remarks in refer- ence to Von Kempelen's discovery, I have any design to look at the subject in a scientific point of view. My object is simply, in the first place, to say a few words of Von Kempelen himself (with whom, some years ago, I had the honor of a slight personal ac- quaintance, ) since every thing which concerns him must necessarily, at this moment, be of interest ; and, in the second place, to look in a general way, and speculatively, at the results of the discovery. It may be as well, however, to premise the cursory observations which I have to offer, by denying, very decidedly, what seems to be a general impression (gleaned, as usual in a case of this kind, from the newspapers,) viz.: that this discovery, astounding as it unquestionably is, is unanticipated. By reference to the " Diary of Sir Humphry Davy." (Cottle and Munroe, London, pp. 150,) it will be seen at pp. 53 and 82, that this illustrious chemist had not only conceived the idea now in question, but (MS) 246 TALES. had actually made no inconsiderable progress, experi- mentally, in the very identical analysis now so tri- umphantly brought to an issue by Von Kempelen, who although he makes not the slightest allusion to it, is, without doubt (I say it unhesitatingly, and can prove it, if required,) indebted to the " Diary " for at least the first hint of his own undertaking. Although a little technical, I cannot refrain from appending two passages from the "Diary," with one of Sir Hum- phry's equations. [As we have not the algebraic signs necessary, and as the " Diary " is to be found at the Athenaeum Library, we omit here a small portion of Mr. Poe's manuscript. — Ed.] The paragraph from the " Courier and Enquirer," which is now going the rounds of the press, and which purports to claim the invention for a Mr. Kissam, of Brunswick, Maine, appears to me, I confess, a little apocryphal, for several reasons; although there is nothing either impossible or very improbable in the statement made. I need not go into details. My opinion of the paragraph is founded principally upon its manner. It does not look true. Persons who are narrating facts, are seldom so particular as Mr. Kissam seems to be, about day and date and precise location. Besides, if Mr. Kissam actually did come upon the dis- covery he says he did, at the period designated —- nearly eight years ago — how happens it that he took no steps, on the instant, to reap the immense benefits which the merest bumpkin must have known would have resulted to him individually, if not to the world at large, from the discovery? It seems to me quite incredible that any man, of common understanding, could have discovered what Mr. Kissam says he did, and yet have subsequently acted so like a baby — so VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 247 like an owl — as Mr. Kissam aatrits that he did. By- the-way, who is Mr. Kissam? and is not the whole paragraph in the " Courier and Enquirer" a fabrication got up to " make a talk "? It must be confessed that it has an amazingly moon-hoaz-y air. Very little de- pendence is to be placed upon it, in my humble opinion; and if I were not well aware, from experience, how very easily men of science are mystified, on points out of their usual range of inquiry, I should be profoundly astonished at finding so eminent a chemist as Pro- fessor Draper, discussing Mr. Kissam's (or is it Mr. Quizzem's ?) pretensions to this discovery, in so serious a tone. But to return to the "Diary" of Sir Humphry Davy. This pamphlet was not designed for the public eye, even upon the decease of the writer, as any person at all conversant with authorship may satisfy himself at once by the slightest inspection of the style. At page 13, for example, near the middle, we read, in refer- ence to his researches about the protoxide of azote: "In less than half a minute the respiration being con- tinued, diminished gradually and were succeeded by analogous to gentle pressure on all the muscles." That the respiration was not "diminished," is not only clear by the subsequent context, but by the use of the plural, "were." The sentence, no doubt, was thus in- tended: "In less than half a minute, the respiration [being continued, these feelings] diminished gradually, and were succeeded by [a sensation] analogous to gentle pressure on all the muscles." A hundred similar instances go to show that the MS. so inconsiderately published, was merely a rough note-book, meant only for the writer's own eye; but an inspection of the pamphlet will convince almost any thinking person of 248 TALES. the truth of my suggestion. The fact is, Sir Humphry Davy was about the last man in the world to commit himself on scientific topics. Not only had he a more than ordinary dislike to quackery, but he was morbidly afraid of appearing empirical; so that, however fully he might have been convinced that he was on the right track in the matter now in question, he would never have spoken out, until he had every thing ready for the most practical demonstration. I verily believe that his last moments would have been rendered wretched, could he have suspected that his wishes in regard to burning this "Diary" (full of crude speculations) would have been unattended to; as, it seems, they were. I say "his wishes," for that he meant to in- clude this note-book among the miscellaneous papers directed "to be burnt," I think there can be no man- ner of doubt. Whether it escaped the flames by good fortune or by bad, yet remains to be seen. That the passages quoted above, with the other similar ones re- ferred to, gave Von Kempelen the hint, I do not in the slightest degree question; but I repeat, it yet remains to be seen whether this momentous discovery itself (momentous under any circumstances,) will be of service or disservice to mankind at large. That Von Kempelen and his immediate friends will reap a rich harvest, it would be folly to doubt for a moment. They will scarcely be so weak as not to "realize," in time, by large purchases of houses and land, with other property of intrinsic value. In the brief account of Von Kempelen which ap- peared in the "Home Journal," and has since been extensively copied, several misapprehensions of the German original seem to have been made by the trans- lator, who professes to have taken the passage from a VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 249 late number of the Presburg " Schnellpost." " Viele" has evidently been misconceived (as it often is,) and what the translator renders by "sorrows," is probably "leiden," which, in its true version, "sufferings," would give a totally different complexion to the whole account; but, of course, much of this is merely guess, on my part. Von Kempelen, however, is by no means "a mis- anthrope," in appearance, at least, whatever he may be in fact. My acquaintance with him was casual alto- gether; and I am scarcely warranted in saying that I know him at all; but to have seen and conversed with a man of so prodigious a notoriety as he has attained, or will attain in a few days, is not a small matter, as times g°- "The Literary World" speaks of him, confidently, as a native of Presburg (misled, perhaps, by the account in the "Home Journal,") but I am pleased in being able to state positively, since I have it from his own lips, that he was born in Utica, in the State of New York, although both his parents, I believe, are of Presburg descent. The family is connected, in some way, with Maelzel, of Automaton-chess-player mem- ory. [If we are not mistaken, the name of the in- ventor of the chess-player was either Kempelen, Von Kempelen, or something like it.—Ed.] In person, he is short and stout, with large, fat, blue eyes, sandy hair and whiskers, a wide but pleasing mouth, fine teeth, and I think a Roman nose. There is some de- fect in one of his feet. His address is frank, and his whole manner noticeable for bonhomie. Altogether, he looks, speaks and acts as little like " a misanthrope" as any man I ever saw. We were fellow-sojourners for a week, about six years ago, at Earl's Hotel, in 2$a TAI.SS. Providence, Rhode Island; and I presume diar I eon- versed with, him, at various times, for same three or four hours altogether. His principal topics were those of die day; and nothing that fell tram him led me to suspect his scientific attainments. He left the hotel hefore me, intending to go to New York, and thence to Bremen; it waa in the latter eitv that his great dis- covery was first made puhlic; or, rather, it was there that he was first suspeeted of having made it. This is ahout all that I personally know of the now immoral Von Kempelen; hut I have thought that even these tew details would have interest for the puhlic. There can he little question that most of the marvel- lous rumors afloat about this affair, are pure inventions, entitled to ahout as much eredit as the story of Alad- din's lamp; and yet, in a case of this kind, as in the ease of the discoveries in California, it is elear that the truth may be stranger than fiction. The following an- ecdote, at least, is so well authenticated, that we may receive it implicitly. Von Kempelen had never been even tolerably- well off during his residence at Bremen; and often, it was well known, he had been put to extreme shifts, in or- der to raise trifling sums. When the great excitement occurred ahout the forgery on the house of Gutsmurh Sc Co., suspicion was directed towards Von Kimceien. on account of his having purchased a considerable prop- erty in Gasperitch Lane, and his refusing, when ques- tioned, to explain how he became possessed of the purehase money. He was at length arrested, but nothing decisive appearing against him, was in the eai set at liberty. The police, however, kept a strict watch upon his movements, and thus discovered that he left home frequently, taking always the jame road. VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 251 and invariably giving his watchers the slip in the neigh- borhood of that labyrinth of narrow and crooked pas- sages known by the flash-name of the "Dondergat." Finally, by dint of great perseverance, they traced him to a garret in an old house of seven stories, in an alley called Flatplatz; and, coming upon him suddenly, found him, as they imagined, in the midst of his coun- terfeiting operations. His agitation is represented as so excessive that the officers had not the slightest doubt of his guilt. After hand-cuffing him, they searched his room, or rather rooms; for it appears he occupied all the mansarde. Opening into the garret where they caught him, was a closet, ten feet by eight, fitted up with some chemical apparatus, of which the object has not yet been ascertained. In one corner of the closet was a very small furnace, with a glowing fire in it, and on the fire a kind of duplicate crucible — two crucibles con- nected by a tube. One of these crucibles was nearly full of lead in a state of fusion, but not reaching up to the aperture of the tube, which was close to the brim. The other crucible had some liquid in it, which, as the officers entered, seemed to be furiously dissipating in vapor. They relate that, on finding him- self taken, Von Kempelen seized the crucibles with both hands (which were encased in gloves that after- wards turned out to be asbestic), and threw the contents on the tiled floor. It was now that they hand-cuffed him; and, before proceeding to ransack the premises, they searched his person, but nothing unusual was found about him, excepting a paper parcel, in his coat pocket, containing what was afterwards ascertained to be a mixture of antimony and some unknown substance, in nearly, but not quite, equal proportions. All at- 2S« TALES. tempts at analyzing the unknown substance have, so far, failed, but that it will ultimately be analyzed, is not to be doubted. Passing out of the closet with their prisoner, the officers went through a sort of ante-chamber, in which nothing material was found, to the chemist's sleeping- room. They here rummaged some drawers and boxes, but discovered only a few papers, of no importance, and some good coin, silver and gold. At length, look- ing under the bed, they saw a large, common hair trunk, without hinges, hasp, or lock, and with the top lying carelessly across the bottom portion. Upon attempting to draw this trunk out from under the bed, they found that, with their united strength (there were three of them, all powerful men), they "could not stir it one inch." Much astonished at this, one of them crawled under the bed, and looking into the trunk, said: "No wonder we could n't move it — why, it's full to the brim of old bits of brass!" Putting his feet, now, against the wall, so as to get a good purchase, and pushing with all his force, while his companions pulled with all theirs, the trunk, with much difficulty, was slid out from under the bed, and its contents examined. The supposed brass with which it was filled was all in small, smooth pieces, varying from the size of a pea to that of a dollar; but the pieces were irregular in shape, although all more or less flat—looking, upon the whole, "very much as lead looks when thrown upon the ground in a molten state, and there suffered to grow cool." Now, not one of these officers for a moment suspected this metal to be anything but brass. The idea of its being gold never entered their brains, of course ; how could such a wild fancy have entered it? And their astonishment VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 253 may be well conceived, when next day it became known, all over Bremen, that the " lot of brass " which they had carted so contemptuously to the police office, without putting themselves to the trouble of pocketing the smallest scrap, was not only gold — real gold — but gold far finer than any employed in coinage — gold, in fact, absolutely pure, virgin, without the slightest appreciable alloy! I need not go over the details of Von Kempelen's confession (as far as it went) and release, for these are familiar to the public. That he has actually realized, in spirit and in effect, if not to the letter, the old chimera of the philosopher's stone, no sane person is at liberty to doubt. The opinions of Arago are, of course, entitled to the greatest consideration; but he is by no means infallible ; and what he says of bismuth, in his report to the academy, must be taken cum grano salts. The simple truth is, that up to this period, all analysis has failed ; and until Von Kempelen chooses to let us have the key to his own published enigma, it is more than probable that the matter will remain, for years, in statu qua. All that yet can fairly be said to be known, is, that "pure gold can be made at will, and very readily, from lead, in connection with certain other substances, in kind and in proportions, unknown." Speculation, of course, is busy as to the immediate and ultimate results of this discovery — a discovery which few thinking persons will hesitate in referring to an increased interest in the matter of gold generally, by the late developments in California ; and this reflec- tion brings us inevitably to another — the exceeding inopportuneness of Von Kempelen's analysis. If many were prevented from adventuring to California, by the 254 TALES. mere apprehension that gold would so materially diminish in value, on account of its plentifulness in the mines there, as to render the speculation of going so far in search of it a doubtful one — what impression will be wrought now, upon the minds of those about to emigrate, and especially upon the minds of those actually in the mineral region, by the announcement of this astounding discovery of Von Kempelen? a dis- covery which declares, in so many words, that beyond its intrinsic worth for manufacturing purposes, (what- ever that worth may be), gold now is, or at least soon will be (for it cannot be supposed that Von Kempelen can long retain his secret) of no greater value than lead, and of far inferior value to silver. It is, indeed, exceedingly difficult to speculate prospec- tively upon the consequences of the discovery ; but one thing may be positively maintained — that the an- nouncement of the discovery six months ago, would have had material influence in regard to the settlement of California. In Europe, as yet, the most noticeable results have been a rise of two hundred per cent, in the price of lead, and nearly twenty-five per cent, in that of silver. LANDOR'S COTTAGE. A PENDANT TO "THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM." (Unknown: once accepted, then rejected by the Metropolitan; men- tioned in Poe''s correspondence, 1848-49; Grirwold.') Duung a pedestrian tour last summer, through one or two of the river counties of New York, I found myself, as the day declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was pursuing. The land undulated very remarkably; and my path, for the last hour, had wound about and about so confusedly, in its effort to keep in the valleys, that I no longer knew in what direction lay the sweet village of B , where I had determined to stop for the night. The sun had scarcely shone—strictly speaking — during the day, which, nevertheless, had been unpleasantly warm. A smoky mist, resembling that of the Indian summer, enveloped all things, and, of course, added to my un- certainty. Not that I cared much about the matter. If I did not hit upon the village before sunset, or even before dark, it was more than possible that a little Dutch farmhouse, or something of that kind, would soon make its appearance — although, in fact, the neighborhood (perhaps on account of being more pictu- resque than fertile) was very sparsely inhabited. At all events, with my knapsack for a pillow, and my hound as a sentry, a bivouac in the open air was just the thing which would have amused me. I sauntered (*55) 256 TALES. on, therefore, quite at ease — Ponto taking charge of my gun — until at length, just as I had begun to consider whether the numerous little glades that led hither and thither were intended to be paths at all, I was conducted by one of the most promising of them into an unquestionable carriage-track. There could be no mistaking it. The traces of light wheels were evi- dent; and although the tall shrubberies and overgrown undergrowth met overhead, there was no obstruction whatever below, even to the passage of a Virginian mountain wagon — the most aspiring vehicle, I take it, of its kind. The road, however, except in being open through the wood — if wood be not too weighty a name for such an assemblage of light trees — and ex- cept in the particulars of evident wheel-tracks—bore no resemblance to any road I had before seen. The tracks of which I speak were but faintly perceptible — having been impressed upon the firm, yet pleasantly moist surface of— what looked more like green Geno- ese velvet than anything else. It was grass, clearly — but grass such as we seldom see out of England — so short, so thick, so even, and so vivid in color. Not a single impediment lay in the wheel-route — not even a chip or dead twig. The stones that once obstructed the way had been carefully placed — not thrown — along the sides of the lane, so as to define its bound- aries at bottom with a kind of half-precise, half- negligent, and wholly picturesque definition. Clumps of wild flowers grew everywhere, luxuriantly, in the interspaces. What to make of all this, of course I knew not. Here was art undoubtedly — that did not surprise me — all roads, in the ordinary sense, are works of art; nor can I say that there was much to wonder at in the LANDORS COTTAGE. 257' mere excess of art manifested; all that seemed to have been done, might have been done here — with such natural "capabilities" (as they have it in the books on Landscape Gardening) — with very little labor and expense. No; it was not the amount but the char- acter of the art which caused me to take a seat on one of the blossomy stones and gaze up and down this fairy-like avenue for half an hour or more in bewil- dered admiration. One thing became more and more evident the longer I gazed: an artist, and one with a most scrupulous eye for form, had superintended all these arrangements. The greatest care had been taken to preserve a due medium between the neat and grace- ful on the one hand, and the pittoresco, in the true sense of the Italian term, on the other. There were few straight, and no long uninterrupted lines. The same effect of curvature or of color, appeared twice, usually, but not oftener, at any one point of view. Every where was variety in uniformity. It was a piece of "composition," in which the most fastidiously critical taste could scarcely have suggested an emen- dation. I had turned to the right as I entered this road, and now, arising, I continued in the same direction. The path was so serpentine, that at no moment could I trace its course for more than two or three paces in advance. Its character did not undergo any material change. Presently the murmur of water fell gently upon my ear — and in a few moments afterwards, as I turned with the road somewhat more abruptly than hitherto, I became aware that a building of some kind lay at the foot of a gentle declivity just before me. I could see nothing distinctly on account of the mist which occu- Vol. VI. —17 258 TALES. pied all the little valley below. A gentle breeze, how- ever, now arose, as the sun was about descending; and while I remained standing on the brow of the slope, the fog gradually became dissipated into wreaths, and so floated over the scene. As it came fully into view — thus gradually as I describe it — piece by piece, here a tree, there a glimpse of water, and here again the summit of a chimney, I could scarcely help fancying that the whole was one of the ingenious illusions sometimes exhibited under the name of " vanishing pictures." By the time, however, that the fog had thoroughly disappeared, the sun had made its way down behind the gentle hills, and thence, as if with a slight chassez. to the south, had come again fully into sight; glaring with a purplish lustre through a chasm that entered the valley from the west. Suddenly, therefore — and as if by the hand of magic — this whole valley and every thing in it became brilliantly visible. The first coup J'ail, as the sun slid into the posi- tion described, impressed me very much as I have been impressed when a boy, by the concluding scene of some well-arranged theatrical spectacle or melo- drama. Not even the monstrosity of color was want- ing; for the sunlight came out through the chasm, tinted all orange and purple; while the vivid green of the grass in the valley was reflected more or less upon all objects, from the curtain of vapor that still hung overhead, as if loth to take its total departure from a scene so enchantingly beautiful. The little vale into which I thus peered down from under the fog-canopy, could not have been more than four hundred yards long; while in breadth it varied from fifty to one hundred and fifty, or perhaps two LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 259 hundred. It was most narrow at its northern ex- tremity, opening out as it tended southwardly, but with no very precise regularity. The widest portion was within eighty yards of the southern extreme. The slopes which encompassed the vale could not fairly be called hills, unless at their northern face. Here a precipitous ledge of granite arose to a height of some ninety feet; and, as I have mentioned, the valley at this point was not more than fifty feet wide; but as the visiter proceeded southwardly from this cliff, he found on his right hand and on his left, declivities at once less high, less precipitous, and less rocky. All, in a word, sloped and softened to the south; and yet the whole vale was engirdled by emi- nences, more or less high, except at two points. One of these I have already spoken of. It lay considerably to the north of west, and was where the setting sun made its way, as I have before described, into the amphitheatre, through a cleanly cut natural cleft in the granite embankment: this fissure might have been ten yards wide at its widest point, so far as the eye could trace it. It seemed to lead up, up, like a natural causeway, into the recesses of unexplored mountains and forests. The other opening was directly at the southern end of the vale. Here, generally, the slopes were nothing more than gentle inclinations, extending from east to west about one hundred and fifty yards. In the middle of this extent was a depression, level with the ordinary floor of the valley. As regards vegetation, as well as in respect to every thing else, the scene softened and sloped to the south. To the north — on the craggy precipice — a few paces from the verge — upsprang the magnificent trunks of num- erous hickories, black walnuts, and chestnuts, inter- z6o TALES. spersed with occasional oak; and the strong lateral branches thrown out by the walnuts especially, spread far over the edge of the cliff. Proceeding southwardly, the explorer saw, at first, the same class of trees, but less and less lofty and Salvatorish in character; then he saw the gentler elm, succeeded by the sassafras and locust—these again by the softer linden, red-bud, catalpa, and maple — these yet again by still more graceful and more modest varieties. The whole face of the southern declivity was covered with wild shrub- bery alone — an occasional silver willow or white poplar excepted. In the bottom of the valley itself— (for it must be borne in mind that the vegetation hith- erto mentioned grew only on the cliffs or hill-sides) — were to be seen three insulated trees. One was an elm of fine size and exquisite form: it stood guard over the southern gate of the vale. Another was a hickory, much larger than the elm, and altogether a much finer tree, although both were exceedingly beauti- ful: it seemed to have taken charge of the north- western entrance, springing from a group of rocks in the very jaws of the ravine, and throwing its graceful body, at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, far out into the sunshine of the amphitheatre. About thirty yards east of this tree stood, however, the pride of the valley, and beyond all question the most magnificent tree I have ever seen, unless, perhaps, among the cypresses of the Itchiatuckanee. It was a triple- stemmed tulip tree — the Liriodendron Tulipiferum — one of the natural order of magnolias. Its three trunks separated from the parent at about three feet from the soil, and diverging very slightly and gradually, were not more than four feet apart at the point where the largest stem shot out into foliage: this was at an LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 261 elevation of about eighty feet. The whole height of the principal division was one hundred and twenty feet. Nothing can surpass in beauty the form, or the glossy, vivid green of the leaves of the tulip tree. In the present instance they were fully eight inches wide; but their glory was altogether eclipsed by the gorgeous splendor of the profuse blossoms. Conceive, closely congregated, a million of the largest and most resplendent tulips! Only thus can the reader get any idea of the picture I would convey. And then the stately grace of the clean, delicately- granulated columnar stems, the largest four feet in diameter, at twenty from the ground. The innumer- able blossoms, mingling with those of other trees scarcely less beautiful, although infinitely less majestic, filled the valley with more than Arabian perfumes. The general floor of the amphitheatre was grass of the same character as that I had found in the road: if anything, more deliriously soft, thick, velvety, and miraculously green. It was hard to conceive how all this beauty had been attained. I have spoken of the two openings into the vale. From the one to the north-west issued a rivulet, which came, gently murmuring and slightly foaming, down the ravine, until it dashed against the group of rocks out of which sprang the insulated hickory. Here, after encircling the tree, it passed on a little to the north of east, leaving the tulip tree some twenty feet to the south, and making no decided alteration in its course until it came near the midway between the eastern and western boundaries of the valley. At this point, after a series of sweeps, it turned off at right angles and pursued a generally southern direction — meandering as it went — until it became lost in a small lake of ir- 26 z TALES. regular figure (although roughly oval), that lay gleam- ing near the lower extremity of the vale. This lakelet was, perhaps, a hundred yards in diameter at its widest part. No crystal could be clearer than its waters. Its bottom, which could be distinctly seen, consisted alto- gether of pebbles brilliantly white. Its banks, of the emerald grass already described, rounded, rather than sloped, off into the clear heaven below; and so clear was this heaven, so perfectly, at times, did it reflect all objects above it, that where the true bank ended and where the mimic one commenced, it was a point of no little difficulty to determine. The trout, and some other varieties of fish, with which this pond seemed to be almost inconveniently crowded, had all the appearance of veritable flying-fish. It was almost impossible to believe that they were not absolutely sus- pended in the air. A light birch canoe that lay placidly on the water, was reflected in its minutest fibres with a fidelity unsurpassed by the most exquisitely polished mirror. A small island, fairly laughing with flowers in full bloom, and affording little more space than just enough for a picturesque little building, seemingly a fowl-house — arose from the lake not far from its northern shore — to which it was connected by means of an inconceivably light-looking and yet very primitive bridge. It was formed of a single, broad and thick plank of the tulip wood. This was forty feet long, and spanned the interval between shore and shore with a slight but very perceptible arch, preventing all oscil- lation. From the southern extreme of the lake issued a continuation of the rivulet, which, after meandering for, perhaps, thirty yards, finally passed through the "depression" (already described) in the middle of the southern declivity, and tumbling down a sheer LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 263 precipice of a hundred feet, made its devious and un- noticed way to the Hudson. The lake was deep — at some points thirty feet — but the rivulet seldom exceeded three, while its greatest width was about eight. Its bottom and banks were as those of the pond — if a defect could have been at- tributed to them, in point of picturesqueness, it was that of excessive neatness. The expanse of the green turf was relieved, here and there, by an occasional showy shrub, such as the hydrangea, or the common snow-ball, or the aromatic seringa; or, more frequently, by a clump of geraniums blossoming gorgeously in great varieties. These latter grew in pots which were carefully buried in the soil, so as to give the plants the appearance of being in- digenous. Besides all this, the lawn's velvet was exquisitely spotted with sheep — a considerable flock of which roamed about the vale, in company with three tamed deer, and a vast number of brilliantly-plumed ducks. A very large mastiff seemed to be in vigilant attendance upon these animals, each and all. Along the eastern and western cliffs — where, tow- ards the upper portion of the amphitheatre, the boundaries were more or less precipitous — grew ivy in great profusion — so that only here and there could even a glimpse of the naked rock be obtained. The northern precipice, in like manner, was almost entirely clothed by grape-vines of rare luxuriance; some spring- ing from the soil at the base of the cliff, and others from ledges on its face. The slight elevation which formed the lower boun- dary of this little domain, was crowned by a neat stone wall, of sufficient height to prevent the escape of the deer. Nothing of the fence kind was observable else- 264 TALES. where; for nowhere else was an artificial enclosure needed : — any stray sheep, for example, which should attempt to make its way out of the vale by means of the ravine, would find its progress arrested, after a few yards' advance, by the precipitous ledge of rock over which tumbled the cascade that had arrested my atten- tion as I first drew near the domain. In short, the only ingress or egress was through a grate occupying a rocky pass in the road, a few paces below the point at which I stopped to reconnoitre the scene. I have described the brook as meandering very ir- regularly through the whole of its course. Its two general directions, as I have said, were first from west to east, and then from north to south. At the turn, the stream, sweeping backwards, made an almost cir- cular loop, so as to form a peninsula which was very nearly an island, and which included about the sixteenth of an acre. On this peninsula stood a dwelling-house — and when I say that this house, like the infernal terrace seen by Vathek, "etait a" une architecture inconnue dans les annates de la terre," I mean, merely, that its tout ensemble struck me with the keenest sense of combined novelty and propriety — in a word, of poetry — (for, than in the words just employed, I could scarcely give, of poetry in the abstract, a more rigorous definition)—and I do not mean that the merely outre was perceptible in any respect. In fact, nothing could well be more simple — more utterly unpretending than this cottage. Its marvellous effect lay altogether in its artistic arrangement as a picture. I could have fancied, while I looked at it, that some eminent landscape-painter had built it with his brush. The point of view from which I first saw the val- LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 265 ley, was not altogether, although it was nearly, the best point from which to survey the house. I will therefore describe it as I afterwards saw it — from a position on the stone wall at the southern extreme of the amphitheatre. The main building was about twenty-four feet long and sixteen broad — certainly not more. Its total height, from the ground to the apex of the roof, could not have exceeded eighteen feet. To the west end of this structure was attached one about a third smaller in all its proportions : — the line of its front standing back about two yards from that of the larger house; and the line of its roof, of course, being considerably depressed below that of the roof adjoining. At right angles to these buildings, and from the rear of the main one — not exactly in the middle — extended a third compartment, very small — being, in general, one third less than the western wing. The roofs of the two larger were very steep — sweeping down from the ridge-beam with a long concave curve, and extend- ing at least four feet beyond the walls in front, so as to form the roofs of two piazzas. These latter roofs, of course, needed no support; but as they had the air of needing it, slight and perfectly plain pillars were inserted at the corners alone. The roof of the north- ern wing was merely an extension of a portion of the main roof. Between the chief building and western wing arose a very tall and rather slender square chim- ney of hard Dutch bricks, alternately black and red: — a slight cornice of projecting bricks at the top. Over the gables, the roofs also projected very much : — in the main building about four feet to the east and two to the west. The principal door was not exactly in the main division, being a little to the east — while 266 TALES. the two windows were to the west. These latter did not extend to the floor, but were much longer and narrower than usual — they had single shutters like doors — the panes were of lozenge form, but quite large. The door itself had its upper half of glass, also in lozenge panes — a moveable shutter secured it at night. The door to the west wing was in its gable, and quite simple — a single window looked out to the south. There was no external door to the north wing, and it, also, had only one window to the east. The blank wall of the eastern gable was relieved by stairs (with a balustrade) running diagonally across it — the ascent being from the south. Under cover of the widely projecting eave these steps gave access to a door leading into the garret, or rather loft — for it was lighted only by a single window to the north, and seemed to have been intended as a store-room. The piazzas of the main building and western wing had no floors, as is usual ; but at the doors and at each window, large, flat, irregular slabs of granite lay im- bedded in the delicious turf, affording comfortable footing in all weather. Excellent paths of the same material — not nicely adapted, but with the velvety sod filling frequent intervals between the stones, led hither and thither from the house, to a crystal spring about five paces off, to the road, or to one or two out-houses that lay to the north, beyond the brook, and were thoroughly concealed by a few locusts and catalpas. Not more than six steps from the main door of the cottage stood the dead trunk of a fantastic pear-tree, so clothed from head to foot in the gorgeous bignonia blossoms that one required no little scrutiny to deter- mine what manner of sweet thing it could be. From LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 267 various arms of this tree hung cages of different kinds. In one, a large wicker cylinder with a ring at top, revelled a mocking bird; in another, an oriole; in a third, the impudent bobolink — while three or four more delicate prisons were loudly vocal with canaries. The pillars of the piazza were enwreathed in jasmine and sweet honeysuckle; while from the angle formed by the main structure and its west wing, in front, sprang a grape-vine of unexampled luxuriance. Scorn- ing all restraint, it had clambered first to the lower roof— then to the higher; and along the ridge of this latter it continued to writhe on, throwing out tendrils to the right and left, until at length it fairly attained the east gable, and fell trailing over the stairs. The whole house, with its wings, was constructed of the old-fashioned Dutch shingles — broad, and with unrounded corners. It is a peculiarity of this material to give houses built of it the appearance of being wider at bottom than at top — after the manner of Egyptian architecture; and in the present instance, this exceed- ingly picturesque effect was aided by numerous pots of gorgeous flowers that almost encompassed the base of the buildings. The shingles were painted a dull gray; and the happiness with which this neutral tint melted into the vivid green of the tulip tree leaves that partially over- shadowed the cottage, can readily be conceived by an artist. From the position near the stone wall, as described, the buildings were seen at great advantage — for the south-eastern angle was thrown forward — so that the eye took in at once the whole of the two fronts, with the picturesque eastern gable, and at the same time obtained just a sufficient glimpse of the northern wing, 268 TALES. with parts of a pretty roof to the spring-house, and nearly half of a light bridge that spanned the brook in the near vicinity of the main buildings. I did not remain very long on the brow of the hill, although long enough to make a thorough survey of the scene at my feet. It was clear that I had wandered from the road to the village, and I had thus good traveller's excuse to open the gate before me, and in- quire my way, at all events; so, without more ado, I proceeded. The road, after passing the gate, seemed to lie upon a natural ledge, sloping gradually down along the face of the north-eastern cliffs. It led me on to the foot of the northern precipice, and thence over the bridge, round by the eastern gable to the front door. In this progress, I took notice that no sight of the out-houses could be obtained. As I turned the corner of the gable, the mastiff bounded towards me in stern silence, but with the eye and the whole air of a tiger. I held him out my hand, however, in token of amity — and I never yet knew the dog who was proof against such an appeal to his courtesy. He not only shut his mouth and wagged his tail, but absolutely offered me his paw — afterwards extending his civilities to Ponto. As no bell was discernible, I rapped with my stick against the door, which stood half open. Instantly a figure advanced to the threshold — that of a young woman about twenty-eight years of age — slender, or rather slight, and somewhat above the medium height. As she approached, with a certain modest decision of step altogether indescribable, I said to myself, "Surely here I have found the perfection of natural, in contra- distinction from artificial grace." The second impres- LANDORS COTTAGE. 269 sion which she made on me, but by far the more vivid of the two, was that of enthusiasm. So intense an ex- pression of romance, perhaps I should call it, or of un- worldliness, as that which gleamed from her deep-set eyes, had never so sunk into my heart of hearts before. I know not how it is, but this peculiar expression of the eye, wreathing itself occasionally into the lips, is the most powerful, if not absolutely the sole spell, which rivets my interest in woman. "Romance," provided my readers fully comprehend what I would here imply by the word—"romance"and "woman- liness '' seem to me convertible terms: and, after all, what man truly loves in woman, is, simply, her woman- hood. The eyes of Annie (I heard some one from the interior call her "Annie, darling ! ") were " spiritual gray ;'' her hair, a light chestnut: this is all I had time to observe of her. At her most courteous of invitations, I entered — passing first into a tolerably wide vestibule. Having come mainly to observe, I took notice that to my right as I stepped in, was a window, such as those in front of the house; to the left, a door leading into the principal room; while, opposite me, an open door en- abled me to see a small apartment, just the size of the vestibule, arranged as a study, and having a large bow window looking out to the north. Passing into the parlor, I found myself with Mr. Landor—for this, I afterwards found, was his name. He was civil, even cordial in his manner ; but just then, I was more intent on observing the arrangements of the dwelling which had so much interested me, than the personal appearance of the tenant. The north wing, I now saw, was a bed-chamber: its door opened into the parlor. West of this door was 270 TALES. a single window, looking towards the brook. At the west end of the parlor, were a fire-place, and a door leading into the west wing — probably a kitchen. Nothing could be more rigorously simple than the furniture of the parlor. On the floor was an ingrain carpet, of excellent texture — a white ground, spotted with small circular green figures. At the windows were curtains of snowy white jaconet muslin: they were tolerably full, and hung decisively, perhaps rather formally, in sharp, parallel plaits to the floor —just to the floor. The walls were papered with a French paper of great delicacy — a silver ground, with a faint green cord running zig-zag throughout. Its expanse was relieved merely by three of Julien's exquisite litho- graphs a trois crayons, fastened to the wall without frames. One of these drawings was a scene of Ori- ental luxury, or rather voluptuousness; another was a "carnival piece," spirited beyond compare; the third was a Greek female head —a face so divinely beautiful, and yet of an expression so provokingly indeterminate, never before arrested my attention. The more substantal furniture consisted of a round table, a few chairs (including a large rocking-chair,) and a sofa, or rather " settee : " its material was plain maple painted a creamy white, slightly interstriped with green — the seat of cane. The chairs and table were "to match ; " but the forms of all had evidently been designed by the same brain which planned "the grounds :" it is impossible to conceive anything more graceful. On the table were a few books; a large, square, crystal bottle of some novel perfume; a plain, ground- glass astral (not solar) lamp, with an Italian shade; and a large vase of resplendently-blooming flowers. LANDOR'S COTTAGE. 271 Flowers indeed of gorgeous colors and delicate odor, formed the sole mere decoration of the apartment. The fire-place was nearly filled with a vase of brilliant gera- nium. On a triangular shelf in each angle of the room stood also a similar vase, varied only as to its lovely contents. One or two smaller bouquets adorned the mantel; and late violets clustered about the open win- dows. It is not the purpose of this work to do more than give, in detail, a picture of Mr. Landor's residence — as I found it. NOTES. Vol. VI.- 18 (273) ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES. o, — Omit. o. c. — Omit comma or commas. o. h. — Omit hyphen. o, d. — Omit dash. o, q. m. — Omit quotation marks. o. a. — Omit accent. s. 1. — Small letter. cap. – Capital. i. — Italics. n. i. — Not italics. p. – Page. 1. – Line. The dates 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the respective col- lected editions. The first group of each body of notes gives the variations of the earliest collated form of the tale from the text of the edition, the reading of the text standing first, with the cor- responding reading of the collated form in parentheses. In order to economize space, the second, third, or fourth state was in most cases collated with the earliest forms, the read- ing of the later form being placed first in the notes, with the earliest form in parentheses. (274) NOTES. THE LITERARY LIFE OF THINGUM-BOB. Southern Literary Messenger, December, 1844; Broadway Journal, II., 3. The text follow* Broadway Journal. Broadway Journal •hows flight revision from earlier form. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from text. Page 1 1. 1* everywhere (every where) I. 14 it (, it) page 2 1. 11 a/(to) 1. 17 must (, however, must) I. ja me I (me) page 3 1. * great! (.) 1. 5 surnamed, (.) 1. 10 , and (o. c.) 1. 13 of (of the) 1. 13 best: (;) 1. 17 , I (p. c.) 1. 31 draw-back (o. h.) page 4 1. 11- 1 x ) with neatness (, with . . . neatness,) page 5 1. 4 grace (grace,) 1. 4 they (we) 1. i2 "Ugolino" ('Ugolino') 1. 13 who (and who) 1. 14 all (all well) 1. 18 heart (heart, and, (if we may so express ourselves,) its very gi22ard) 1. 2i bis (this) 1. 33 Dow, (dow.) 1. 33 'which . . . thus: (o.) 1. 34 received a (received," said that periodical, "a) page 6 1. 2o pop, "wbicb . . . discoursed: (pop.) 1. 2i wbo (," said that journal, "who) page 7 1.15 less (even less) 1. 16 // . . . said: (o.) 1. 17, wbo (," said that eminent publication, " who) I. 22 born. "We (born, we) 1. 2o , with (o. c.) page 8 1. 5 effusion (i.) 1. i2 every (, every) 1. 13 them (i.) 1. 19 wbilt (while the) page 9 1. 3 magazines (cap.) 1. 2i as (, as) 1. 24 it (, and all that species of thing, it) 1. 27 , and (;) page 10 1. 10 " The (the '') 1. 17 envel- (*75) 276 NOTES. ops (envelopes) page II 1. 3 The (The rival production of the editor of the) 1. 24 Fly (Fly,) 1. 25 the " ("The) 1. 32 about (in reference to) page 12 1. 5 , and (o. c.) 1. 14 nearly (fairly) 1. 15 into (in) 1. 19 behaviour (behavior) 1. 34 more! (.) page 13 1. 1 very (very proper and very) 1. 1 :in (;) 1. 21 , and (o. c.) 1. 32 'with (, with) page 14 1. 13 pop! (.) 1. 17 : but (;) 1. 17 but, (o. c.) 1. 27 my (, ray) page 15 1. 26 , has (o. c.) page 16 1. 27 pop! (.) !. 3' Mr. (o.) page 17 1. 7 **- the-bye (o. h.) 1. 11 M* (the two) 1. 16 and (i.) 1. 27 of (as well as solidity of) 1. 31 pre-eminence (preeminence) 1. 36 pop! (.) page 18 1. 25 , mendicant, (o. c.) 1. 28 the (the two) page 20 1. 18 advance (materially advance) page 21 1. 13 Prentice (Bennett) 1. 14 and . . . Clarke (Prentice's Porcupiniana" and "John Neal) page 22 1. 9 Lewis Clarke's (John Neal's) 1. 26 , at (o. c.) Page 23 1. 1 aperf (,) 1. 2 Latin (Latin?) I. 28 him (him over) page 24 1. 21 The (o.) page 25 1. 6 ' The (the ') page 26 1. 6 J (I) page 27 1. 6 ttte (o. a.). Variations of Griswold from text. Page 1 1. 14 fact (fact,) 1.15 , to (p. c.) page 2 1. 14 Gods (s. 1.) 1. 26 merchant (merchant-) page 5 1. 4 [grace] (o. a.) 1. 29 preeminent (pre-eminent) page 6 1. 5 —rant ()—) 1. 25 verses (verses,) 1. 28 is (is,) 1. 34 , is (o. c.) page 7 1. 5 Oppodeldoe, (o. c.) I. 13 / (, I) I. 28 vie (n. i.) page 8 1. 17 that (n. i.) page 9 1. 6 , by (p. c.) 1. 11 To ("To) 1. 17 To ("To) 1. 20 sure (sure,) page 10 1. 9-18 " We . . . interview?" (We . . . interview?) 1. 21 acknowledge (acknowl- edged) page 1I 1. 21 Fly (Fry) page 12 1. 19 behaviour (behavior) page 13 1. 2 But— (o. d.) page 14 1. 16 one fourth (one-fourth) 1. 17 : but (;) 1. 27 say (say,) page 15 1. 11 one third (one-third) 1. 22 , from (o. c.) page 16 1. 8 France.) ( ).) 1. 26 one half (one-half) 1. 33 and (, and) page 17 1. 3 Bob, (Bob, Esq.) 1. 7 bye (by) 1. 23 , / (o. c.) page 18 1. 14-15 ! (.) P«ge 19 I. *7 at once, (o. c.) 1. 32 and, (o. c.) page 20 1. 18 and (, and) TALES. Z77 page 21 I. 18 : reserving (;) page 22 1. 7 , in (o. c.) 1. 8 occurred; (:) 1. 25 and (and,) 1. 25 as, (o. c.) 1. 28 Dear (s. 1.) page 24 1. 25 Ay (, by) 1. 29 reenclosed (re-enclosed) page 25 1. 11 is (is,) page 26 1. % purse (purse,) I. 6 [fat] (rat) page 27 1. 6' . . . '" (» . . . ") 1. 6 [<*»] (o. a.). THE PURLOINED LETTER. The Gift, 1845 5 1845. The text follows 1845, with manuscript corrections from the Lorimcr Graham copy. Griswold has only one or two slight variations from 1845. 1845 is somewhat revised from the " Gift" state. Variations of the "Gift" from text. No motto in the "Gift." Page 28 1. 5 troisiime (o. a.) 1. 15 Roglt (o. a.) page 29 1. 15 a (a very) 1. 19 way (way,) I. 21 ; but (:) 1. 32 [a] (o.) page 31 1. 3-5 honor (honour) 1. 10 the (the—) 1. 19 endeavor (endeavour) 1. 21 and, (o. c.) page 32 1. 25 of (, of) 1. 38 True, (;) page 35 1. 24 instantly (instanter) 1. 24 dust (dust, or saw-dust,) 1. 31 / presume (Of course) after page 36 1. 10 insert: — " And the roofs?" "We sur- veyed every inch of the external surface, and probed care- fully beneath every tile." page 37 1. 2 did." (did; and, as time and labour were no objects, we dug up every one of them to the depth of four feet.") 1. 18 external (ex- ternal,) 25 cbair (chair,) 1. 32 labor (labour)page38 1. 4 to (, every centime of it, to) page 39 1. 18 a (a solitary) 1. 30—31 labors (labours) page 40 1. 33 This (s. 1.) 1. 34- 5-6-7 II . . . nombre (n. i.) page 41 1. 23 [Rochefou- cauld] (Rochefoucault) page 42 1. 1 anything (any thing) 1. 29 recberchls (p. a.) page 43 1. 5 magnitude, — (,) 1. 26 as (as poet, profoundly; as) page 44 1. 2 convenu (con- 278 NOTES. venue) page 45 1. 24 endeavor (endeavour) 1. 30 check. (check. Had he been no more than poet, I think it prob- able he would have foiled us all.) page 47 1. a color (colour) 1. 6 teems (, with the amount of momentum pro- portionate with it and consequent upon it, seems) 1. 9 momentum (impetus) 1. 23 or (, or) page 48 1. 19 Minis- terial (s. I.) 1. 20 , as (o. c.) 1. 23 Minister (s. 1.) 1. 27 the (the whole) page 49 1. 3 ribbon (ribband) 1. 15 upper (uppermost) 1. 21 there (there,) 1. 23 Minister (s. 1.) 1. 24 there (there,) 1. 27 dirt; (,) page 50 1. 6-21 Minister (s. 1.) 1. 6 on (upon) 1. 30 a (aterrified) 1. 33 (/«... externals,) (o.) page 51 1. 1 ;imitating (—) 1. 4 be- havior (behaviour) 1. 17 D— (To be sure, D—) 1. 27 hers; (—) page 53 1. 13 bumoredly (humouredly). Variations of Griswold from text. Page 28 1. 5 [troisiime'] (troisgme) page 39 1. 21 : but (;) 1. 32 [a] (o.) page 30 1. 1 1 is (o.) page 38 1. 10 whiffs (which) page 41 1. 23 [Rochefoucauld] (Roche- foucault) page 43 1. 34 [farier] (parier) page 44 I. a [convenu\ (convenue) page 48 1. 27 the (the whole) page 49 1. 15 upper (uppermost) page 501. 6 on (upon) 1.30 a (a terrified) page 51 1. 1 lodgings; (—) 1. 27 hers; (—) page 52 1. 19 — Un (" '— Un). The last seven are the Lorimer Graham corrections. THE SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR AND PROF. FETHER. Graham's Magazine, November, 1845. The text follows Graham, the variations of Gri*wold from the text being noted below. This talc was earlier entitled " The System of Doctors Tar and Fether." (Poe's letter to Lowell, May 28, '44.) TALES. 279 Variations of Griswold from text. P»8e 53 1. 4 Mad-house (o. h.) 1. 8 traveling (travel- ling) 1. 9 , a (o. c.) 1. 14 toward (towards) 1. 18 bye(hy) P«ge 54]. 15 chateau (o. a.) page 55 1. 1 , among (o. c.) 1. 9 , to (o. c.) page 56 1. 5 toward (towards) page 57 1. 19 argumentum (reductio) page 59 J. 16 [Vougeot] (Vougeot) page 60 1. 7 she (, she) 1. 21 itself (, itself) 1. 24 , however, (o. c.) 1. 80 chateau (o. a.) page 6l I. 23 traveled (travelled) 1. 24 , so (;) page 62 1. 32 mam"sellc (cap.) page 63 1. 8-19 a (o. a.) 1. 29-31 [chat] (chit) page 64 1. 1 [chat] (chat) 1. 3 cadaverous (cadaverous-) 1. 30 sir (sir,) page 65 1. 4 , •with (o. c.) I. 12 [Desoulieres] (Desoulieres) 1. 17 [Desoulieres] (De- soulieres) 1. 17 a (o. a.) page 66 1. 6 , thus (o. c.) page 67 1. 1 doo!— (—) 1. 34 chateau (o. a.) page 69 1. 4 , as (o. c.) page 70 1. 2 lunatic-nurses (o. h.) 1. 15 [Vougeot] (Vouge6t) 1. 18 By-the-bye (By-the-by) page 71 1. 16 made (—made) 1. 30 Vougeot (Vougeot) page 72 1. 2 , before (o. c.) 1. 19 [strait-] (straight) page 73 1. 5 [life J] (?) 1. 23-26 visiters (visitors) page 74 1. 5 chateau (o. a.) 1. 16 , indeed (o. c.) page 75 I. 2 side- board (p. h.) 1. 12 who (, who) 1. 24 , at (o. c.) page 76 1. 14 sofa, (o. c.) 1. 24 traveling (travelling) 1. 31 but (, but) I.31 bread, (o. c.) page 77 1. 2 chateau (o. c). THE THOUSAND AND SECOND TALE. Godey's Lady's Book, February, 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 16. The text follows the Broadway Journal and Griswold. Gruwold shows the insertion of several passages in the body of the text, an expansion of the notes, and a revision of scientific data. These variations, which are all noted below, are retained, the text elsewhere conforming to the Broadway Journal reading. The Broadway Journal differs from Godey's in no important respect, except the addition of several sentences (see below). 280 NOTES. Variations of Godey's Lady's Book from text. Page 78 1. 2 Isitsoornot (Isitsoornot} [throughout] 1. 3 Jocbaides (Ischaides) page 79 1. 5 her (her immediately) 1. 5 puts (put) 1. 17 'was, (o. c.) 1. 19 , or (o. c.) 1. 22 /*a^ (cap-) 1- *7 , only (o. c.) 1. 33 despite (in despite) 1. 34 anything (any thing) page 80 1. 11 awaken (awake) page 81 1. 13 next (next night) 1. 20 , as . . . as (with) 1. 28 it (it stated) page 82 1. 3 -and- (o. h.) 1. 10 no (that no) 1. 24 the (, the) 1. 29 'words, (o. c.) 1. 30 Arabic (capital Arabic) 1. 31 queen, (o. c.) page 83 1. 1 length (length,) 1. 8 and, (o. c.) 1. 9 sea-shore (o. h.) 1. 10 , to (o. c.) page 84 1. 1 Caliphs (s. 1.) 1. 4 , with (o. c.) 1. 11 six (four) 1. 33 shrieking (shrieking,) page 85 1. 6 no (, no) 1. 14 therefore (, therefore,) page 86 1. 29 he (that he) 1. afoot, (p. c.) page 87 1. 2$ forth .. — (,) [page 89 note, 1. 13 to 41 not in Godey's~] page 90 1. 19 'while (while,) 1. 24 , it (o. c.) [page 91 1. 9-12 inclusive with note not in Godey's"] page 92 1. 2 Horror (s. 1.) 1. 16 pooh (pish) 1. 35 Arnoldi (Arnaldii) [note to page 92 1. 22 omit pars. II. and III.] page 93 1. 1 and, then, . . . fire (o. with note) 1. 23 vallisneria (valis- neria) page 94 1. 9 king (king,) 1. 11 labor (labour) page 95 1. 11 , .which (p. c.) 1. 16 Munificent (s. 1.) 1. 17 Caliphs (s. 1.) 1. 21 colors (colours) 1. 22 his (its) page 96 1. 27 the (these) 1. 30 color (colour) page 97 1. 3 diet, (o. c.) [note not in Godey's'] 1. 26 labor (labour) 1. 33 Eccaleobion (Eccalobeion) page 98 1. 15 one (one,) 1. 27 and (and,) page 99 1. 4 [omit Another . . . other.] and note [omit all but first sentence in note to 1. 14] [omit from Another 1. 15 to furnace 1. 15, together with note] page IOO [omit. par. II. note 2] page 101 1. 16 back. — (.) 1. 26 — my (. Besides, my). Variations of Grismiold from text. Page 78 1. 1 oriental (cap.) 1. 2 [Isitsoornot] (Isit- soornot) [throughout] 1. 5 to (, to) 1. 13 ;and (;) 1. 14 TALES. 28! '\icnouement\ (denouement) page 791. 1 :but (;) 1. 3 that (, that) 1. 27 vizier (vi2ier,) 1. 29 that (, that) page 80 1. 7 sbe (, she) 1. 14 , on (p. c.) 1. 21 things, (o. c.) I. 30 / (, I) 1. 34 rat, (o. c.) page 81 1. 4 clock-work (p. h.) 1. 7 , and ( — and,) 1. 18 or (, or) 1. 20 as (, as) 1. 23 which (, which) 1. 24 Eden — (;) 1. 28 endeavours (endeavors) 1. 34 fScbeheraxade"] (Schedera2ade) page 82 1. 1 that (, that) 1. 3-4 [**] ((**)) 1. 5 , at (o. c.) 1. 10 who, [B. J. who] 1. 11 do (do,) 1. 19 , and (—) I. 22 pleases, (o. c.) 1. 28 bum (cap.) 1. 28 hoo (cap.) 1. 29 words, (o. c.) 1. 31 more, — (—) 1. 34 sailor. (:) page 83 1. 1 in (, in) 1. 1-2 [**] ((**)) 1. 7 merchandize (merchandise) 1. 14 and (, and) 1. 18 sound, (—) page 84 1. 1 Calif bs (s. 1.) I. 9 metallic (metalic) 1. 9 colour (color) 1. 11 six (of six) 1. 33 shrieking (shrieking,) page 85 1. 2 'when, (, when) 1. 5 do), (,)) 1. 6 no (, no) 1. 6 doubt (doubt,) 1. 6 ugly, (o. c.) 1. 8 skin (skin,) 1. 9 and (, and) 1. 20 , so (—) 1. 24 , if (p. c.) 1. 29 and (, and) 1. 34 unJ (, and) page 86 I. 2 had (, had) page 87 I. 6 and (, and) 1. 9 endea•uour (endeavor) I. 11 favour (favor) 1. 11 , in (p. c.) page 88 1. 9 to the caliph (p.) page 89 1. 1 «- deavoured (endeavored) [note from 1. 13 to 1. 41 not in B. J.] 1. 12 Rocky (s. 1.) page 90 I. 13 and (, and) 1. 23 that, (p. c.) page 91 1. 9-12 (inclusive), with note not in B. J. 1. 14 carcases (carcasses) I. 19 banks, (o. c.) 1. 20 but (, but) 1. 21 and (, and) I. 22 that (, that) page 92 1. 22 sustenance (substance) 1. 35 [ArnoL/i] (Arnaldii) page 93 1. 1 , again (p. c.) 1. 14 [Puriri] (Perriri) 1. 22 \yalitsner'ia~\ (valisneria) 1. 33 Nature (s. 1.) 1. 34 which, (o. c.) 1. 34 Tipula (Tiputa) 1. 2-3 others pleasure, with note, not in B. J. page 95 1. 5 and (, and) page 94 I.9 solutions (solution) 1. 18 and (, and) 1. 26 angles (angles,) 1. 32 of (of the) page 95 1. 16 up (o.) 1. 28 ever (, ever) page 96 1. 3 sand. (!) 1. 13 cow,) (,) 1. 22 brains (brain) page 97 1. 11 in fact (, in fact,) 1. 6 note to 1. 6 not in B. J. 1. 28 fleshly (fleshy) 1. 33 XEccaleobion\ (Eccalobeion) page 98 1. 2 lead (lead,) 1. 11 popwer •was (powers were) 1. 21 such (such a) page 100 282 NOTES. I. i portrait (portraitt B. J.) I. 10 thousand (millions of) 1. nfact (fact,) page 101 1. 1-2 everything (every thing) 1. 16 back. — (.) page ioo 1. 27 thii (this,). THE ANGEL OF THE ODD. Columbian Magazine, October, 1844. The periodical form of thi» tale, set down as " Unknown " by S. lc W., waj discovered in the Columbian Magazine of date given above. Variations of Griswold from text. Page 103 1. 4 dining room (dining-room) 1. 5 , ivbicb (o. c.) 1. 24 in (, in) page 104 1. 25 , such (p. c.) page 105 1. 7 no (a) 1. 19 rum puncheon (rum-puncheon) page 106 I. 11d (of) 1. 30 he (, he) page 107 1. l+pizziness (pi22ness) 1. 1$ pred (bred) 1. 19 salt cellar (salt-cellar) 1. 23 mantel piece (mantel-piece) 1. 24 , be (o. c.) page 108 1. 13 contre temps (contretemps) 1. 16 sceptic (skeptic) 1. 24 by and bye (by-and-by) 1. 29 of (a.) 1. 32 very (i.) page 109 1. 13 post prandian (o.) 1. 30 said; (:) 1. 33 had (p.) 1. 33 f Hipping (filliping) page HO 1. 1 and (, and) 1. 8 farther (further) 1. 24 long-necked (p. h.) page 111 1. 10 rubbing post (rubbing-post) 1. 19 spouse (husband) page 112 1. 20 time (high time) 1. 21 me), (,)) page 113 1. 8 rope (, rope) 1. 12 , or (p. c.) 1. 16 was (was soon) 1. 23 , with (o. c.) 1. 32you? (,) page 114 1. 30 preecbes" (preeches) page 115 1. 3 wt (I); Griswold was followed in the words : dyspeptic page 104 1. 3 (C. M. dispeptic), .£/«/* page 113 1- 2 (C. M. Elite), and filliping page 109 1. 33 (C. M. fillipping). TALKS. 283 SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY. American Whig Review, April, 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 17. The text follows the Broadway Journal. The collation of the text with the American Whig Review shows few verbal changes. Griswold shows several omissions, three verbal errors, and a number of changes in punctuation. Variations of American Review from text. Page 116 1. 3 bead-ache (o. h.) 1. 9 rabbit (rarebit) 1. 20 cap, (o. c.) 1. so till (until) page 117 1. 26 Mummy (s. 1.) [and elsewhere] page 118 1. 19 on (upon) page 119 1. 9 ,) (o. c.) page 120 1. 11 on (upon) 1. 23 ;then (,) 1. 30 evening; (,) 1. 34 three (some three) page 131 1. 12 and, (o. c.) 1. 13 , we (o. c.) page 122 1. 10 in (into) page 123 1. 2 behaviour (behavior) 1. 6 travelled (trav- eled) 1. 9 , I think, (o.) 1. 10 alvuays been (been always) 1. 25 at (somewhat at) 1. 26 knovo (explain) 1. 31 every- thing (every thing) page 124 1. 18 mouth! (.) 1. 21 his (the) 1. 28 «/'(of the) 1. 31 excellent (capital) 1. 34 in (in the) page 125 1. 5 mummy (cap.) 1. 9 travellers (travelers) page 127 1. 16 ,) (),) 1. 24 Bicleride (s. 1.) page 128 1. 8 novo: (;) 1. 10 ,) Q,) l. 22-24-34 [Scarabaeus] (Scaraboeus) 1. 33 Scarabaei (Scaraboei) page 129 1. 12 , / (o. c.) I. 15-26-27 Scarabaeus (Scaraboeus) Lis god (cap.) 1. 16 were (were,) 1. 18 the (a) page 130 1. 15 An (A) page 131 1. 1 immediately (forthwith) 1. 25 since (as) page 132 1. 16 , simultaneously (o. c.) page 133 1. 3 , joining (o. c.) 1. 10 Mesmer (Mesmerism) 1. 13 lite (lice,) page 134 1. 7 Ttrkl (;) page 135 I. 4 after (, after) 1. 13 ill-conceived (o. h.) 1. 13 the (the extreme) I. 16 ear,;(,_). 284 NOTES. Variations of Griswold from text. Page 116 1. 1 symposium (i.) 1. 4 as (, as) I. 8 of (, of) 1. 2a and" (and,) page 117 1. sfrom (, from) I. 7 mt (me,) 1. 7—17 Note in quo. marks in Griswold 1. 26 din- ing (dining-) page 118 1. 5 ;the (—) I. 23 ),but (,)) I. 24 or (or,) 1. 27 subjects, (—) 1. 28 in (, in) 1. 29 characters (characters,) page 119 1. 1 injury, (;) 1. 8 latter (latter,) 1. 14 ; the (—) 1. 18 , but (;) 1. 26 in (, in) 1. 29 ensheathed (unsheathed) 1. 33 , or [p. c.) page 120 1. 2 am/ (, and) 1. 7 /of (the) page 121 1. 3 at (o.) 1. 3 one tenth (one-tenth) 1. 4 nine tenth (nine-tenth) I. 11 the (, the) 1. 19 lids (lids,) and (, and) page 122 1. 32 Broadway Journal has Messieurs page 123 1. 2 behaviour (behavior) page 124 1. 3 any thing (anything) page 125 1. 14 carbuncled-nosed (o. h.) 1. 16 the (his) 1. 20 wig (whig) 1. 25 disembowelling (disemboweling) page 127 1. 27 five (, five) page 128 1. 7 very (, very) 1. 12 "ani- mal" ('animal') 1. 22—24-34 Scarabaeus (Scaraboeus) 1. 25 "arms" (arms) 1. 25 and a (and) 1. 26-27 "ef . . . Scarabaeus" ('of . . . Scaraboeus') 1. 31 , in (o. c.) 1. 33 Scarabaei (Scaraboei) (and so on) 1. 33 the (p.) page 129 I. 11 traveler (traveller) 1. 28 now (o.) page 130 1. 3 said be (he said) 1. 27 or (, or) page 131 I. 32 said (said the) page 132 1. 6 so (so,) 1. 7 , once (p. c.) 1. 10 the very (, the very) 1. 22 follows: — (:) 1. 30 with (, with) 1. 33 with (, with) page 133 1. 21 that, (, that) 1. 23 is (is,) page 134 1. 4 travelers (travellers) 1. 7 New Tork (New-York) 1. 10 very minutely (, very minutely,) 1. 27 [sphinx] (sphynx) 1. 30 been, (o. c.) page 135 I. 7 Bowling-Green (o. h.) 1. 13 rail-roads (p. h.) 1. 25 Gliddon, (o. c.) 1. 26 , and (o. c.) page 136 1. 8 it (, it) page 137 1. 10 all- important (o. h.) 1. 12 downward (downwards) 1. 13 then, (o. c.) I. 23 , or (o. c.) 1. 29-30 / (, I) Broadway Journal has the for toe, page 120 1. 7 Griswold repeating the same error. The Whig Review has the correct form. Page 129 1. 12 [, /] (o. c). TALES. 285 THE POWER OF WORDS. Democratic Review, June, 1845 5 Broadway Journal, II. 16. The text follows the Broadtvay Journal. The text shows one or two verbal changes from the earlier state. Griswold varies in the punctuation only. Variations of Democratic Review from text. Page 139 1. 20— attempt (o. d.) page 140 1. 7 it (if,) 1. is me! (!—) page 141 1. 22 air, (o. c.) page 14a 1. 32 cometi (nebulae) 1. 33 —A*(,) page 143 1. 16 creates? (.) 1. 17 must: (—) 1. 32 fairy (faery) page 144 1. 2 with (, with). Variations of Griswold from text. Page 139 1. 5 ask (, ask) 1. ia all (all,) page 140 1. 7 it (h,) 1. 15 me! (1—) page 142 1. 13 interest, (o. c.) 1. 27 tr (or,) page 143 I. 11 earth: — (:) 1. 28 lveef? (weep) 1. 29 luhy — (,) page 144 1. 1 since (since,). THE POWER OF WORDS. Note by Prof. fV. Le Contt Stevens, Washington and Lee University. The gist of this colloquy is contained in the last paragraph of it, where Agathos says, '' This wild star — it is three centuries since ... I spoke it — with a few passionate sentences — into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts." To compare a flower with an unfulfilled dream, or a volcano with the passions of the heart is entirely legitimate as a poetic simile. But the author wishes to convey some idea about the "physical power" of words, and reminds 2 86 NOTES. us that "as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite result." It would be as easy to deny the proposi- tion that "no thought can perish" as to make the assertion. Neither denial nor assertion is capable of proof. To say that "no act is without infinite result" is equally gratuitous. The author's attempt at physical reasoning on the page which follows is made apparently with no regard to the conservation of energy, and with no knowledge of the limitations of interpretation to be observed in mathematical analysis. He says " We moved our hands, . . . and in so doing we gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well know." Let us assume that the motion of the hand is accom- plished with such energy as to produce a wave, of "vibration," and that the energy is measurable; that the power exerted is equal, for example, to that of lifting a pound through the height of a foot in one second. This energy is quickly propagated in all directions with decreasing intensity according to a well-known physical law. At a short distance, such as a few miles, or hun- dreds of miles, the intensity vanishes completely. By this we mean that there is no agency known to human beings by which its existence at any greater distance can be apprehended. Any conclusions about it are based on ignorance rather than knowledge. The intensity becomes an infinitesimal of the second or third or nth order; an infinitely small fraction of what is already infinitely small. Let us grant that an omnipotent being, an omniscient intelligence, can take up any such effect at an infinite dis- tance and trace it back unerringly to its source in the midst of an infinitely large number of other disturbances of infinitely great variety of intensity. Then still we are confronted with the fact that the import of a word has no recogni2able relation to the physical process of the propa- TALES. 287 gation of sound through air. The air moreover extends but a few miles above the earth's surface, and there is no physical evidence that sound is propagated through an imponderable ether, as the author assumes, or seems to assume, nor that the "source of all motion is thought." The author's idea is hence capable of but a single in- terpretation. It is the deduction of positive conclusions from negative premises, and hence utterly worthless so far as its relation to science is concerned. But Poe evidently had no more idea that his writings would be subjected to scientifie analysis than did " Mun- chausen." Between the two there is no comparison, so far as refinement and genius are concerned. But they are about equally independent in neglecting the laws of scientific evidence. THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE. Graham's Magazine, July, 1845 > Mayflower, 1845. Ai the later maga2ine form of this tale was not available for collation, Griswold has been taken as the text. The earliest state shows extensive variations from the text. In fact the whole tale was subjected to a most careful and minute verbal correction, without change of incidents and ideas. Variations of Graham from text. Page 145 I. 6 all the (the) I. 7 reason, (o. c.) 1. 9 tenses, (o. c.) 1. 9 faith} — (—) 1. 10 , or (p. c.) 1. 10- n w . . . Kabbala (in the inner teachings of the spirit) 1. 11 The . . . it (Its idea)l. 1 1 never (not) I. n its (its seeming) I. 1 j of . . . propensity, (for the propensity in question.) L 15 , that (—) 1. 16 itself; (—) 1. 17 'we . . . understood (o.) 1. 19-20 that . . . all (that all) 1. ao , have (has) I.25 built (reared) 1. 26miW(cap.)l. %(>phren- ology (cap.) page 146 1. 4 alimentativeness (cap.) 1. 5 man . . . eating (man to his food) 1. 6 Secondly (Again) 288 NOTES. 1. 8 amativeness, (amativeness) 1. 8-9 c . . . i . . . c . . . c (cap.) 1. 10 —so (;) 1. 18 object: (i.) 1. 19—20 'wiser . . . upon (safer — if classify we must — to classify upon) 1 25 , that (o. c.) 1. 29 , a posteriori, (o. c.) 1. 29 phrenology (cap.) 1. 31 , which (o. c.) 1. 31- 32 wt . . . perverseness (p.) 1. 32-33 more . . . term (better term, we may call Perverseness) 1. 34 , a (—) P«ge 147 1. 1 ; or, (. Or) 1. 3 say, (o. c.) 1. 4 <"U (o. c.) 1. 6 ; but (,) 1. 6 , in fact, (in reality) 1. 6 more (so) 1. 7 conditions (circumstances) 1. 8 certain (sure) 1. 9 assurance (conviction) 1. 9 error (impolicy) 1. 10 any (an) I. 11 us (us,) 1. 18 combativeness (Combativeness) 1. 19 phrenology (cap.) 1. 20 combativeness (cap.) 1. 21 , the (o. c.) 1. 23 , is (must be) 1. 26-28 its . . . airy(any) 1. 27 c . . . (cap.) 1. 29 , but (. But) 1. 28 peryerseness (cap. n. i.) 1. 29 not (i.) 1. 30 exists (prevails) 1. 33 and . . . questions (o.) 1. 34 soul, (o.c.) page 148 1. 2 dis- tinctive (distinct) 1. 2 who (who,) 1. 5 is (, in such case, is) 1. 11 yet . . . , that (yet a shadow seems to flit across the brain, and suddenly the thought strikes him that,) 1. 12 this (o.) 1. 14, the (—) 1. 14 desire (desire—) L 15 , and (—) 1. 16—17 , (to . . . is in defiance of all consequences, is) 1. 18 Wt (Again :— We) I. 22 glow, (—) 1. 23-24 with . . . fire, (anil our whole souls are on fire with anticipation of the glorious result.) 1. 24 , it (—) 1. 25 to-day, (—) 1. 26 ; and (. And) 1. 26 answer, (o. c.) 1. 27 , using (—employing) 1. 29 , but (;) 1. 30 nameless, (—) 1. 31 , craving (o. c.) 1. 34 us, — (—) page 149 1. 1 substance . . . shadow (cap.) 1. 2 . But (; but) 1. 3 shadow (cap.) 1. 3 , — we (. We) 1. 4 strikes, (o. c.) 1. 4 . At (, but at) 1. 5 time, (p. c.) 1. 5 /'/ (o.) 1. s ghost (Thing) L 6 — it (. It) 1. 7 — we (. We) 1. 8 . Alas (—alas) 1. 9 We (And yet again: — We) 1. 10 —we (. We) 1. 11 Unaccountably (, and yet, un- accountably,) 1. 14-15 , still . . . imperceptible, (p. c.) 1. 16 genius (cap.) 1. 18 , a (o. c.) 1. 18-19 ,/ar . . . genius (far . . . Genius) 1. 19 demon (cap.) L 20 , and (. And) 1. 20 thought (Thought) 1. 20-21 a . . . TALES. 289 'which (one which) 1. 29 for this . . . cause (i.) 1. 30 vividly (impetuously) I. ji violently (most strenuously) 1. 31 , do (o. c.) 1. 32 impetuously (unhesitatingly) I. 33 nature (cap.) I. 33 j« . . . impatient, (of so de- moniac an impatience) 1. 33 as . . . him, .who (as the passion of him who,) page 150 1. 1 for (, even for) 1. 5 prostrate (throw) 1. 6 abyss (clanger, and so out of its sight) 1.6, and (o. c.) 1. 10 this, (o. c.) 1. 11-12 no . . . perverseness (no principle that men, in their fleshly nature, can understand; and were it not occasionally known to operate in furtherance of good, we might deem the analogous feeling) 1. 12 arch-fiend, (Arch-fiend) 1. 13- 14 'were . . . good (o.) 1. 15 said (premised) 1. 15 much, (o. c.) 1. i;-i6that . . . question (that I may be able, in some degree, to give an intelligible answer to your queries) 1. 17-18 that . . . cause (that I may assign something like a reason) 1. 19 , and for my (and) 1. 19 this (the) 1. zz have (you might have) 1. 22-24 A* . . . Perverse. (o.) 1. 26 a (o.) 1. 27 ,far (—) 1. 27 months, (—) 1. 28 schemes, (o. c.) page 151 1. 4 his . . . room (his) 1. 5 , for (o. c.) 1. 6 discovered (o.) 1. 7 coroner's (o.) 1. 7 'was, — (was) 1. 9 well (merrily) 1. 10-1 1 once brain (obtruded itself) 1. 11 taper, (o. c.) 1. 12. / bad left no (, nor had I left the) I. 13 convict, (p. c.) 1. 16 absolute (i.) 1. l7time, (o. c.) 1. 17 ,1 . . . revel (I reveled) 1. 18 more (, I believe, more) 1. 19-20 But there (There) (New par. in Gra.) 1. 20 from . . . the (after which this) 1. 21 -22 feeling . . . thought, (feeling took to itself a new tone, and grew, by scarcely perceptible gradations, into a haunting and harassing thought — a thought that harassed because it haunted.) 1. 23 "I could" begins new par. 1. 25 with (by) 1. 25 or . . . our (or) 1. 26 burthen (burden) 1. 26 some (an) 1. 27 opera (opera—) 1. 30 catch (find) 1. 30 my (my impunity and) 1. 31 and (and very frequently would catch myself) 1. 31 phrase (phrases) I. 32 safe, (safe — I am safe.) 1. 33 along (list- lessly about) page 152 1. 1 , / (at my indiscretion I) 1. 1 re-modelled (remodeled) 1. 2 yes — (,) 1. 2-3 if Vol. VI. —19 290 NOTES. . . . confession (i.) 1. 3 .' (.) spoken (uttered) 1. 5 some ( (long ago, during childhood) some) 1. 6 these (those) 1. 6 perversity, (Perversity) 1. 7 some (so much) I. j to explain, (in explaining) 1. 7 well, (o.) 1. 8 , / bad (had I) 1. 9 , that (—) 1. 10-11 confess . . . guilty, (make open confession —) 1. la whom (o.) 1. 1 j —and (,) 1. 14 first, (o. c.) 1. 14 an (strong) 1. 15 soul. (soul. I whistled — I laughed aloud—) 1. 15-16—still . . . ran. (and still faster. At length I saw —or fancied that I saw— a vast and formless shadow that seemed to dog my footsteps, approaching me from behind, with a cat- like and stealthy pace. It was then that I ran.) 1. 16 maddening (wild) 1. 18 ,for, (—for) 1. 18-19 it*// - . . understood (understood too well) 1. 19 , to (o. c.) 1. 19 situation (condition) 1. 20 lost (undone) 1. 2o pace (steps) 1. 21-22 At length, (But now) 1. 22 the alarm (alarm) 1. 22 me (o.) 1. 23 / . . . then (Then — then I felt) I. 2^fate (cap.) 1. 24 tongue, (o. c.) 1. 24 — but (. But) I.25 voice (voice from some member of the crowd now) 1. 25 — a (, and a) 1. 26 shoulder (arm) 1. 27 moment, (o. c.) 1. 28 ; /(—) 1. 28 giddy i (—) 1. 29-30 and . . . palm (and at this instant it was no mortal hand, I knew, that struck me violently with a broad and massive palm) 1. 30 The (At the blow the) 1. 30 long- (p. h.) 1. 32 a (o.) 1. 33 marked (o.) page 153 1. 1 bell (cap.) Last two pars, page ijj do not occur in Gra. THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF M. VALDEMAR. American Whig Review, December, 1845; Broad- way Journal, II. 24. The text follows the Broadway Journal (with Poe'» MS. notes in his copy of the Broadway Journal). The American Whig Review shows one verbal variation and a few differences in punc- tuation from the later form. Griswold differs from the text in the spelling of several words and in a few cases of punctuation. TALES. 291 This tale in reprinted in England twice during Poe's lifetime, first, in the " Popular Record of Modern Science," London, under the title "The Case of M. Valdemar," and second, in booklet form, with the title " Mesmerism 'In Articulo Mortis,' " Lon- don, 1846. The latter has been collated with the text, and the [ variations are noted below. Variations of American Whig Review from text. Page 154 1. 6 , to (o. c.)page 1561. 22 ,from (o.c.) P«ge 157 1. 3' Sunday). ( ).) page 160 1. 20 lips) ; (;) ) page 161 1. t few (very few) page 163 1. 4 part; (:) page 164 1. 34 speedy (speedy,) page 166 1. 17 less, (—) 1. 20 putridity (putrescence). Variations of Griswold from text. Page 154 1. 11 , and (;) page 155 1. 18 Harlaem (Harlem) page 156 1. 23-27 [In quo. marks in Gris.] page 157 1. 3« Sunday). (.)) page 158 1. 15 with (, with) I. 30 Valdemar (Valdemar,) page 159 1. 20 ster- torous (stertorious) 1. 21 stertorousness (stertoriousness) 1. 34 / (, I) page 160 1. 8 B. J. has unusally for un- usually 1. 13 day- (o. h.) 1. 20 lips); (;)) 1. 27 / (, I) page 161 1. 5 the (a) page 163 1. 17 syllabification (syl- libification) page 166 1. 20 putridity (putrescence^. The last putridity is Poe's MS. correction in his copy of the Broadway Journal. An article of ours, thus entitled [The Facts in the case of M. Valdemar], was published in the last number of Mr. Colton's American Review, and has given rise to some discussion — especially in regard to the truth or falsity of the statements made. It does not become us, of course, to offer one word on the point at issue. We have been requested to reprint the article, and do so with pleasure. We leave it to speak for itself. We may observe, however, that there are a certain class of people who pride them- selves upon Doubt, as a profession. — Ed. B. J. 292 NOTES. THE ENGLISH PAMPHLET. Mesmerism | "In Ardculo Mortis" | in ] Astounding and Horrifying Narration | Shewing the extraordinary power of Mes- merism I in arresting the | Piogius of Death | By Edgar A. Poe, Esq. I of New York | London | Short & Co., 8, King Street, Bloomsbury. | 1846. | Three pence | . ADVERTISEMENT. The following astonishing narrative first appeared in the Ameri- can Magaxint, a work of some standing in the United States, where the case has excited the most intense interest. The effects of the mesmeric influence, in this case, were so astounding, so contrary to all past experience, that no one could have possibly anticipated the final result. The narrative though only a plain recital of facts, i s of so extraordinary a nature as almost to surpass belief. It is only necessary to add, that credence is given to it in America, where the occurrence took place. Variations from text. Page 154 1. 1 / (, I) 1. s , that (o. c.) 1. 2-3 At. Valdemar (small caps.) 1. 4 nor — (,) I. 7 farther (further) 1. 8 endeavort (endeavours) 1. 8 this— (,) 1. 13 facts — (facts,) 1. 14 , succinctly, (o. c.) I.is these: (:—) 1. 17 Mesmerism (s. 1.) 1.17 and, (o.c.) 1. 18 ago, (o. c.) 1. 21 : —- no (;) 1. 2i mesmerized (mesmerised) page 155 1. 1 seen, (; —) I. * , in (o. c) 1. 3 J (j —) 1. 5 ; (; —) 1. 6 Death (s. 1.) 1. 9 —the (;) 1. 14-16-17 ". . ." (o.) 1. 14 Biblioteca Forensic a (i.) 1. 15 Issachar Marx (" Isa- char Marx") 1. 20 —his (,) 1. 21 , also, (o. c.) 1. 23 — the (,) I. 30 , «r thoroughly, (o. c.) 1. 30 , and (;) 1. 31 clairvoyance (n. i.) 1. 33 these (those) page 156 1. 9 him (n. i.) 1. 9 and (o.) 1. 11 ,' and (,) 1. 11 , to (o. c.) 1. 13 ;for, (—for) 1. 19 period (time) 1. 20 physicians (physician} 1. 23 note: (: —) 1. 24 P— (Poe) I. 25 now (n. i.) 1. 29 an (-an-) page 157 1. 1 ;(—) 1. 6 power (power,) 1. 8 palliative (purgative) 1. 8 without (, with- out) 1. 9 penciling (pencilling) 1. 11 Doctors (Drs.) 1. 16 , of course, (o. c.) 1. 19 , running (o. c.) 1. 20 ;and (,) 1. 21 , at (o. c.) 1. iS on . . . point (, on . . . point,) TALES. 293 1. 32 hold (hold a) page 158 1. 13 until (, until) 1. 15 acquaintance, (o. c.) 1. 16 ,) (),) 1. 16 farther (further) 1. 19 and (and,) 1. 28-29 , at . . . could, (o. c.) 1. 29 L—(L—1) 1. 29 Valdemar, (o. c.) 1. 31 mesmerixing (mesmerising) 1. 32 Yes (s. 1.) 1. 33 mesmerized (mesmer- ised) page 159 1. 4 but (but,) 1. 7 Doctors (Drs.) 1. 9 , and (;) 1. 11 hesitation— (,) 1. 14 and (, and) 1. 19 although (, although) 1. 19 sigh (, sigh) 1. 19 a (o.) 1. 27 inward (n. i.) page 160 1. 2 ;the (,) 1. 5 , it (o. c.) 1. 7 a (a very) 1. 9 The (—The) 1. 18 position; (,) 1. 19-20 ( . . .;)(,...:) 1. 22 Still, (o. c.) 1. 24 / (, I) 1. 25 half (o.) 1. 29 ; but (—) 1. 29 to (, to) 1. 33 He . . . (new par.) page 161 1. 7 words: (word : —) 1. 8 Yes;—(;) 1. 12 again: (.) 1. 18 farther (further) 1. 22 and (, and) 1. 27 ;and (,) 1. 29 said (said,) 1. 30 inaudibly: (: — )1. 31 (not new par.) 1. 31 Yes; (,)1. 32 , or (—) 1. 32 wish, (—) page 162 1. 1 , until (o. c.) 1. 1 super (inter) 1. 10 which (, which) 1. 10 , hitherto, (p. c.) 1. 11 went out (n. i.) 1. 17 ; while (—) 1. 22 beyond conception (, beyond all conception,) 1. 26 at (, at) 1. 27 simply (o.) page 163 1. 1 jawi (jaw) 1. 1 voice — (,) 1. 4 ; /(.) 1. 6 ; but (—) 1. 13 ears — (,) 1. 13 least (least,) 1. 15 m* (me—) 1. 17 a/ (—as) 1. 25 said: (,) 1. 26 Yes; — (—) 1. 26 no; — (:) 1. 27 dead. (!) 1. 28 , or (o. c.) page 164 1. 1 hour, (o. c.) 1. 2 , silently (o. c.) 1. 3 endeavors (endeavours) 1. 10 endeavored (en- deavoured) 1. 12 (new par.) 1. 12 , indeed, (p. c.) 1. 14 Af. (myself to M.) 1. 15 /« reply, (at reply) I. 16 longer (longer the power of) 1. 18 —although (,) 1. 18 endeav- ored (endeavoured) 1. 22 ; and (,) 1. 34 speedy (speedy,) page 165 1. 1 until (, until) 1. 6 attentions (attention) 1. 15 . These (: these) 1. 17 especially (specially) 1. 19 out-fiowing (o. h.) 1. 20 highly (highly-) 1. 23 and (, and) 1. 23 F— (F.) 1. 24 follows: (:—) 1. 28 rather (, rather,) 1. 30 before;), ( ),) 1. 31 wbicb(, which) 1. 31 forth: (:—) 1. 32 —put (. Put) 1. 32 or, (o. c.) 1. 33 waken (wake) 1. 33-34 — I lay . . . dead! (I say . . . dead !) page 166 1. 3 endeavor (endeavour) 1. 3 re- 294 NOTES. compost (o. b.) 1. 3 but, (o. c.) 1. 3 this (this,) 1. 5 and (, and) 1. 6-7 at least (, at least,) 1. 8 — •?«./ (,) 1. 17 , less (—) 1. 18 rotted (n. i.) 1. 18 away (away—) 1. 19 {Art (the) 1. 20 —«/(,)!. 20 detestable (detestable,). THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. Godey's Lady's Book, November, 1846. With respect to several of the variations noted below, the Gris- wold reading may be preferred to the Godey's; but as we have no positive evidence that Poe made these changes, the Utter form has been followed in the text. Variations of Griswold from the text. page 1671. 2 could, (;) 1. 2 J(, I) 1. 7 resolved (resolved,) 1. 8 , but (o. c.) 1. 13 that(, that) 1. 23 , to (—) 1. 25 gemmary, (o. c.) 1. 26 , but (—) page 168 1.1 ,' — / (:) 1. 10 bim (him,) 1. 14 day. (!) For Luchresi substitute Luchesi throughout. 1. 28 it (, it) page 1691. 15 silk (silk,) 1. 15 ;and putting (. Putting) 1. 19 honour (honor) 1. 30 upon (on) page 171 L 13 long (p.) 1. 13 skeletons (bones) 1. 27 \_flagon\ (flayon) page 172 1. 7 , "a sign," (p.) 1. 8-9 from . . . roquelaire a trowel (a trowel from . . . roquelaire) 1. 13 and (, and) 1. 24 side (o.) 1. 28 crypt or (o.) page 173 1. 2 endeavoured (endeavored) 1. 20 it (, it) 1. 10 labours (labors) 1. 20 , / (—) 1. 21 ,- but (:) 1. 25 clamoured (clamored) 1. 25 , / aided, (—) 1. 27 clamourer (clamorer) 1. 29 and (, and) page 175 1. 2 recognizing (recognising) 1. 4 be! — a (— a) 1. 5 , indeed (o. c.) 1. 23-24 ; it . . . so (— on account of the dampness of the catacombs) 1. 25 labour (labor). TALES. *95 THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM. Columbian Magazine, March, 1847. This talc is a developed form of " The Landscape Garden." The text follows tile Columbian Magazine, the variations of Griswold from the text being noted below. Page 176 1. 15 Turget (C. M. and Gris., Turgot) page 178 1. 13 that, (o. c.) page 179 I. 13 [wn»] (o. a.) 1. 26 [P&ekler] (o. a.) 1. 15 upon, (o. c.) page 182 1. 26 there (, there) page 183 1. 30 this :— (:) page 188 1. 23 [StaeT\ (Stael, [C. M.], Stael [Gris.]) page 191 1. 29 : there (:) page 192 1. 23 Heaven (s. 1.) 1. 30 and (, and) page 193 1. 12 Arabesque (s. 1.) page 194 1. 5 [dlbris] (o. a.). MELLONTA TAUTA. Godey's Lady's Book, February, 1849. The text follows the Lais' 1 Bock, the few variations of Gris- wold from the text being noted below. The following letter is prefixed to "Mellonta Tauta" in the Lady s Book: To tie Editor of the Lady'1 Book : — I have the honor of sending you, for your maga2ine, an article which I hope you will be able to comprehend rather more distinctly than I do myielf. It is a translation, by my friend Martin Van Buren Mavis, (sometimes called the " Poughkeepsie Seer,") of an odd-looking MS. which I found, about a year ago, tightly corked up in a jug floating in the Mare Tewebrarum — a sea well de- scribed by the Nubian geographer, but seldom visited, now-a-days, except by the transcendentalists and divers for crotchets. Very Truly, EDGAR A. POE. 296 NOTES. Variations of Grisixiold from text. Page 197 1.4 , at (o. c.) page 198 1. S with (n. i.) 1. t2 traveling (travelling) 1. 17 drag ropt (drag-rope) page 199 1. 23 the (-the-) 1. 29 cat-peltries (o. h.) 1. 32 , every (o. c.) page 200 1. 12 Atalantic (Atlantic) page 201 1. 15 f (!) page 202 1. 3 POEMS. r Alea. Do it! I would have thee drop Thy riotous company, too — fellows low born — 111 suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir And Alessandra's husband. Cas. I will drop them. AUss. Thou wUt—thou must. Attend thou also more To thy dress and equipage — they are over plain For thy lofty rank and fashion — much depends Upon appearances. Cas. I '11 see to it. AUss. Then see to it! — pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage — much thou wantest In dignity. Cas. Much, much, oh much I want In proper dignity. AUss. (haughtily.,~) Thou mockest me, sir! Cas. (abstractedly.} Sweet, gentle Lalage! AUss. Heard I aright? I speak to him — he speaks of Lalage! Sir Count! (places her hand on his shoulder) what art thou dreaming? he 's not well! What ails thee, sir? Cas. (starting.) Cousin! fair cousin !— madam! I crave thy pardon — indeed I am not well — Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please. This air is most oppressive ! — Madam — the Duke! Enter Di Broglio. Di Broglio. My son, I 've news for thee ! — hey? — what 's the matter? (observing Alessandra.) V the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione ! kiss her, You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! I 've news for you both. Politian is expected A SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 6l Hourly in Rome — Politian, Earl of Leicester! We '11 have him at the wedding. 'T is his first visit To the imperial city. Aless. What! Politian Of Britain, Earl of Leicester? Di Brog. The same, my love. We '11 have him at the wedding. A man quite young In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him, But Rumour speaks of him as of a prodigy Pre-eminent in arts and arms, and wealth, And high descent. We '11 have him at the wedding. Aless. I have heard much of this Politian. Gay, volatile and giddy — is he not? And little given to thinking. Di Brog. Far from it, love. No branch, they say, of all philosophy So deep abstruse he has not mastered it. Learned as few are learned. Aless. 'T is very strange! I have known men have seen Politian And sought his company. They speak of him As of one who entered madly into life, Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs. Cos. Ridiculous! Now / have seen Politian And know him well — nor learned nor mirthful he. He is a dreamer and a man shut out From common passions. Di Brog. Children, we disagree. Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear Politian was a melancholy man? (exeunt.) 62 POEMS. II. A Lady's apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. Lalage, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand mirror. In the back ground Jacinta (a servant maid) leans carelessly upon a chair. Lal. Jacinta! is it thou? Jac. (pertly.) Yes, Ma'am, I 'm here. Lal. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in wait- ing. Sit down !— let not my presence trouble you — Sit down !— for I am humble, most humble. Jac. (aside.) 'T is time. ( Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read.) Lal. "It in another climate, so he said, *' Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!" (pauses — turns over some leaves, and resumes.) "No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower — "But Ocean ever to refresh mankind "Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind." Oh, beautiful !— most beautiful !— how like To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven! O happy land! (pauses.) She died ! — the maiden died! O still more happy maiden who couldst die! Jacinta! ( Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes.) Again !— a similar tale Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea! SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 63 Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play — "She died full young '' — one Bossola answers him — "I think not so — her infelicity "Seemed to have years too many"—Ah luckless lady! Jacinta! (still no answer.) Here's a far sterner story But like — oh, very like in its despair — Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily A thousand hearts — losing at length her own. She died. Thus endeth the history — and her maids Lean over her and weep -—- two gentle maids With gentle names — Eiros and Charmion? Rainbow and Dove! Jacinta! Jac. (pettishly.) Madam, what is it? Lal. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind As go down in the library and bring me The Holy Evangelists. Jac. Pshaw! (exit.) Lal. If there be balm For the wounded spirit in Gilead it is there! Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble Will there be found — " dew sweeter far than that Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon Hill." (re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table.) There, ma'am, 's the book. Indeed she is very trouble- some, (aside.) Lal. (astonished.) What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught To grieve thee or to vex thee ?— I am sorry. For thou hast served me long and ever been Trust-worthy and respectful, (resumes her reading.) 64 POEMS. Jac. I can't believe She has anv more jewels — no — no — she gave me all.' (aside.) Lal. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I be- think me Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding. How fares good Ugo ? — and when is it to be? Can I do aught ? — is there no farther aid Thou needest, Jacinta? Jac. Is there no farther aid! That's meant forme, (aside) I 'm sure, Madam, you need not Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth. Lal. Jewels ! Jacinta, — now indeed, Jacinta, I thought not of the jewels. Jac. Oh! perhaps not! But then I might have sworn it. After all, There 's Ugo says the ring is only paste, For he 's sure the Count Castiglione never Would have given a real diamond to such as you; And at the best I 'm certain, Madam, you cannot Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it. (exit.) (Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table — after a short pause raises Lal. Poor Lalage !— and is it come to this? Thy servant maid !— but courage !— 't is but a viper Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul! (taking up the mirror.) Ha ! here at least's a friend — too much a friend In earlier days — a friend will not deceive thee. Fair mirror and true ! now tell me (for thou canst) A tale — a pretty tale — and heed thou not I SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 65 Though it be rife with woe. It answers me. It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks, And Beauty long deceased — remembers me Of Joy departed — Hope, the Seraph Hope, Inurned and entombed !— now, in a tone Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible, Whispers of early grave untimely yawning For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true ! — thou liesf not! Thou hast no end to gain — no heart to break — Castiglione lied who said he loved Thou true — he false ! — false !— false! (while she speaks, a monk enters her apart- ment, and approaches unobserved.) Monk. Refuge thou hast, Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things! Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray! Lal. (arising hurriedly.) I cannot pray !— My soul is at war with God! The frightful sounds of merriment below Disturb my senses —go! I cannot pray — The sweet airs from the garden worry me! Thy presence grieves me — go!—thy priestly rai- ment Fills me with dread — thy ebony crucifix With horror and awe! Monk. Think of thy precious soul! Lal. Think of my early days !— think of my father And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home, And the rivulet that ran before the door! Think of my little sisters ! — think of them! And think of me !— think of my trusting love Vol. VII. — s 66 POEMS. And confidence — his vows — my ruin — think — think Of my unspeakable misery! begone! Yet stay! yet stay !— what was it thou saidst of prayer And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith And vows before the throne? Monk. I did. Lal. 'T is well. There is a vow were fitting should be made — A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent, A solemn vow! Monk. Daughter, this zeal is well! Lal. Father, this zeal is anything but well! Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing? A crucifix whereon to register This sacred vow? (he hands her his own.) Not that — Oh! no !— no !— no! (shuddering.) Not that! Not that !— I tell thee, holy man. Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me! Stand back! I have a crucifix myself, — I have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting The deed — the vow — the symbol of the deed — And the deed's register should tally, father! (draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high.) Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine Is written in Heaven! Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter, And speak a purpose unholy — thy lips are livid — Thine eyes are wild — tempt not the wrath divine! Pause ere too late ! — oh be not — be not rash! Swear not the oath — oh swear it not! Lal. 'T is sworn! * SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 67 III. An apartment in a palace. Politian and Balda22ar. Baldazzar. Arouse thee now, Politian! Thou must not — nay indeed, indeed, thou shah not Give way unto these humours. Be thyself! Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee, And live, for now thou diest! Politian. Not so, Baldazzar! Surely I live. Bal. Politian, it doth grieve me To see thee thus. Pol. Baldazzar, it doth grieve me To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend. Command me, sir! what wouldst thou have me do? At thy behest I will shake off that nature Which from my forefathers I did inherit, Which with my mother's milk I did imbibe, And be no more Politian, but some other. Command me, sir! Bal. To the field then — to the field — To the senate or the field. Pol. Alas! alas! There is an imp would follow me even there! There is an imp hath followed me even there! There is what voice was that? Bal. I heard it not. I heard not any voice except thine own, And the echo of thine own. Pol. Then I but dreamed. Bal. Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp — the court Befit thee — Fame awaits thee — Glory calls — 68 POEMS. And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not Lear In hearkening to imaginary sounds And phantom voices. Pol. It is a phantom voice! Didst thou not hear it then? Bal. I heard it not. Pol. Thou heardst it not! Baldazzar, speak no more To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts. Oh! I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death, Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities Of the populous Earth! Bear with me yet awhile! We have been boys together — school-fellows — And now are friends —yet shall not be so long — For in the eternal city thou shalt do me A kind and gentle office, and a Power — A Power august, benignant and supreme — Shall then absolve thee of all farther duties Unto thy friend. Bal. Thou speakest a fearful riddle I will not understand. Pol. Yet now as Fate Approaches, and the Hours are breathing low, The sands of Time are changed to golden grains, And dazzle me, Baldazzar. Alas! alas! I cannot die, having within my heart So keen a relish for the beautiful As hath been kindled within it. Methinks the air Is balmier now than it was wont to be — Rich melodies are floating in the winds — A rarer loveliness bedecks the earth — And with a holier lustre the quiet moon Sitteth in Heaven. — Hist! hist! thou canst not say Thou hearest not now, Baldazzar? SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 69 Bill. Indeed I hear not. Pol. Not hear it !— listen now — listen ! — the faintest sound And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard! A lady's voice !— and sorrow in the tone! Baldazzar, it oppresses me like a spell! Again ! — again !— how solemnly it falls Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice Surely I never heard — yet it were well Had I but heard it with its thrilling tones In earlier days! Bill. I myself hear it now. Be still !— the voice, if I mistake not greatly, Proceeds from yonder lattice — which you may see Very plainly through the window — it belongs, Does it not? unto this palace of the Duke. The singer is undoubtedly beneath The roof of his Excellency — and perhaps Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke As the betrothed of Castiglione, His son and heir. Pol. Be still !— it comes again! Voice "And is thy heart so strong (very faintly.) As for to leave me thus Who hath loved thee so long In wealth and wo among? And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus? Say nay — say nay !'' Bal. The song is English, and I oft have heard it In merry England — never so plaintively — Hist! hist! it comes again! 70 POEMS. Voice "Is it so strong (more loudly,} As for to leave me thus Who hath loved thee so long In wealth and wo among? And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus? Say nay -z- say nay !'' Bal. 'T is hushed and all is still! Pol. All is not still. Bal. Let us go down. Pol. Go down, Baldazzar, go! Bal. The hour is growing late — the Duke awaits us, — Thy presence is expected in the hall Below. What ails thee, Earl Politian? Voice "Who hath loved thee so long, (distinctly") In wealth and wo among, And is thy heart so strong? Say nay — say nay !'' Bal. Let us descend !— 't is time. Politian, give These fancies to the wind. Remember, pray, Your bearing lately savoured much of rudeness Unto the Duke. Arouse thee! and remember! Pol. Remember? I do. Lead on! I do re- member. Let us descend. Believe me I would give, Freely would give the broad lands of my earldom To look upon the face hidden by yon lattice — "To gaze upon that veiled face, and hear Once more that silent tongue." Bal. Let me beg you, sir, Descend with me — the Duke may be offended. Let us go down, I pray you. SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 71 ( Voice loudly.) Say nay ! — say nay! Pol. (aside.) 'T is strange ! — 't is very strange — methought the voice Chimed in with my desires and bade me stay! (approaching the window.) Sweet voice ! I heed thee, and will surely stay. Now be this Fancy, by Heaven, or be it Fate, Still will I not descend. Baldazzar, make Apology unto the Duke for me; I go not down to-night. Bal. Your lordship's pleasure Shall be attended to. Good night, Politian. Pol. Good night, my friend, good night. IV. The gardens of a palace — Moonlight. Lalage and Politian. Lalage. And dost thou speak of love To me, Politian ? — dost thou speak of love To Lalage ? — ah wo — ah wo is me! This mockery is most cruel — most cruel indeed! Politian. Weep not! oh, sob not thus !— thy bitter tears Will madden me. Oh mourn not, Lalage — Be comforted! I know — I know it all, And still1 speak of love. Look at me, brightest, And beautiful Lalage ! — turn here thine eyes! Thou askest me if I could speak of love, Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen. Thou askest me that — and thus I answer thee — Thus on my bended knee I answer thee, (kneeling.) Sweet Lalage, / love thee — love thee — love thee; Thro' good and ill — thro' weal and wo I love thee. 7* POEMS. Not mother, with her first born on her knee, Thrills with intenser love than I for thee. Not on God's altar, in any time or clime, Burned there a holier fire than burnetii now Within my spirit for thee. And do I love? (arising.) Even for thy woes I love thee — even for thy woes — Thy beauty and thy woes. Lal. Alas, proud Earl, Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me! How, in thy father's halls, among the maidens Pure and reproachless of thy princely line, Could the dishonoured Lalage abide? Thy wife, and with a tainted memory — My seared and blighted name, how would it tally With the ancestral honours of thy house, And with thy glory? Pel. Speak not to me of glory! I hate — I loathe the name; I do abhor The unsatisfactory and ideal thing. Art thou not Lalage and I Politian? Do I not love — art thou not beautiful — What need we more? Ha! glory !— now speak not of it: By all I hold most sacred and most solemn — By all my wishes now — my fears hereafter — By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven — There is no deed I would more glory in, Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory And trample it under foot. What matters it — What matters it, my fairest, and my best, That we go down unhonourcd and forgotten Into the dust — so we descend together. Descend together — and then — and then per- chance SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 73 Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pol. And then perchance Arise together, Lalage, and roam The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest, And still Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pal. And still together — together. Lal. Now Earl of Leicester! Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts I feel thou lovest me truly. Pol. Oh, Lalage ! (throwing himself upon his knee.) And lovest thou me? Lal. Hist! hush! within the gloom Of yonder trees methought a figure past — A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless — Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noise- less, (walks across and returns.) I was mistaken —'t was but a giant bough Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian! Pol. My Lalage — my love ! why art thou moved? Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience' self, Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it, Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind Is chilly — and these melancholy boughs Throw over all things a gloom Lal. Politian! Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land With which all tongues are busy — a land new found — Miraculously found by one of Genoa — A thousand leagues within the golden west? A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine, And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests, And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds 74 POEMS. Of Heaven untrammelled flow — which air to breathe Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter In days that are to come Pol. O, wilt thou —wilt thou Fly to that Paradise — my Lalage, wilt thou Fly thither with me There Care shall be forgotten And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all. And life shall then be mine, for I will live For thee, and in thine eyes – and thou shalt be No more a mourner — but the radiant Joys Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope Attend thee ever ; and I will kneel to thee And worship thee, and call thee my beloved, My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife, My all ; — oh, wilt thou — wilt thou, Lalage, Fly thither with me? Lal. A deed is to be done — Castiglione lives | Po/. And he shall die (exit.) Lal. (after a pause.) And — he –shall — die alas ! Castiglione die Who spoke the words : Where am I ? — what was it he said — Politian Thou art not gone — thou art not gone, Politian I feel thou art not gone — yet dare not look, Lest I behold thee not ; thou couldt not go With those words upon thy lips — O, speak to me ! And let me hear thy voice — one word — one word, To say thou art not gone, – one little sentence, To say how thou dost scorn — how thou dost hate My womanly weakness. Ha! haſ thou art not gone — O speak to me ! I knew thou wouldst not go I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durit not go. SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 75 Villain, thou art not gone — thou mockest me! And thus I clutch thee — thus! He is gone, he is gone — Gone — gone. Where am I? 't is well — 't is very well! So that the blade be keen — the blow be sure, 'T is well, 't is very well — alas! alas! (exit.) The suburbs. Politian alone. Politian. This weakness grows upon me. I am faint, And much I fear me ill — it will not do To die ere I have lived! Stay — stay thy hand, O Azrael, yet awhile ! — Prince of the Powers Of Darkness and the Tomb, O pity me! O pity me! let me not perish now, In the budding of my Paradisal Hope! Give me to live yet — yet a little while: 'T is I who pray for life — I who so late Demanded but to die !— what sayeth the Count? Enter Baldazzar. Baldazzar. That knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud Between the Earl Politian and himself, He doth decline your cartel. Pol. What didst thou say? What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar? With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes Laden from yonder bowers ! — a fairer day, 76 POEMS. Or one more worthy Italy, methinks No mortal eyes have seen !— to hat said the Count? Bal. That he, Castiglione, not being aware Of any feud existing, or any cause Of quarrel between your lordship and himself Cannot accept the challenge. Pol. It is most true — All this is very true. When saw you, sir, When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid Ungenial Britain which we left so lately, A heaven so calm as this — so utterly free From the evil taint of clouds ?— and he did say T Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir: The Count Castiglione will not fight, Having no cause for quarrel. Pol. Now this is true — All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar, And I have not forgotten it —thou 'It do me A piece of service; wilt thou go back and say Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester, Hold him a villain ?— thus much, I prythee, say Unto the Count — it is exceeding just He should have cause for quarrel. Bal. My lord !— my friend! Pol. (aside.) "T is he — he comes himself! (aloud.) thou reasonest well. I know what thou wouldst say — not send the mes- sage— Well !— I will think of it — I will not send it. Now prythee, leave me — hither doth come a person With whom affairs of a most private nature I would adjust. Bal. I go — to-morrow we meet, Do we not ? — at the Vatican. SCENES FROM "POLITIAN." 77 Pol. At the Vatican. (exit Bal.) Enter Castiglione. Cas. The Earl of Leicester here! Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest, Dost thou not? that I am here. Cas. My lord, some strange, Some singular mistake — misunderstanding — Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged Thereby, in heat of anger, to address Some words most unaccountable, in writing, To me, Castiglione; the bearer being Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, Having given thee no offence. Ha ! — am I right? 'T was a mistake ? — undoubtedly — we all Do err at times. Pol. Draw, villain, and prate no more! Cas. Ha!—draw? — and villain? have at thee then at once, Proud Earl! (draws.) Pol. (drawing.) Thus to the expiatory tomb, Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee In the name of Lalage! Cas. letting fall his sword and recoiling to the ex- tremity of the stage.) Of Lalage! Hold off— thy sacred hand ! — avaunt I say! Avaunt — I will not fight thee — indeed I dare not. Pol. Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count? Shall I be baffled thus ? — now this is well; Didst say thou darest not? Ha! Cat. I dare not — dare not — 78 POEMS. Hold off thy hand — with that beloved name So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee — I cannot — dare not. Pol. Now by my halidom I do believe thee !— coward, I do believe thee! Cas. Ha ! — coward !— this may not be! (clutches his sword and staggers towards Poli- tian, but his purpose is changed before reach- ing him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl.) Alas! my lord, It is — it is — most true. In such a cause I am the veriest coward. O pity me! Pol. (greatly softened.) Alas ! — I do — indeed I pity thee. Cas. And Lalage Pol. Scoundrel! — arise and die! Cas. It needeth not be — thus — thus — O let me die Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting That in this deep humiliation I perish. For in the fight I will not raise a hand Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home — (baring his bosom.) Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon — Strike home. I will not fight thee. Pol. Now 's Death and Hell! Am I not — am I not sorely — grievously tempted To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir: Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare For public insult in the streets — before The eyes of the citizens. I '11 follow thee — Like an avenging spirit I '11 follow thee Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest — SCENES FROM “POLITIAN.” 79 Before all Rome I’ll taunt thee, villain, – I’ll taunt thee, Dost hear with cowardice — thou wilt not fight me Thou liest thou shalt / (exit.) Cas. Now this indeed is just Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven l 80 POEMS. SONNET TO ZANTE. Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is No more — no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please more — Thy memory no more! Accursed ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!" BRIDAL BALLAD. 81 BRIDAL BALLAD. The ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command, And I am happy now. And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell — For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed his who fell In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now. But he spoke to re-assure me, And he kissed my pallid brow, While a reverie came o'er me, And to the churchyard bore me, And I sighed to him before me, (Thinking him dead D'Elormie), "Oh, I am happy now!" And thus the words were spoken; And this the plighted vow; Vol. VII.—6 82 POEMS. And, though my faith be broken, And, though my heart be broken, Here is a ring as token That I am happy now ! Would God I could awaken For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken, – Lest the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now. THE HAUNTED PALACE. 83 THE HAUNTED PALACE. In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace — Radiant palace — reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion — It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This — all this — was in the olden Tima long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting, (Porphyrogene !) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. 84 POEMS. And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate !) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see1 Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh — but smile no more. 1 The MS. of this poem in the possession of Mm. W. M. Gris- wold is incomplete beginning with the last line of Stan2a III. rod ending with line 4 of Stanxa VI. The only important variation is in line 2, Stan2a VI., red-litten = encrimsoned. — Ed. SILENCE. SONNET—SILENCE. There are some qualities — some incorporate things, That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence — sea and shore — Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless: his name 's " No More." He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! No power hath he of evil in himself; But should some urgent fate (untimely lot !) Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man,) commend thyself to God! 86 POEMS. TO ONE IN PARADISE. Thou wtst all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine — A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on !" —but o'er the Past (Dim gulf !) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! "No more — no more — no more —' (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy grey eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams — In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams. THE CONQUEROR WORM. 87 THE CONQUEROR WORM. Lo! 't is a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly — Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama — oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. 88 POEMS. But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes !— it writhes !— with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out — out are the lights — out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, " Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm. DREAM-LAND. 89 DREAM-LAND. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space — out of Time. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the tears that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters — lone and dead, — Their still waters — still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, — Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily, — By the mountains—near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, — By the grey woods, — by the swamp 90 POEMS. Where the toad and the newt encamp, — By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls, — By each spot the most unholy — In each nook most melancholy, — There the traveller meets, aghast, Sheeted Memories of the Past — Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by — White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to the Earth — and Heaven. For the heart whose woes are legion 'T is a peaceful, soothing region — For the spirit that walks in shadow 'T is — oh 't is an Eldorado! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not — dare not openly view it; Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule. EULALIE. 91 EULALIE. — A SONG. I dwelt alone In a world of moan, And my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride — Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smil- ing bride. Ah, less — less bright The stars of the night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapor can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl — Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl. Now Doubt — now Pain Come never again, For her soul gives me sigh for sigh, And all day long Shines, bright and strong, Astarte within the sky, While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye — While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. g2 POEMS. TO F- Beloved! amid the earnest woes That crowd around my earthly path — (Drear path, alas! where grows Not even one lonely rose) — My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee, and therein knows An Eden of bland repose. And thus thy memory is to me Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuous sea — Some ocean throbbing far and free With storms — but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually Just o'er that one bright island smile. TO F S S. O D. 93 TO F S S. O D. Thou wouldst be loved ? — then let thy heart From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art, Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy gentle ways, Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall be an endless theme of praise, And love — a simple duty. 94 POEMS. THE RAVEN. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 'and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham- ber door. "'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak De- cember; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; Thf Pavfn. THE RAVEN. 9$ So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating "'T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door ;— This it is and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham- ber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you " —here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word " Lenore!" Merely this and nothing more. 96 POEMS. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery ex- plore ; — 'T is the wind and nothing more!" Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- tonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." THE RAVEN. 97 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as " Nevermore.'' But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered —not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said " Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of ' Never— nevermore.'" Vol. VII. —7 98 POEMS. But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- pressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now bumed into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite —respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." THE RAVEN. 99 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil !— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- chanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven " Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven " Nevermore." "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting — "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plu- tonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken !— quit the bust above my door! loo POEMS. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven " Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore! TO M. L. S . IOI TO M. L. S- Of all who hail thy presence as the morning — Of all to whom thine absence is the night — The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun — of all who, weeping, bless thee Hourly for hope — for life — ah, above all, For the resurrection of deep-buried faith In truth, in virtue, in humanity — Of all who, on despair's unhallowed bed Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light !'' At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes — Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship, — oh, remember The truest, the most fervently devoted, And think that these weak lines are written by him — By him, who, as he pens them, thrills to think His spirit is communing with an angel's. 102 POEMS. ULALUME. The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir — It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriae rivers that roll — As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole — That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere — Our memories were treacherous and sere — For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year — (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) Ulalume. Original drawing by Cbarlts Copti ULALUME. 103 We noted not the dim lake of Auber — (Though once we had journeyed down here)— Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn — As the star-dials hinted of morn — At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn — Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said — " She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs — She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies — To the Lethean peace of the skies — Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes — Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her ringer, Said — " Sadly this star I mistrust — Her pallor I strangely mistrust: — Oh, hasten !— oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly !— let us fly !— for we must." 104 POEMS. In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust — In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust — Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied — " This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night: — See !— it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright — We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.'' Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom — And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb — By the door of a legended tomb; And I said — " What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied— " Ulalume — Ulalume — 'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere — As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried — " It was surely October ULALUME. 105 On this very night of last year That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — That I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber — This misty mid region of Weir — Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Io6 POEMS. TO Not long ago, the writer of these lines, In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained '' the power of words '' — denied that ever A thought arose within the human brain Beyond the utterance of the human tongue: And now, as if in mockery of that boast, Two words — two foreign soft dissyllables — Italian tones, made only to be murmured By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill," — Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart, Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought, Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions Than even the seraph harper, Israfel, (Who has " the sweetest voice of all God's creatures," ) Could hope to utter. And I ! my spells are broken. The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand. With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee, I cannot write — I cannot speak or think — Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling, This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams, Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista, And thrilling as I see, upon the right, Upon the left, and all the way along, Amid empurpled vapors, far away To where the prospect terminates — thee only. TO HELEN. 107 TO HELEN. I saw thee once — once only — years ago: I must not say hote many — but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude and sultriness and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe — Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death — Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturn'd — alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight — Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow), That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept, 108 POEMS. Save only thee and me. (Oh, heaven !— oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two words ! ) Save only thee and me. I paused — I looked — And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted ! ) The pearly lustre of the moon went out: The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All — all expired save thee — save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes — Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them — they were the world to me. I saw but them — saw only them for hours — Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition! yet how deep — How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained. They would not go — they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me — they lead me through the years They are my ministers — yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindle — My duty, to be saved by their bright light. TO HELEN. 109 And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope), And are far up in Heaven — the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still — two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun! I IO POEMS. AN ENIGMA. "Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet — Trash of all trash ! — how tan a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff— Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermankies are arrant Bubbles — ephemeral and so transparent — But this is, now, — you may depend upon it — Stable, opaque, immortal — all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't. FOR ANNIE. in FOR ANNIE. Thank Heaven! the crisis— The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last — And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length — But no matter !— I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead — Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart : — ah that horrible, Horrible throbbing! 112 POEMS. The sickness — the nausea — The pitiless pain — Have ceased with the fever That maddened my brain — With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated — the terrible Torture of thirst For the napthaline river Of Passion accurst: — I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst: — Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground — From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah ! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed — And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, FOR ANNIE. 113 Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses — Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies — A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies — With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie — Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast — Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm — To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. Vol.V11.-S 114 POEMS. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead — And I rest so contentedly, Now, in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead — That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead : — But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars of the sky, For it sparkles with Annie — It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie — With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. A VALENTINE. 115 A VALENTINE.1 To . For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines ! — they hold a treasure Divine — a talisman — an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure — The words — the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor! And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot. En writ ten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie per Jus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets — as the name is a poet's, too. Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Fmto — Mendez Ferdinando— Still form a synonym for Truth. — Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do. 1 The MS. in the ponoaon of Mr*. W. M. Griiwold, dated "Valentine'i Etc, 1848," differs only in punctuation from the Union Maga2ine text here given. An earlier form will be found in the Notes. — En. I 16 POEMS. TO MY MOTHER. Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of " Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you — You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you, In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother — my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. ANNABEL. LEE. II 7 ANNABEL LEE. It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. / was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee — With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me — Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. Il8 POEMS. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we — Of many far wiser than we — And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea — In her tomb by the sounding sea. THE BELLS. 119 THE BELLS. Hear, the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! — From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! 120 POEMS. Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future ! — how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! in. Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavour Now — now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! THE BELLS. 121 Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are Ghouls :— 122 POEMS. And their king it is who tolls : — And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells : — Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells — To the sobbing of the bells : — Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells : — To the tolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. ELDORADO. 123 ELDORADO. Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old — This knight so bold — And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow — "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be — This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied, — "If you seek for Eldorado." NOTES. (125) ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES. o. — Omit. o. c. — Omit comma or commas. o. h. — Omit hyphen. o. d. — Omit dash. o, q. m. — Omit quotation marks. o. a. — Omit accent. s. 1. — Small letter. cap. – Capital. i. — Italics. n. i.-Not italics. p. — Page. 1. – Line. 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the editions of those dates. (126) NOTES. TAMERLANE. Page i. 1827, 1829, 1831, 1845. Text, 1845. The earliest form, being widely different from the text, is given below. See also Appendix, "Poe and John Neal." Tamerlane. I have sent for thee, holy friar; (') But 't was not with the drunken hope, Which is but agony of desire To shun the fate, with which to cope Is more than crime may dare to dream, That I have call'd thee at this hour: Such, father, is not my theme — Nor am I mad, to deem that power Of earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd in — I would not call thee fool, old man, But hope is not a gift of thine; If I can hope (O God ! I can) It falls from an eternal shrine. The gay wall of this gaudy tower Grows dim around me — death is near. ("7) 128 NOTES. I had not thought, until this hour When passing from the earth, that ear Of any, were it not the shade Of one whom in life I made All mystery but a simple name, Might know the secret of a spirit Bow'd down in sorrow, and in shame Shame, said'st thou? Ay, I did inherit That hated portion, with the fame, The worldly glory, which has shown' A demon-light around my throne, Scorching ray sear'd heart with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear again. I have not always been as now — The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly — Ay — the same heritage hath given Rome to the Cassar — this to me; The heirdom of a kingly mind — And a proud spirit, which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind. In mountain air I first drew life; The mists of the Taglay have shed O Nightly their dews on my young head; And my brain drank their venom then, When after day of perilous strife With chamois, I would sei2e his den And slumber, in my pride of power, The infant monarch of the hour — For, with the mountain dew by night, 1 Shone r POEMS. 129 My soul imbibed unhallow'd feeling; And I would feel its essence stealing In dreams upon me — while the light Flashing from cloud that hover'd o'er, Would seem to my half closing eye The pageantry of monarchy! And the deep thunder's echoing roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of war, and tumult, where my voice, My own voice, silly child! was swelling (O how would my wild heart rejoice And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of victory! The rain came down upon my head But barely shelter'd —and the wind Pass'd quickly o'er me — but my mind Was maddening — for 't was man that shed Laurels upon me — and the rush, The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled in my pleased ear the crush Of empires, with the captive's prayer, The hum of suitors, the mix'd tone Of flattery round a sovereign's throne. The storm had ceased — and I awoke — Its spirit cradled me to sleep, And as it pass'd me by, there broke Strange light upon me, tho' it were My soul in mystery to steep: For I was not as I had been; The child of Nature, without care, Or thought, save of the passing scene. — Vol. VII g 130 NOTES. My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny, which men Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power, My innate nature — be it so: But, father, there lived one who, then — Then, in my boyhood, when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow; (For passion must with youth expire) Even then, who deem'd this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. I have no words, alas ! to tell The loveliness of loving well I Nor would I dare attempt to trace The breathing beauty of a face, Which even to my impassion'd mind, Leaves not its memory behind. In spring of life have ye ne'er dwelt Some object of delight upon, With steadfast eye, till ye have felt The earth reel — and the vision gone? And I have held to memory's eye One object — and but one — until Its very form hath pass'd me by, But left its influence with me still. 'T is not to thee that I should name — Thou canst not — wouldst not dare to think The magic empire of a flame Which even upon this perilous brink Hath fix'd my soul, tho' unforgiven, By what it lost for passion — Heaven. I loved — and O, how tenderly! Yes ! she [was] worthy of all love! POEMS. 131 Such as in infancy was mine, Tho' then its passion could not be: 'T was such as angels' minds above Might envy — her young heart the shrine On which my every hope and thought Were incense — then a goodly gift — For they were childish, without sin, Pure as her young example taught; Why did I leave it and adrift, Trust to the fickle star within? We grew in age and love together, Roaming the forest and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather, And when the friendly sunshine smiled And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven but in her eyes — Even childhood knows the human heart; For when, in sunshine and in smiles, From all our little cares apart, Laughing at her half silly wiles, I 'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears, She'd look up in my wilder'd eye — There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet her kind fears — She did not ask the reason why. The hallow'd memory of those years Comes o'er me in these lonely hours, And, with sweet loveliness, appears As perfume of strange summer flowers; Of flowers which we have known before In infancy, which seen, recall To mind — not flowers alone — but more, Our earthly life, and love — and all. ^ A 13* NOTES. VIII. Yes ! she was worthy of all love! Even such as from the accursed time My spirit with the tempest strove, When on the mountain peak alone, Ambition lent it a new tone, And bade it first to dream of crime, My fren2y to her bosom taught: We still were young: no purer thought Dwelt in a seraph's breast than thint ; (*) For passionate love is still divine: / loved her as an angel might With ray of the all living light Which bla2es upon Edis' shrine. (4) It is not surely sin to name, With such as mine — that mystic flame, I had no being but in thee! The world with all its train of bright And happy beauty (for to me All was an undefined delight), The world — its joy — its share of pain Which I felt not — its bodied forms Of varied being, which contain The bodiless spirits of the storms, The sunshine, and the calm — the ideal And fleeting vanities of dreams, Fearfully beautiful! the real Nothings of mid-day waking life — Of an enchanted life, which seems, Now as I look back, the strife Of some ill demon, with a power Which left me in an evil hour, All that I felt, or saw, or thought, Crowding, confused became (With thine unearthly beauty fraught) Thou — and the nothing of a name. POEMS. 133 IX. The passionate spirit which hath known, And deeply felt the silent tone Of its own self supremacy, — (I speak thus openly to thee, 'T were folly ntnv to veil a thought With which this aching breast is fraught) The soul which feels its innate right — The mystic empire and high power Given by the energetic might Of Genius, at its natal hour; Which knows (believe me at this time, When falsehood were a tenfold crime, There is a power in the high spirit To know the fate it will inherit) The soul, which knows such power, will still Find Pride the ruler of his will. Yes! I was proud — and ye who know The magic of that meaning word, So oft perverted, will bestow Your scorn, perhaps, when ye have heard That the proud spirit had been broken, The proud heart burst in agony At one upbraiding word or token Of her that heart's idolatry — I was ambitious — have ye known Its fiery passion ? — ye have not — A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world, as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot! But it had pass'd me as a dream Which, of light step, flies with the dew, That kindling thought — did not the beam Of Beauty, which did guide it through The livelong summer day, oppress My mind with double loveliness — 134 NOTES. We walk'd together on the crown Of a high mountain, which loolc'd down Afar from its proud natural towers Of rock and forest, on the hills — The dwindled hills, whence amid bowers Her own fair hand had rear'd around, Gush'd shoutingly a thousand rills, Which as it were, in fairy bound Embraced two hamlets — those our own - Peacefully happy — yet alone — I spoke to her of power and pride — But mystically, in such guise, That she might deem it nought beside The moment's converse; in her eyes I read (perhaps too carelessly) A mingled feeling with my own; The flush on her bright cheek to me, Seem'd to become a queenly throne Too well, that I should let it be A light in the dark wild, alone. There — in that hour — a thought came o'er My mind, it had not known before — To leave her while we both were young, — To follow my high fate among The strife of nations, and redeem The idle words, which, as a dream Now sounded to her heedless ear — I held no doubt — I knew no fear Of peril in my wild career; To gain an empire, and throw down As nuptial dowry — a queen's crown, The only feeling which possest, With her own image, my fond breast — POEMS. I3S Who, that had known the secret thought Of a young peasant's bosom then, Had deem'd him, in compassion, aught But one, whom fantasy had led Astray from reason — Among men Ambition is chain'd down — nor fed (As in the desert, where the grand, The wild, the beautiful, conspire With their own breath to fan its fire) With thoughts such feeling can command; Uncheck'd by sarcasm, and scorn Of those, who hardly will conceive That any should become "great," born (») In their own sphere — will not believe That they shall stoop in life to one Whom daily they are wont to see Familiarly —whom Fortune's sun Hath ne'er shone da22lingly upon, Lowly — and of their own degree — I pictured to my fancy's eye Her silent, deep astonishment, When, a few fleeting years gone by, (For short the time my high hope lent To its most desperate intent,) She might recall in him, whom Fame Had gilded with a conqueror's name (With glory — such as might inspire Perforce, a passing thought of one, Whom she had deem'd in his own fire Wither' d and blasted; who had gone A traitor, violate of the truth So plighted in his early youth,) Her own Alexis, who should plight (•) The love he plighted then— again, And raise his infancy's delight, The bride and queen of Tamerlane. — 136 NOTES. One noon of a bright summer's day I pass' d from out the matted bower Where in a deep, still slumber lay My Ada. In that peaceful hour, A silent ga2e was my farewell. I had no other solace — then To awake her, and a falsehood tell Of a feign'd journey, were again To trust the weakness of my heart To her soft thrilling voice : To part Thus, haply, while in sleep she dream'd Of long delight, nor yet had deem'd Awake, that I had held a thought Of parting, were with madness fraught; I knew not woman's heart, alas! Tho' loved, and loving — let it pass. — I went from out the matted bower, And hurried madly on my way: And felt, with every flying hour, That bore me from my home, more gay; There is of earth an agony Which, ideal, still may be The worst ill of mortality. 'T is bliss, in its own reality, Too real, to bit breast who lives Not within himself but gives A portion of his willing soul To God, and to the great whole — To him, whose loving spirit will dwell With Nature, in her wild paths; tell Of her wondrous ways, and telling bless Her overpowering loveliness! A more than agony to him Whose failing sight will grow dim POEMS. 137 With iu own living ga2e upon That loveliness around: the sun — The blue sky — the misty light Of the pale cloud therein, whose hue Is grace to its heavenly bed of blue; Dim! tho' looking on all bright! O God! when the thoughts that may not pass Will burst upon him, and alas! For the flight on Earth to Fancy given, There are no words — unless of Heaven. xv. Look round thee now on Samarcand, (*) Is she not queen of earth? her pride Above all cities? in her hand Their destinies? with all beside Of glory, which the world hath known' Stands she not proudly and alone? And who her sovereign? Timur, he (*) Whom the astonish' d earth hath seen, With victory, on victory, Redoubling age! and more, I ween, The Zinghis' yet re-echoing fame. (*) And now what has he? what! a name. The sound of revelry by night Comes o'er me, with the mingled voice Of many with a breast as light, As if't were not the dying hour Of one, in whom they did rejoice — As in a leader, haply — Power Its venom secretly imparts; Nothing have I with human hearts. When Fortune mark'd me for her own, And my proud hopes had reach'd a throne 138 NOTES. (It boots me not, good friar, to tell A tale the world but knows too well, How by what hidden deeds of might, I clamber'd to the tottering height,) I still was young; and well I ween My spirit what it e'er had been. My eyes were still on pomp and power, My wilder'd heart was far away In the valleys of the wild Taglay, In mine own Ada's matted bower. I dwelt not long in Samarcand Ere, in a peasant's lowly guise, I sought my long-abandon'd land; By sunset did its mountains rise In dusky grandeur to my eyes: But as I wander'd on the way My heart sunk with the sun's ray. To him, who still would ga2e upon The glory of the summer sun, There comes, when that sun will from him part, A sullen hopelessness of heart. That soul will hate the evening mist So often lovely, and will list To the sound of the coming darkness (known To those whose spirits hearken) (10) as one Who in a dream of night would fly, But cannot, from a danger nigh. What though the moon — the silvery moon — Shine on his path, in her high noon; Her smile is chilly, and her beam In that time of dreariness will seem As the portrait of one after death; A likeness taken when the breath Of young life, and the fire o' the eye, Had lately been, but had pass'd by. 'Tis thus when the lovely summer sun Of our boyhood, his course hath run: For all we live to know — is known; POEMS. 139 And all we seek to keep — hath flown; With the noon-day beauty, which is all. Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall — The transient, passionate day-flower, (") Withering at the evening hour. I reach'd my home — my home no more - For all was flown that made it so — I pass'd from out its mossy door, In vacant idleness of woe. There met me on its threshold stone A mountain hunter, I had known In childhood, but he knew me not. Something he spoke of the old cot: It had seen better days, he said; There rose a fountain once, and there Full many a fair flower raised its head: But she who rear'd them was long dead, And in such follies had no part, What was there left me now? despair — A kingdom for a broken — heart. POE'S NOTES TO THE EDITION OF 1827. Note i, page 1*7. I have sent for thee, holy friar. OF the history of Tamerlane little is known ; and with that little I have taken the full liberty of a poet. — That he was descended from the family of Zinghis Khan is more than probable — but he is vulgarly supposed to have been the son of a shepherd, and to have raised him- self to the throne by his own address. He died in the year 1405, in the time of Pope Innocent VII. How I shall account for giving him "a friar" as a 140 NOTES. death-bed confessor — I cannot exactly determine. He wanted some one to listen to his tale — and why not a friar? It does not pass the bounds of possibility — quite sufficient for my purpose — and I have at least good authority on my side for such innovations. Note 2, page 128. The mists «/"the Taglay ba•uc shed, &c. The mountains of Bclur Taglay are a branch of the Imaus, in the southern part of Independent Tartary. They are celebrated for the singular wildness and beauty of their valleys. Note 3, page 132. No purer thought Dwelt in seraph"s breast than thine. I must beg the reader's pardon for making Tamerlane, a Tartar of the fourteenth century, speak in the same language as a Boston gentleman of the nineteenth; but of the Tartar mythology we have little information. Note 4, page 132. Which blazes upon Edis" shrine. A deity presiding over virtuous love, upon whose imaginary altar a sacred lire was continually bla2ing. Note 5, page 135. Tho hardly will conceive That any should become "great,"' bom In their oeuin sphere — Although Tamerlane speaks this, it is not the less true. It is a matter of the greatest difficulty to make the generality of mankind believe that one with whom they are upon terms of intimacy shall be called, in the POEMS. 141 world, a "great man." The reason is evident. There are few great men. Their actions are consequently viewed by the mass of the people through the medium of distance. The prominent parts of their characters are alone noted; and those properties, which are minute and common to every one, not being observed, seem to have no connection with a great character. Who ever read the private memorials, correspondence, Sec, which have become so common in our time, without wondering that "great men" should act and think " so abominably"? Note 6, page 135. Her oivn Alexis, wiho should plight. Sec. That Tamerlane acquired his renown under a feigned name is not entirely a fiction. Note 7, page 137. Look round thee menv on Samarcand, I believe it was after the battle of Angora that Tamer- lane made Samarcand his residence. It became for a time the seat of learning and the arts. Note 8, page 137. And who her sovereign? Timur, See. He was called Timur Bek as well as Tamerlane. Note 9, page 137. Tbe Zinghis' yet re-echoing fame. The conquests of Tamerlane far exceeded those of Zinghis Khan. He boasted to have two-thirds of the world at his command. 142 NOTES. Note to, page 138. The sound of the coming darkness (known To those whose spirits hearken). I have often fancied that I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness, as it steals over the hori2on — a foolish fancy, perhaps, but not more unintelligible than to see music — "The mind the music breathing from her free." Note 11, page 139. Let life then, as the day-flower, fall. There is a flower (I have never known its botanic name), vulgarly called the day-flower. It blooms beauti- fully in the daylight, but withers towards evening, and by night its leaves appear totally shrivelled and dead. I have forgotten, however, to mention in the text, that it lives again in the morning. If it will not flourish in Tartary, I must be forgiven for carrying it thither. Variations. The following are the variations of 182g from the text. Line 1 hour! (! —) 2 (now) ([now]) 15 O (O !) 18 Jewels (jewels) 21 O (O !) 21 heart, (!) 23 The (TV) 40 nestled (nestl'd) 42 (...)([... ]) 43 me (me—) 45 o'er (o'er,) 52-53 (...) ([ . . . ]) 57 Rendered . . . blind (Was giant- like— so Thou, my mind !— ) 67 power, (;) 70 boyhood (boy-hood) 72 ( . . . ) ([ . . . ]) 86 O, (!) 89 envy; (,) 90 every (ev'ry) 92 and (—and) 123 (...)([...]) 136 beauty (cap.) 177 O, (O !) 180 Siroc-wither'd (o. h.) 181 And, (o. c.) 181 bless, (o. c.) 191 (begins XX stan2a in 1829) 197- ,98 (...)([...]) 205 ( ... ) ([ . . . ]) 219 O, (!) 237 /rr///W (trelliced) 238 fly-(Zy). POEMS. 143 Variations of 18jr from the text. Line 2 theme! (:) 3 deem (think) 4 Earth (earth) S desire: (—) 9 can (n. i.) 9 — Oh ((O) 9 can — ()) 13 Kno-iv (Hear) 15/ ((I) 18 Jewels (jewels) 20 again — ()) 21 heart, (o. c.) 25 Rings, (o. c.) 26—a (,—). After 26 insert :— Despair, the fabled vampire bat, Hath long upon my bosom sat, And I would rave, but that he flings A calm from his unearthly wings. 30 Hath (i.) 30fierce (o.) 32 mind, (o. c.) 35 life: (—) 38 , / believe, (p. c.) 40 Have (Hath) 42 'Mid (Mid) 46 Appeared (Appear'd) 48 trumpet-thunder's (o. h.) 51 own (i.) 51 child! — (,) 52 01 (O) 52 rejoice, (o. c.) 53 cry (cry !) 54 battle-cry (o. h.) 54 Victory (s. 1.) 55 head (head,) 56—and (,) 57 Rendered . . . blind (Was giant-like—so thou, my mind !) 59 me: (—) 59 rush — (,) 60 air (air,) 62 empires—(,) 62 prayer — (,) 63 suitors—(,) 64 'round (, round) 65 , from (p. c.) 65 Aoar, (o. c.) 69 , then, (then—) 70 —/'» (in) 70 — 'when (when) 71 ^/orv (glow,) 72 , withyouth, (o. c.) 73 E'en (Ev'n) 73 then (n. i.) 73 this iron heart (that as in- finite) 74 In . . . part (My soul — so was the weakness in it). After 1. 74 insert : — For in those days it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less. So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake with black rock bound, And the sultan-like pines that tower'd around! But when the night had thrown her pall Upon that spot as upon all, And the black wind murmur'd by, In a dirge of melody; My infant spirit would awake To the terror of that lone lake. 144 NOTES. Yet that terror was not fright — But a tremulous delight — A feeling not the Jewell'd mine Could ever bribe me to define, Nor love, Ada! tho' it were thine. How could I from that water bring Solace to my imagining? My solitary soul — how make An Eden of that dim lake? But then a gentler, calmer spell, Like moonlight on my spirit fell, 75 I have . . . tell (And O! I have no words to tell) 77 Nor would I (I will not) 79 lineaments, (o. c.) 79 mind, (o. c.) 80 Are — (Are) 80 tk' (the) 80 wind: (.) 81 Thus I (I well) 81 dwelt (dwelt,) 82 Some page (Pages) 83 eye, (o. c.) 84 letters— (o. d.) 84 meaning— (o. d.) 85 —with (with—) 86 Oh, she was (Was she not) 86 love! (?) 87 Love — (o. d.) 89 envy;{—) 90 eveiy (ev'ry) 91 gift, (—) 94 , and, (o. c.) 94 adrift, (o. c.) 95 'within, (o. c.) 96 — and (o. d.) 96 love— (o. d.) 96 together— (,) 97 forest, (o. c.) 97 'wild; (,) 98 'weather, (—) 99 And, (o. c.) 101 Heaven — (o. d.) 103 "mid (mid) 103 sunshine, (o. c.) 104 When, (o. c.) 106 throvo me . . . throbbing (lean upon her gentle) 107 tears— (,) 108 rest— (,) no her (hers) in eye! (.) 11a-115 (omit, 1831) 116 being— (o. d.) 117 'world, (o. c.) 117 contain (contain,) 118 sea— (,) 119 Its joy — its little lot (of pleasure or) 119 pain (pain —) 120 That . . . pleasure — (The good, the bad,) 121 Dim, (o. c.) 121 night— (,) 122 real— (,) 123 Shadows —(o. d.) 123 light! (light) 125 And, (o. c.) 126 and — (o. d.) 127 separate — (o. d.) 128-138 (omit 1831) 142 forest, (o. c.) 146 mystically—(,) 148 con- verse ; (—) 149 read, (—) 151 ra her bright (upon her) 151 cheek, (p. c.) 151 me (me,) 152/« become (fitted for) 152 throne (throne,) 153 be (be,) 158 me — (,) 159 that, POEMS. 14; (o. c.) 159 rabble — (o. d.) 160 dirwn — (,) 161 hand — (,) 162 grand—(,) 163 wild— (,) 163 terrible (terrible,) 16+ his (its). Asterisks after 164. For 165-176 substitute : — Say, holy father, breathes there yet A rebel or a Baja2et? How now! why tremble, man of gloom, As if my words were the Simoom! Why do the people bow the knee, To the young Tamerlane — to me! «77 given , (o. c.) 178 Earth (s. 1.) 178 , of (o. c,) 179 fall"st (fallest) 181 And, (o. c.) 181 in (of) 182 leav'st (leavest) 183 Idea! (Idea) 183 around (around,) 184 sound (sound,) 186 Earth (s. 1.) 187 Hope (s. 1.) 189 droopingly — (,). After 190 begins stan2a XX preceded by asterisks, in 1831. 191 part (part,) 194 the (that) 195 ev'ning (evening) 195 mist (mist,) 199 Who, (o.c.) 199 night, (o. c.) 199 would (n. i.) 199 fly (fly,) 200 cannot (n. i.) 2oi moon (moon—) 202 splendor (beauty) 203 Her (n. i.) 203—and (,) 203 her (n. i.) 203 beam, (p. c.) 204 , wall (o. c). Asterisks follow 206 207—212 omit. For 213-221 substitute : — I reach' d my home — what home? above My home — my hope — my early love, Lonely, like me, the desert rose, Bow'd down with its own glory grows. 223 Death (death,) 227 see (see,) 228 Eternity (s. 1.) 231 bow, (o.c.) 2 31 grove (grove,) 232 wandered (wander' d) 234 offerings (offerings,) 235 unpolluted (undefiled) 235 things, (;) 237 trellir'd (trclliced) 237 Heaven (Heaven,) 238 fly— (fly) 239 light'ning (lightning) 241 Unseen, (o. c.) 242 laughed (laugh'd) 243 Love's (Loves). Vol. VII. —10 146 NOTES. After 243 insert : — If my peace hath flown away In a night — or in a day — In a vision — or in none — Is it, therefore, the less gone r I was standing 'mid the roar Of a wind-beaten shore, And I held within my hand Some particles of sand — How bright! And yet to creep Thro' my fingers to the deep! My early hopes? no — they Went gloriously away, Like lightning from the sky — Why in the battle did not I? Editor's Note. A child of nature strengthened by exposure to her forces is ardently in love with a maiden, but, sei2ed with ambition, becomes a world-conqueror and returns for his bride. She is dead and he has won — a kingdom but lost a heart. Ambition has overcome love. This passionate story of a happy past and a present miserable because of hopeless loss is not autobiographic in any other sense than that it describes the poet's mood in so many of his early poems. There is no clue to the date except that the poem is unusually mature for a youth and therefore should be put as late as possible. More- over it is distinctly under Byronic influence. The poem in its earliest form — the 1827 edition — consists of seventeen parts of prevailing iambic move- ment, with varying rime order. POEMS. J 47 To . "I SAW THEE ON THY BRIDAL DAY." Page 10. 1827, 1829, 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 11. Text, 1845 (J. L. Graham copy). Variations of l8zj from the text. Title: — To . I. 1 thy (the) 1 day— (;) 3 Though (Tho') 3 happi- ness (cap.) 4 thee: (.) II. 1 And (And,) 1 eye (eye,) 1 a (the) 2 (Whatever . . . be) (Of young passion free) 3 Earth (earth,) 3 aching (chained) 4 could (might) III. 1 perhaps (I ween) 1 shame— (:) 2 pass— (:) 3 Though (Tho") IV. 2 thee, (,—) Though (Tho') 3 happiness (cap.) 3 lay, (;) 4 W (cap.) 4 thee.{.—). Variations of 182g from the text. Title :— To I. 3 Though (Tho") II. 1 And (And,) 2 (. . .) ([. . .]) 3 aching (fetter'd) III. 3 Though (Tho') 3 raised (rais'd) IV. 3 Though (Tho'). Broadway Journal shows no variations from the text. Editor's Note. The poet sees the burning blush and mysterious light which by its loveliness kindles in him a fierce flame, though happiness is around and before her. This poem may well refer to the marriage of Miss Royster (with whom Poe had been in love before he en- tered the University) to Mr. Shelton. From Miss Roy- ster' s own account of her attachment this blush may be interpreted as shame for her desertion rather than mere maidenly modesty. The poem is in cross-riming quatrains. 148 NOTES. DREAMS. Page 11. 1827. Text, 1827. Editor's Note. Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream, for dreams of living light and loveliness are no less than Heaven. Such a moment he had once, but a power or spell came over him. "I have been happy" even though in a past dream fuller of reality than hope has known. Note the unhappy awakening from a dream of bliss with no hope of regaining the lost hour. SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. Page 13. Visit of the Dead—1827. Spirits of the Dead—1829; "Burton's Gen- tleman's Magazine," July, 1839. Text, Burton'i Gentleman'i Magazine. Variation of 182Q from the text. III. 8 forever. (:) The earliest version (1827) runs as follows : — Visit of the Dead Thy soul shall find itself alone — Alone of all on earth — unknown The cause — but none are near to pry POEMS. 149 Into thy hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness — for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall then o'ershadow thee — be still: For the night, tho' clear, shall frown; And the stars shall look not down From their thrones, in the dark heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy withering heart shall seem As a burning, and a fever Which would cling to thee forever. But 'twill leave thee, as each star In the morning light afar Will fly thee — and vanish: — But its thought thou canst not banish. The breath of God will be still; And the mist upon the hill By that summer bree2e unbroken Shall charm thee — as a token, And a symbol which shall be Secrecy in thee. Editor's Note. The soul in unlovely solitude surrounded by the spirits of the dead shall, under a frowning sky, see red-orbed stars shining without hope. There is in this poem, which may have been suggested by the death of Mrs. Stanard (April 28, 1824), a reference to gray tombstones. The form is irregular, consisting of four stan2as of vary- ing number of lines. The movement is iambic, with some trochaic inversions. I SO NOTES. EVENING STAR. Page 15. 1827. Text, 1827. Editor's Note. The poet prefers the distant fire of the proud evening star to the colder lowly light of the midnight mid-summer moon. Note in this poem the repetitions of such words as light, night, etc. A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM. Page 16. Imitation, 1827; To , 1829; Tamerlane, 1831 : A Dream within a Dream, Griswold, 1849. Text, Griiwold. The wuiiest version (1827) runs as follows: Imitation. A dark unfathom'd tide Of interminable pride — A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild, and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen, Had I let them pass me by, With a dreaming eye! POEMS. 151 Let none of earth inherit That vision on my spirit; Those thoughts I woald control, As a spell upon his soul: For that bright hope at last And that light time have past, And my worldly rest hath gone With a sigh as it pass'd on: I care not tho' it perish With a thought I then did cherish. The 1829 revision is as follows: To Should my early life seem [As well it might,] a dream — Yet I build no faith upon The King Napoleon — I look not up afar To my destiny in a star: In parting from you now Thus much I will avow — There are beings, and have been Whom my spirit had not seen Had I let them pass me by With a dreaming eye — If my peace hath fled away In a night — or in a day — In a vision — or in none — Is it therefore the less gone? I am standing 'mid the roar Of a weather-beaten shore, 152 NOTES. And I hold within my hand Some particles of sand — How few ! and how they creep Thro" my fingers to the deep! My early hopes? no — they Went gloriously away, Like lightning from the sky At once — and so will I. So young! Ah ! no — not now — Thou hast not seen my brow, But they tell thee I am proud — They lie — they lie aloud — My bosom beats with shame At the paltriness of name With which they dare combine A feeling such as mine — Nor Stoic? I am not: In the terror of my lot I laugh to think how poor That pleasure "to endure!" What! shade of Zeno !— II Endure !— no — no — defy. Editor's Note. My days have been a dream and hope has vanished. Time like sand grains slips through the fingers and every thing is a dream within a dream. Note this figure in "Locksley Hall." It does not materially aid the interpretation of this poem to consider it a part of "Tamerlane." It consists of iambic trimeter riming generally in couplets. POEMS. 153 STANZAS. Page 17. In Youth Have I Known One with whom the Earth. 1827. Text, 1827. Editor's Note. One whose life was lit from sun and stars knew not the power over him. The light was fraught with sovereignty and passed with a quickening spell, the token of God's gifts to him who strives and overcomes. This Reply of Nature to our Intelligence is a mono- logue of a genius who feels the mysterious power and in its strangeness finds a sign and token of God's gift of beauty to the artist. Note the occurrence in this poem of such conceptions as God, immortality, intimations of the future, etc. The form of this poem is the Ottava Rima of which Byron was so fond. The prefixed quotation from Byron is taken from Section XVI. of the Island. This was written in Genoa and published in June, 1823. If this poem was the hint to Poe's, then Poe's poem was not written until after 1823 instead of in 1821-2. A DREAM. Page 19. 1827 (without title); 1829, 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 6. Text, 1845. In 1827 this poem occurs without title. 154 NOTES. Variations of 1827 from the text. Insert as first stan2a the following: A wilder' d being from my birth, My spirit spurn'd control, But now, abroad on the wide earth, Where wanderest thou, my soul? I. a dreamed (dream'd) II. 1 Ah! (And) 4 Turned (Tum'd) III. 3 cheered (cheer'd) 4 guiding. (:) IV. 1 though (tho') 1 storm and (misty) 2 trembled from (dimly shone). Variations of 1829 from the text. I. a dreamed (dream'd) II. 1 Ah! (And) 4 Tuned (Tum'd) III. j cheered (cheer'd) 4 guiding. (:) IV. 1 though (tho') 4 star ? (? —). Broadway Journal shows no variations from the text. Editor's Note. The waking dream of light and life has left him broken- hearted. Life is a dream to him who looks backward, but the dream has proved his guiding spirit, as bright as Truth's day-star. It is difficult to ascertain what these past joys were. THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR. Page 20. 1827. Text, 1827. Editor's Note. The author whose seared, blighted heart bemoans a past day and hour of happiness would not live it over again because of the pain mingled with the pleasure. POEMS. 155 This poem, written before Poe was eighteen years old, presents life from the point of view of a man worn-out with living. How soon had he learned such bitterness of life 1 THE LAKE: TO Page 31. 18*7, 1829, 1831 (Tamerlane), 1845. Text, 1845. The earliest version (1827) runs as follows: — The Lake. In youth's spring it was my lot To haunt of the wide earth a spot The which I could not love the less; So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that tower'd around. But when the night had thrown her pall Upon that spot — as upon all, And the wind would pass me by In its stilly melody, My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright — But a tremulous delight, And a feeling undefined, Springing from a darken'd mind. Death was in that poison'd wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his dark imagining; Whose wildering thought could even make An Eden of that dim lake. 156 NOTES. Variations of 1829 from the text. I. 1 In . . . youth (In youth's spring) 3 less — (,) 5 lake, (o. c.) 6 towered (tower'd) 6 around (:) 6 does not end stama II. 1 Night (s. 1.) 2 spot, (—) 4 Murmuring in (In a dirge of) 5 My infant spirit would awake III. 1 fright, (—) 3 jewelled (Jewell'd) 5 although (altho') 5 'were (be) 5 thine. (:) IV. 1 poisonous (poison'd) 1 wave, (—) 2 ,*»•/ (And,). For the Tamerlane form see note to Tamerlane above. The following Note is found in 1845 :— This [The Lake. To ] (with very slight varia- tions) "inserted " in " Tamerlane," in the ed. of N. Y., 1831. See p. 115 of that ed. "For in those days," etc. Editor's Note. Enchanted in youth's spring by the lovely loneliness of a wild lake the poet would awake to the tremulous delight of its terror, for in it was death and for the solitary soul an Eden. This is the first hint of suicide as an end of misery and an introduction to happiness. TO SCIENCE. Page 22. i8*9; 1831 ; Southern Literary Messenger, May, 1836; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 4. Text, 1845. Variations of 1829 from text. Line 1 true (meet) 1 Old (s. 1.) 3 art! (art) 2 eyes. (!) 3 preyest (prey'st) 4 Vulture, (!) realities? (!) 5 thee? (—) 5 wise, (p. c.) 6 wouldsi (woulds't) 6 in (, in)7 jewelled (jewell'd) 7 skies, (o.-c.) 8 wandering (wandering,) 8 he (, he) 8 soared (soar) 9 dragged (dragg'd) 9 car? (,) 10 driven (driv' n) 11 Hast . . . flood, (The gentle Naiad POEMS. 157 from her fountain-flood?) 12 Elfin (s. 1.) 12 gran, (?) 13 tamarind tree (shrubbery). Variations of 18JI from 182Q. Line 6 , in (o. c.) 6 woulds't (would'st) 8 , be (p. c.) 11 fountain- (o. h.). Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from 18jI. [Title, Sonnet.] Line 3 art (art,) 5 thee— (,) 5 •u>M* (wise,) 6 'woulds't (would'st) 6 , in (o. c.) 7 skies skies,) 7 , he (he) 11 fountain- (o. h.). Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. Line 3 preyest (prey'st). Editor's Note. The thought here is that poetic beauty is more than scientific reality. This is a regular Shakespeare Sonnet. AL AARAAF. Page 23. 1829, 1831, 1845; I. Lines 66-67, 7°-79, 82-101, 126-129; II. 20-21, 24-27, 52-59, 68-135 ap- peared in the Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4. i*43- Text, 1845. See Appendix, " Poe and John Neal," for the earliest form of "Al Aaraaf," antedating the Baltimore volume. — J. A. H. Variations of 1829 from the text. Al Aaraaf | What has night to do with sleep? Comus I Dedication ;— Who drinks the deepest ? — here 's to him. Cleveland. 158 NOTES. Instead of the note to the title in the text the follow- ing is found in 1829: "A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which burst forth, in a moment, with a splendour surpassing that of Jupiter — then gradually faded away and became invisible to the naked eye." Part I. Line 2 (. . .) [. . . .] 7 ( ) ([. . .]) 1 1 Oh, (With) 13 bowers — (o. d.) 15 star. (—) 19 An oasis (A garden-spot) 20 ''mid (mid) 22 (. . .) ([. . .]) 28 incense (incense,) 32-34 (. . .) ([. . .]) 41 color (colour) 43 rear'd (rear) 47 died. (—) 49 hues: (—) 50 misnam'd (misnamed) 53 (. . .) ([. . .]) 58 remaineth, (p. c.) 59 reverie: (—) 64 air, (p. c.) 65 fair: (—) 67 night: (—). [Note to 1. 68 2 term, (—); 2 lurnsol— (o. d.).] 69 run: (—) [Note to 1. 70 It (—It).] 73 *">g' (—). 75 M>°«" (—) 77 Le- vante! (! —) 81 odors (odours) 81 Heaven.- (—). [Note to I.81 odors (odours).] 95 (. . .) ([. . .]). [Note to 1. 105 fourth (4th).] 106 Ob, (O !) 109 eye; (eye) 115 given, (o. c.) 120 fervour (fervor) 120 eye; (eye) 123 air! (air) 127 all. (—) 128 All (Here). 133 fol- lows 132 without space in 1829. 133 cycles (cap.) 133 run, (o. c.) 134 sun— (o. d.) 136 cloud, (o. c.) 138 (. . .) ([. . .]) >4° ""•, (°- c) [N"10 to I. 1«. ;—they (—They) centre, (o. c.).] 146 light! (}) 150 man! (.) 15a eve!— (!). Al Aaraaf. Part II. Line 7 , that (that,) 15 lair. (:) 19 sky. (:) 27 'wing. (:) 33 peer'd (ventur'd) 33 out, (o. c.) [Note to 1. 36 connois (conmois) qu' (qu) trigf (erige) d'ur.e (du'ne) Itre (etre) tToeuvre (doeuvre) arts!'' (arts!" — Voila les argumens de M. Voltaire f)] 38 0,(0!) 39 save! (!—) [Note to 1. 38 that (that,) < Asphaltites' (''Asphaltites ")] 40 in (near) 51 again. (:) 53 cheeks POEMS. 159 'were (cheek was) 55 heart. (:) 57 beneath, (—) 67 ./ang': (.) [Note to 1. 71 perhaps (, perhaps,)] 87-88 (. . .) ([. . .]) «9 bUstr) 0?) 91 rest! (:) 97 a/art.' (,) 99 fcaa' (hang) 109 (. .) ([. .]) 113 be, (o. c.) 115 the. (:) [Note to 124 beade (heade,)pleasaunte (plesaunte)] 131 moon-ray (o. h.) [Note to 141 sixty (60) effect: (.)] 151 moon, (o. c.) 161 O (O !) 164 Science (s. 1.) 166 (. .) ([. .]) 169 tcstasJ (extasy) 181 moan. (:) 183 moss-y-mantled (mossy-mantled) 197 the orb of Earth (one constant star). Line 198 follows 197 immediately in 1829. 201 leave. (:) 204 Arabesque ('Arabesq') 205 draperied (drapried) 206 O (O !) 210 O (O !) 213 A* (it) 230 love." (love.) 237 ceased (ceas'd). 245 follows 244 immediately in 1829. 261 follows 260 immediately in 1829. 262 Jay (day). Variations of 18JI from text. For lines 1-15 substitute: Al Aaraaf. Other readings :— 1—15 Mysterious star! Thou wert my dream All a long summer night— Be now my theme! By this clear stream, Of thee will I write; Meantime from afar Bathe me in light! Thy world has not the dross of ours, Yet all the beauty — all the flowers That list our love, or deck our bowers In dreamy gardens, where do lie Dreamy maidens all the day. While the silver winds of Circassy On violet couches faint away. 160 NOTES. Little — oh! little dwells in thee Like unto what on earth we see: Beauty's eye is here the bluest In the falsest and untruest — On the sweetest air doth float The most sad and solemn note — If with thee be broken hearts, Joy so peacefully departs, That its echo still doth dwell, Like the murmur in the shell. Line 19 An oasis (A garden spot) 25 favour'd (fa- vor' d) 28 incense (incense,) 30 Earth (s.l.) 31 Idea (s. 1.) 32 thro' (through) 35 Infinity (s. 1.) 36 curled (curl'd) 39 thro' (through) 41 color (colour) 43 rear'd (rear) 47 mor- tal— (o. d.) 47 died (—) 49 knees: (—) 50 misnam'd (misnamed) 56 Trehizond— (,) 59 reverie: (—) 61 bead, (p. c.) 64 air, (p. c.) 65 chasten'd, (o. c.) 65 fair: (—) 67 night: (—) 69 run: (—) 70 Earth (s. 1.) 73 king: (—) 75 Rhone: (—) Si Goddess' (s. 1.) 8i Heaven: (heaven—) 82 where (p. c.) 95 red (o.) 104 dream'd (dreamed) 104 Infinity (s. 1.) 106 Oh, (O!) 112 empire (empire,) 114 winged (wing'd) 115 given, (p. c.) 117 Heaven (s. 1.) no fervour (fervor) 120 His (s. I.) 120 eye; (,) 127 all. (—) 128 All (Here). [133 follows 132 without space in 1831.] 133 tho' (though) 133 cycles (cap.) 133 run, (o. c.) 134 sun— (o. d.) 139 tho' (though) 142 thro' (through) 142 Heaven, (heaven:) 143 crystal (chrystal) 146 light! (;) 150 man! (.) 152 eve! (eve) 152 Earth (s. 1.) 157 and (, and). Part II. Line 6 Heaven (s. I.) 7 , that (that,) 9 eve— (,) 15 lair. (:) 17 thro' (through) 19 sky. (:) 20 Heaven (s. 1.) 27 wing. (:) 28 pillars (i.) 32 every (ev'ry) 33 peered (peered) 33 out, (p. c.) 36 Persepolis — (o. d.) 38 O, (p. c.) 38 Of (Too) 39 save! (!—) 40 in (near) 50 strain (strain,) 51 again. (:) 52 cheeks were (cheek was) POEMS. 161 55 heart. (..) 57 beneath, (–) 58 hair (hair,) 59 there t (-) 6o melody (melody,) 65 and (, and) 67 sang: (..) 73 half closing (half-closing) 85 dew (dew,) 91 rest 1 () 97 apart 1 (,) 99 lead (hang) [112 follows 111 without space in 1831] 1 15 thee. (3) 128 then (then,) 1.29 away (away,) 131 moon-ray (o. h.) 149 soon (soon,) 154 rhythmical (rythmical) 161 O (O !) 166 (. . - - 173 Heaven's Eternity (s. 1.) 173 Hell (s. I.) 178 maiden-angel (o. h.) 178 seraph-lover (o. h.) 181 moan. (3) 183 moss-y-mantled (mossy-mantled) 1.87 Beauty's (s. I.) 189 love-haunted (o. h.) 197 the orb of Earth (one constant star) [198 follows 197 without space in 1831] 2 or leave. (-) 2.03 sun-ray (o. h.) zo.4 Arabesque (“Arabesq') zo's draperied (drapried) zoº eye- lids (o. h.) zoº, O (O!) 208 love (love,) 21 o O (O!) 210 Death (s. 1.) 212 single (single,) 213 he (it) 214 Earth'ſ (s. 1.) 219 tower, (o. c.) 226 wish'd (wished) 227 “My (“My) 228 dwelling-place (o. h.) 230 love.” (love.) [2.31 follows 230 immediately] 237 soar (soar,) 242 ourt—(,) 2.44 Earth (earth!) [245 follows 244 im- mediately] 245 Earth (s. 1.) 258 Beauty's (s. 1.) 26o Beauty (s. 1.) [261 follows 260 immediately] 263 Heaven (s. 1.) EDITor's NotE. Outline of Al AARAAF. I. 1. This introductory division attributes to the star discovered by Tycho Brahe surpassing beauty and melody. 2. Nesace—personified Beauty—takes up her abode on earth, where surrounded (3) by beauty she reverently looks into the infinite. 4. Flowers are grouped around her to bear her song, in odors, up to Heaven. The Song has to do with the thought that, though humans conceive God after a model of their own, He has revealed himself as a star. Vol. VII.-11 162 NOTES. 5. Abashed Nesacc hears the sound of silence as the eternal voice of God speaks to her, (6) bidding her tell man everywhere that he is guilty (because he believes God is only magnified man ?). Let man behold Beauty as the revelation of God. 6. This maiden worshipping a vanishing star dwells on a vanishing island over which she now takes her way. Upon a mountain of enamelled top is a temple. (The description of this recalls the picture of the Pantheon suggested by Milton in Paradise Lost I.) It is summer time, and Nesace in her halls flushed with her haste sings again amid flowers and starlight. Her song is an Apostrophe to bright being, especially love, and then there is an appeal to Ligeia, the essence of music, to wake all nature with her rhythmical numbers. 5. Dreams, visions, etc., collect, but there is death too, so the poet chooses Al Aaraaf, the place of blessed sorrow, with its luxury of grief. But there are two beings — a maiden angel and her seraph lover— who for the beating of their own hearts hear not the song. 6. The story of Angelo and Ianthe follows. Angelo sits with Ianthe but often looks at the Earth. He tells (7) of his death at Lemnos and his departure (8) from the Parthenon where beauty so crowds upon him that he wishes himself a man again. 9. Ianthe tells him that with her he has a brighter place where women and love are. 10. He tells how he came to Al Aaraaf with its increasing beauty (11). 12. The lovers fall because their own 'beating hearts cannot hear Heaven's hope.''— Part I. consists of Seven Divisions with one song and Part II. of Twelve Divisions with one song. The meaning of this poem is not very clear, but per- haps Fruit is right in thinking Poe meant to teach that POEMS. 163 beauty is to be placed above love, as in Tamerlane he taught that love was above ambition. (ROMANCE.) Page 40. Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broadway Journal, II., 8.—Preface, 1829; Introduction, 1831. Text, 1845. Variations of 1829 from the text. Line I, wbo (o. c.) 2 wing, (o. c.) 4 lake, (o. c.) 9 lie, (o. c.) II. 2 Heaven (air) 4 / . . . idle (I hardly have had time for) 5 Through (Thro') 5 the (th') 5 sky. (!) 6 And (And,) 11 Unless it trembled (Did it not tremble). Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. Line 9 lie, (o. c.) II. 3 as (, as) 11 strings. (!). The 1831 version is as follows : — Introduction. Romance, who loves to nod and sing, With drowsy head and folded wing, Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake, To me a painted paroquet Hath been — a most familiar bird — Taught me my alphabet to say, — To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild-wood I did lie A child — with a most knowing eye NOTES. Succeeding years, too wild for song, Then roll'd like tropic storms along, Where, tho’ the garish lights that fly, Dying along the troubled sky Lay bare, thro’ vistas thunder-riven, The blackness of the general Heaven, That very blackness yet doth fling Light on the lightning's silver wing. For, being an idle boy lang syne, Who read Anacreon, and drank wine, I early found Anacreon rhymes Were almost passionate sometimes — And by strange alchemy of brain His pleasures always turn'd to pain — His naivete to wild desire — His wit to love — his wine to fire — And so, being young and dipt in folly I fell in love with melancholy, And used to throw my earthly rest And quiet all away in jest— I could not love except where Death Was mingling his with Beauty's breath— Or Hymen, Time, and Destiny Were stalking between her and me. O, then the eternal Condor years, So shook the very Heavens on high, With tumult as they thunder'd by ; I had no time for idle cares, Thro' gazing on the unquiet sky Or if an hour with calmer wing Its down did on my spirit fling, That little hour with lyre and rhyme To while away— forbidden thing My heart half fear'd to be a crime Unless it trembled with the string. POEMs. 165 But now my soul hath too much room — Gone are the glory and the gloom — The black hath mellow'd into grey, And all the fires are fading away. My draught of passion hath been deep — I revell'd, and I now would sleep— And after-drunkenness of soul Succeeds the glories of the bowl — An idle longing night and day To dream my very life away. But dreams—of those who dream as I, Aspiringly, are damned, and die : Yet should I swear I mean alone, By notes so very shrilly blown, To break upon Time's monotone, While yet my vapid joy and grief Are tintless of the yellow leaf- Why not an imp the graybeard hath Will shake his shadow in my path — And even the graybeard will o'erlook Connivingly my dreaming-book. Editor's NoTE. Romance taught the poet in his childhood his earliest moods, but now he is so occupied with cares that he can- not use his time in riming merely for poetry's sake, but only because his heart trembles with his music. The earlier form of this poem seems the best. 166 NOTES. TO . Page 41. 1829 ; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 11. Text, 1845. Variations of 1S29 from the text. I. 2 birds, (o. c.) II. 1 enshrined (enshrin'd) j O (O!) HI. 3 the (o.) 4 baubles (trifles). Broadway Journal shows no variations. Editor's Note. To whom this poem may have been addressed is still a matter of conjecture. TO THE RIVER Page 43. 1829; Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, August, 1839; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843 5 lSi45; Broadway Journal, II. 9. Text, Griswold, which follows Saturday Museum. Variations of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine from tie text. I. 1 bright, (o. c.) 2 crystal, wandering (labyrinth- like) 6 daughter; (.) II. 1 looks—(,) 2 trembles.— (,)) 2 Which ( (Whieh) 3 , then, (o. c.) 4 resembles; (.) 5 bis (my) 5 , as (—)$ stream, (—) 7 His (The) 7 beam, (o. c.) 8 of . . . searching (The scrutiny of her). POEMS. 167 Variations of 1829 from the text. I. 2 crystal, wandering (labyrinth-like) 6 daughter; (—) II. 4 resembles; (—) 5 , as (—) 5 stream, (—) 5 bis (my) 7 His (The) 7 beam (beam,) 8 Of ber soul- searching (The scrutiny of her). Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. II. s bis (my) 7 His (The). Editor's Note. The river is the emblem of the glow of beauty in the heart of old Alberto's daughter, who when she looks into the waves sees herself, just as her soul-searching eyes look into her lover's heart and find her own image. TO Page 43. TO . (I HEED NOT THAT MY EARTHLY LOT). 1845. I Alone, MS. | To M ;1829. Text, 1845. The earliest form of this poem (1829) is as follows : — To M O ! I care not that my earthly lot Hath little of Earth in it — That years of love have been forgot In the fever of a minute — 168 NOTES. 2 I heed not that the desolate Are happier sweet, than I — But that you meddle with my fate Who am a passer by. 3 It is not that my founts of bliss Are gushing — strange with tears — Or that the thrill of a single kiss Hath palsied many years — 4. 'T is not that the flowers of twenty springs Which have wither'd as they rose Lie dead on my heart-strings With the weight of an age of snows. 5 Now that the grass — O ! may it thrive On my grave is growing or grown — But that, while I am dead yet alive I cannot be, lady, alone. FAIRY-LAND. Page 44. 1829, 1831 ; Burton's GENtleMAN's MAGAzine, Au- GUST, 1839, 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 13. Text, 1845. Wariations of 1829 from the text. Line 7 Every (Ev'ry) 8 Forever (For ever) Io faces. (;) 12 One (One,) 12 filmy (i.) 13–14 ( . (L . . ) J) 1 3 sort (kind) 20 over halls (and rich) POEMS. 169 >7 _ O (o. d.) 27 0, (!) Note to 1. 33 [Plagiarism — see the Works of Thomas Moore — passim—[Edr.] ] 43 again (again,) 44. (Never contented things ([The un- believing things] ). The verbal variations of Burton's are the same as those of 1829. Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. Line 4 over (over.) 12 One (One,) 12 filmy (i.) 28 sleep. (!) The 1831 version is as follows :— Fairy-Land. Sit down beside me, Isabel, Here, dearest, where the moonbeam fell Just now so fairy-like and well. No-tsi thou art dress'd for paradise! I am star-stricken with thine eyes! My soul is lolling on thy sighs! Thy hair is lifted by the moon Like flowers by the low breath of June! Sit down, sit down — how came we here? Or is it all but a dream, my dear? You know that most enormous flower — That rose — that what d' ye call it — that hung Up like a dog-star in this bower — To-day (the wind blew, and) it swung So impudently in my face, So like a thing alive you know, I tore it from its pride of place And shook it into pieces — so Be all ingratitude requited. The winds ran off with it delighted, And, thro' the opening left, as soon As she threw off her cloak, yon moon Has sent a ray down with a tune. 170 NOTES. And this ray is a fairy ray — Did you not say so, Isabel? How fantastically it fell With a spiral twist and a swell, And over the wet grass rippled away With a tinkling like a bell! In my own country all the way We can discover a moon ray Which thro' some tatter'd curtain pries Into the darkness of a room, Is by (the very source of gloom) The motes, and dust, and flies, On which it trembles and lies Like joy upon sorrow! O, wbat will come the morrow? Isabel, do you not fear The night and the wonders here? Dim vales ! and shadowy floods! And cloudy-looking woods Whose forms we can't discover For the tears that drip all over! Huge moons — see ! wax and wane Again — again — again. Every moment of the night — Forever changing places! How they put out the starlight With the breath from their pale faces! Lo ! one is coming down With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence! Down — still down — and down — Now deep shall be — O deep I The passion of our sleep! For that wide circumference In easy drapery falls POEMS. 171 Drowsily over halls — Over ruin" d walls — (Over waterfalls !) O'er the strange woods —o'er the sea — Alas ! over the sea! Editor's Note. A fantastic picture of the setting of a moon on a mountain. The mountain is buried in a labyrinth of light. In the morning this covering canopy is withdrawn and shattered. Butterflies bring pieces of it on their wings. This poem comes very near to being meaning- less and the lines are not always rhythmical. Cf. Appendix, "Poe and John Neal." TO HELEN. Page 46. 1831 ; Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1836; Graham's Magazine, September, 1841; Phila- delphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. I. 2 Niclan (Nicean) 3 perfumed (perfum'd) 4 way- worn (o. h.) II. 4 glory that was (beauty of fair) 5 that 'was (of old) III. 1 yon brilliant (that little) 2 stand, (!) 3 agate lamp (folded scroll) 4 Ah, (!) 5 Holy-Land (o.h.). Variations of 18Jl from the text. I. 2 Nictan (Nicean) 3 perfumed (perfum'd) 4 weary, (p. c.) II. 4 glory that ivas (beauty of fair) 5 that ivas 172 NOTES. (of old) III. i yon brilliant (that little) 2 stand, (!) 3 agatt tamp (folded scroll) 3 hand! (—) 4 Ah, (A) 4 Psyche, (p. c). Variations of Graham from the text. I. 4 way-wom (o. h.) II. 3 airs (airs,) 4 Greece, (—) III. 1 yon brilliant (that shadowy) 3 agate lamp (folded scroll) 3 A«»•/.' (—) 4 Ah, (!). Editor's Note. Said to have been written when he was fourteen and, if so, then it refers to Mrs. Stanard. — The second "Helen" was Mrs. Whitman. ISRAFEL. Page 47- 1831; Southern Literary Messenger, August, 1836; Graham's Magazine, October, 1841; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 3. Text, 1845. The earliest version (1831) reads as follows :— Israfel.1 1. In Heaven a spirit doth dwell Whose heart-strings are a lute — None sing so wild — so well As the angel Israfel — And the giddy stars are mute. 1 And the angel Israfel, who has the iweetcst voice of all God's creatures. POEMS. 173 Tottering above In her highest noon The enamoured moon Blushes with love — While, to listen, the red levin Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And all the listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre With those unusual strings. IV. But the Heavens that angel trod Where deep thoughts are a duty - Where Love is a grown god — Where Houri glances are — Stay! turn thine eyes afar ! — Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in yon star. Thou art not, therefore, wrong Israfeli, who despisest An unimpassion'd song: To thee the laurels belong Best bard, — because the wisest. The extacies above With thy burning measures suit . Thy grief—if any — thy love With the fervor of thy lute — Well may the stars be mute! 174 NOTES. Yes, Heaven is thine: but this Is a world of sweets and sours: Our flowers are merely — flowers, And the shadow of thy bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I did dwell where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He would not sing one half as well — One half so passionately, While a stormier note than this would swell From my lyre within the sky. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from above. I. a lute— (:) II. * noon (noon,) IV. 4 are— (o. d.) 5 (omit), 7yon (a) V. 5 bard, — (—) VIII. 6 While a stormier (And a loftier). Variations of Graham's Magazine from the text. Note. Israfel (Israfel, or Israfeli) sweetest (most musical). II. 6-9 With . Heaven (Pauses in Heaven, | With the rapid Pleiads, even | Which were seven.) III. 4 owing to (due unto) 6 The (That) 6 voire (lyre) 7 Of (With) IV. 1 skies (Heavens) 3 Love's (Love is) 3 grown-up (grown) 6 star. (—) After 6 insert: The more lovely, the more far! V. 1 Therefore, thou art not (Thou art not, therefore,) 3 song; (.) VI. 4 fervour (fervor) 4 lute— (.) VII. 2 sours ; (—) 3 flowers, (;) 4 perfect (o.) VIII. 1 could (did) 4 well (well,) 5 (One half so passionately,) 7 sky. (!) POEMS. 175 Variations of the Broadway Journal from the text. IV. 1 Where (And) 3 grown-up (o. h.) 3 God— (,) 4 Where (And) % duty — (,) V. 1 Thou art not, therefore VI. ^fervour (fervor). Editor's Note. This is among the best of Poe's poems. The last verse is the clearest. — Cf.Al Aaraaf; all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Prof. Woodberry (Poems, 181) remarks that the phrase, "whose heartstrings are a lute," was not in the original motto derived by Poe from Moore's "Lalla Rookh," but was interpolated, as in the text. THE CITY IN THE SEA. Page 49. American Whig Review (sub-title, A Prophecy,) April, 1845; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 8. The Doomed City, 1831; The City of Sin, Southern Literary Messenger, August, 1836. Text, 1845. The earliest version (1831) reads as follows: Lo! Death hath rear'd himself a throne In a strange city, all alone, Far down within the dim west — And the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the best, Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers Are — not like anything of ours — O! no — O! no — ours never loom 176 NOTE8. To heaven with that ungodly gloom! Time-eaten towers that tremble not! Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. A heaven that God doth not contemn With stars is like a diadem — We liken our ladies' eyes to them — But there! That everlasting pall! It would be mockery to call Such dreariness a heaven at all. Yet tho' no holy rays come down On the long night-time of that town, Light from the lurid, deep sea Streams up the turrets silently — Up thrones — up long-forgotten bowers Of sculptur'd ivy and stone flowers — Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls - Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — Up many a melancholy shrine Whose entablatures intertwine The mask — the viol — and the vine. There open temples — open graves Are on a level with the waves — But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye, Not the gayly-jewell'd dead Tempt the waters from their bed: For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass — No swellings hint that winds may be Upon a far-off happier sea: So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from the high towers of the town Death looks gigantically down. POEMS. 177 But lo! a stir is in the air! The wave! there is a ripple there! As if the towers had thrown aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide — As if the turret-tops had given A vacuum in the filmy heaven: The waves have now a redder glow — The very hours are breathing low — And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell rising from a thousand thrones Shall do it reverence, And Death to some more happy clime Shall give his undivided time. Variations of Southern Literaiy Messenger (Title, The City of Sea) from above. Line 4 And (Where) 6 shrines (shrines,) 6 palaces (palaces,) 7 anything (any thing) 8 O! (Oh,) 8 01 (O) 20 Yet . . . down (No holy rays from heaven come down) 22 Light . . . sea (But light from out the lurid sea) 35 gayly (gaily) 46 'wave! (—) 50 heaven: (.) 54 down (down,) 55 Hell rising (All Hades) 55 thrones (thrones,). Variations of The American Whig Review from the text. Line 3 Far . . . West, (Far off in a region unblest) 12 heaven (cap.) 22 wreathid (wreathed) 25 The mel- ancholy (Around the mournful) 27 air, (.) 28-35 om't 36 For no (No murmuring) 39 some (a) 41 Seas less hideously (Oceans not so sad—) 47 Heaven. (.—) 49 hours (cap.). Editor's Note. Death has a throne in a strange city by the edge of the waters. It is ever night lime and the only light is from Vol. VII. — la I78 NOTES. the lurid sea. The city hangs in pendulous reflection, with Death on a high tower. The sea is hideously serene, but a stir comes and the city will slip in the sea. The music of this poem is charming. The theme of the city sunk in the sea is not unknown to the German ballad-writers; cf. the kindred themes of the chapel lost in the woods (Uhland), "Die Versunkene Glocke" of Hauptmann, etc., and Al Aaraaf, II. THE SLEEPER. Page 51. Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broadway Journal, I. 18; 1831 (Title Irene); Southern Literary Messenger, May, 1836 (Irene). Text, 1845, with Lorimer Graham corrections. The earliest version (18 31) is as follows : — Irene. 'T is now (so sings the soaring moon) Midnight in the sweet month of June, When winged visions love to lie La2ily upon beauty's eye, Or worse — upon her brow to dance In panoply of old romance, Till thoughts and locks are left, alas! A ne'er-to-be untangled mass. An influence dewy, drowsy, dim, Is dripping from that golden rim; Grey towers are mouldering into rest, Wrapping the fog around their breast: POEMS. 179 Looking like Lethe, see I the lake A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not for the world awake: The rosemary sleeps upon the grave — The lily lolls upon the wave — And million bright pines to and fro, - Are rocking lullabies as they go, To the lone oak that reels with bliss, Nodding above the dim abyss. All beauty sleeps: and lo! where lies With casement open to the skies, Irene, with her destinies! Thus hums the moon within her ear, "O lady sweet! how earnest thou here? "Strange are thine eyelids — strange thy dress! "And strange thy glorious length of tress! "Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, "A wonder to our desert trees! "Some gentle wind hath thought it right "To open thy window to the night, "And wanton airs from the tree-top, "Laughingly thro' the lattice drop, "And wave this crimson canopy, "Like a banner o'er thy dreaming eye! "Lady, awake! lady awake I "For the holy Jesus' sake I "For strangely — fearfully in this hall "My tinted shadows rise and fall!" The lady sleeps: the dead all sleep — At least as long as Love doth weep: Entranc'd, the spirit loves to lie As long as — tears on Memory's eye: But when a week or two go by, And the light laughter chokes the sigh, Indignant from the tomb doth take Its way to some remember'd lake, Where oft — in life — with friends — it went 180 NOTES. To bathe in the pure element, And there, from the untrodden gross, Wreathing for its transparent brow Those flowers that say (ah hear them now !) To the night-winds as they pass, '' Ai! ai! alas ! — alas!" Pores for a moment, ere it go, On the clear waters there that flow, Then sinks within (weigh' d down by wo) Th' uncertain, shadowy heaven below. The lady sleeps: oh! may her sleep As it is lasting so be deep — No icy worms about her creep: I pray to God that she may lie Forever with as calm an eye, That chamber chang'd for one more holy — That bed for one more melancholy. Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold, Against whose sounding door she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone — Some tomb, which oft hath flung its black And vampyre-winged pannels back, Flutt'ring triumphant o'er the palls Of her old family funerals. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from iSjr. Line ■ -a I stand beneath the soaring moon At midnight in the month of June. j-8 (omit S. L. M.) 10 that (yon) 10 rim; (.) is breast ! (.) I 3 awake : (.) 16 grave — (,) 17 iwn» — (,) 18 bright pines (cedars) 18 fro, (o. c.) 19 |«, (o. c.) so reels with bliss, (nodding hangs) 21 Nodding . . . abyss (Above yon cataract of Serangs) » POEMS. 181 beauty (cap.) 22 sleeps: (!—) 23 skies, (o. c.) 24 Irene, (o. c.) For 1. 25 substitute — And hark the sounds so low yet clear, (Like music of another sphere) Which steal within the slumberer's ear, Or so appear — or so appear! 26 sweel! (,) 27 eyelids — (!) 29 far-off (o. h.) 29 seas, (o. c.) 33 top, (o. c.) 34 thro' (through) After 35 insert 1 "So fitfully, so fearfully, 36 Like (As) 36 eye! (eye) 37 substitute :— "That o'er the floor, and down the wall, "Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall — "Then, for thine own all radiant sake, "Lady, awake! awake! awake! 38-59 (omit) 60 sleeps: (! —) 60 oh! (,) 61 lasting (lasting,) 61 deep— (,) 62 creep: ( !) 64 eye, (—) 65 chang'd (changed) 65 holy— (,) 66 melancholy! (.) 67 forest, (o. c.) 69 thrown, (o. c.) 70 childhood, (o. c.) 71 tomb, (o. c.) 72 winged (wing-like) 73 Flutt'ring (Fluttering). Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. After 16 insert: — (Her casement open to the skies) 26 fringed (fringed) 43 pale (dim) 50 wingfd (winged). The Lorimer Graham variations from 1845 are the same as the Broadway Journal variations above. Editor's Note. It is midnight in June when mountain and lake are asleep under the moon. A casement open shows the i8i NOTES. dear lady asleep — the sleep is the sleep of death. May her sleep be as lasting as it is deep. May she find a vault, a sepulchre well known to her in life. This descriptive lyric of death introduces his favorite theme, the sad death of a beautiful young woman. LENORE. Page 53- The Pioneer, February, 1843; Philadelphia Sat- urday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broad- way Journal, II. 6. | A Pjean, 1831 ; Southern Literary Messenger, January, 1836. Text, 1845. The earliest version is 1831, and runs as follows: — A P.KAN. How shall the burial rite be read? The solemn song be sung? The requiem for the loveliest dead, That ever died so young? Her friends are ga2ing on her, And on her gaudy bier, And weep ! — oh! to dishonor Dead beauty with a tear! They loved her for her wealth — And they hated her for her pride — But she grew in feeble health, And they love her — that she died. POEMS. 183 They tell me (while they speak Of her "costly broider'd pall") That my voice is growing weak That I should not sing at all Or that my tone should be Tun'd to such solemn song So mournfully — so mournfully, That the dead may feel no wrong. But she is gone above, With young Hope at her side, And I am drunk with love Of the dead, who is my bride VII. Of the dead — dead who lies All perfum'd there, With the death upon her eyes, And the life upon her hair. VIII. Thus on the coffin loud and long I strike — the murmur sent Through the gray chambers to my song, Shall be the accompaniment. Thou died'st in thy life's June But thou didst not die too fair: Thou did'st not die too soon, Nor with too calm an air. 184 NOTES. From more than fiends on earth, Thy life and love are riven, To join the untainted mirth Of more than thrones in heaven - Therefore, to thee this night I will no requiem raise, But waft thee on thy flight With a Paean of old days. The following are the variations of the Southern Literary Messenger from above: II. 4 Dead (Her) VI. 4 bride. — (.) VII. 1 dead who (dead — who) % perfum'd there (motionless) 4 ber bair (each tress) VIII. omit, IX. 1, % In June she died — in June \ Of life — beloved, and fair; | 3 Tbou didst (But she did) X. 2 Thy life and love are (Helen, thy soul is) 3 untainted (all-hallowed). Stan2as not numbered in Southern literary Messenger. The Pioneer version (1843) '8 M follows : — Lenore. Ah, broken is the golden bowl! The spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll ! — A saintly soul Glides down the Stygian river! And let the burial rite be read — The funeral song be sung — A dirge for the most lovely dead That ever died so young! And, Guy De Vere, Hast thou no tear? Weep now or nevermore! POEMS. 185 See, on yon drear And rigid bier, Low lies thy love Lenore! "Yon heir, whose cheeks of pallid hue With tears are streaming wet, Sees only, through Their crocodile dew, A vacant coronet — False friends ! ye loved her for her wealth And hated her for pride, And, when she fell in feeble health, Ye blessed her — that she died. How shall the ritual, then, be read? The requiem how be sung For her most wrong'd of all the dead That ever died so young?" Peccavimus! But rave not thus! And let the solemn song Go up to God so mournfully that she may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore Hath "gone before" With young hope at her side, And thou art wild For the dear child That should have been thy bride — For her, the fair And debonair, That now so lowly lies — The life still there Upon her hair, The death upon her eyes. "Avaunt ! — to-night My heart is light — No dirge will I upraise, 186 NOTES. But waft the angel on her flight With a Paean of old days! Let no bell toll! Lest her sweet soul, Amid its hallow'd mirth, Should catch the note As it doth float Up from the damned earth — To friends above, from fiends below, Th' indignant ghost is riven — From grief and moan To a gold throne Beside the King of Heaven!" The following are the variations of Broadway Journal from 1845: I. a river; (,) IV. 7 grief (mom). The Lorimer Graham variations of the text from 1S45, not seen or not adopted by Griswold, are as follows: Substitute for IV.: "Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise. '' But waft the angel on her flight with a pasan of old days 1 "Let no bell toll! — lest her sweet soul, amid its hal- lowed mirth, "Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth. "To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven — "From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven— "From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven." Notk.— Mrs. S. H. Whitman, in "Edgar Poe and his Critici," as- serts, without further evidence, that in a version of " Lenore" published In Ruuill'i Magtxlnt, the name " Helen " occurs instead of " Lenore." — Ed. POEMS. 187 Col. T. W. Higginson ("Short Studies of American Authors," p. 15) remarks: "Never in American litera- ture, I think, was such a fountain of melody flung into the air as when 'Lenore' first appeared in 'The Pioneer;' and never did fountain so drop downward as when Poe re-arranged it in its present form. The irregu- lar measure had a beauty as original as that of 'Christa- bel;' and the lines had an ever-varying cadence of their own, until their author himself took them and cramped them into couplets. What a change from Pcccavimus! But rave not thus! And let the solemn song Go up to God so mournfully that she may feel no wrong! to the amended version portioned off in regular lengths." Editor's Note. The innocent Lenore — the queenliest dead — was done to death by slanderous eyes and tongues. Lenore has gone to Heaven, taking with her hope, leaving her lover wild for her who should have been his bride. This merits no dirge but a paean. This lyric of grief has again for its theme the death of a beautiful young woman. Poe's fondness for the name is shown by its recurrence in "The Raven," and in " Eleonora," one of the best of his prose-poems. 188 NOTES. THE VALLEY OF UNREST. American Whig Review, April, 1845; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 9. | The Valley Nis, 1 S31; Southern Literary Messenger, Feb- ruary, 1836. Ten, 1845. The earliest version (1831) runs as follows : — The Valley Nis. Far away — far away — Far away — as far at least Lies that valley as the day Down within the golden east — All things lovely — are not they Far away — far away? It is called the valley Nis. And a Syriac tale there is Thereabout which Time hath said Shall not be interpreted. Something about Satan's dart — Something about angel wings — Much about a broken heart — All about unhappy things: But " the valley Nis" at best Means "the valley of unrest." Once it smiF d a silent dell Where the people did not dwell, Having gone unto the wars — And the sly, mysterious stars, With a visage full of meaning, O'er the unguarded flowers were leaning: POEMS. 189 Or the sun ray dripp'd all red Thro' the tulips overhead, Then grew paler as it fell On the quiet Asphodel. Now the unhappy shall confess Nothing there is motionless: Helen, like thy human eye There th' uneasy violets lie — There the reedy grass doth wave Over the old forgotten grave — One by one from the tree top There the eternal dews do drop — There the vague and dreamy trees Do roll like seas in northern bree2e Around the stormy Hebrides — There the gorgeous clouds do fly, Rustling everlastingly, Through the terror-stricken sky, Rolling like a waterfall O'er the hori2on's fiery wall — There the moon doth shine by night With a most unsteady light — There the sun doth reel by day "Over the hills and far away." The following are the variations of the Southern Literary Messenger from the above s Line 4 east (cap.) 6 Far away (One and all, too) 10 interpreted. (:) 11 dart— (o. d.) 22 the (th') 22 leaning: (,) 23 sun ray (sun-ray) 24 the (tall) 27-46: Now each visiter shall confess Nothing there is motionless: Nothing save the airs that brood O'er the enchanted solitude, Save the airs with pinions furled That slumber o'er the valley-world. 190 NOTES. No wind in Heaven, and lo! the trees Do roll like seas, in Northern bree2e, Around the stormy Hebrides — No wind in Heaven, and clouds do fly, Rustling everlastingly, Through the terror-stricken sky, Rolling, like a waterfall O'er th' hori2on's fiery wall — And Helen, like thy human eye, Low crouched on Earth, some violets lie, And, nearer Heaven, some lilies wave All banner-like, above a grave. And, one by one, from out their tops Eternal dews come down in drops, Ah, one by one, from off" their stems Eternal dews come down in gems! Variations of the American Whig Review from the text. Line 6 fiowers, (o. c.) 18 rustle (rustles) 19 Uneasily (Unceasingly). After 27 insert: They wave; they weep; and the tears as they well From the depths of each pallid lily bell, Give a trickle and a tinkle and a knell. The Broadway Journal shows no variations from the text. Editor's Note. A lonely grave in a valley of unrest where trees are eternally without wind and where clouds rustle through unquiet heavens. This fantastic lyric has been connected with the Ragged Mountains and has been used as the germ of a story located in that romantic region. POEMS. 191 THE COLISEUM. Page 56. The Baltimore Saturday Visiter, 1833; Southern Literary Messenger, August, 1835; Phila- delphia Saturday Evening Post, June 12, 1841; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845 5 Broadway Journal, II. 1. Text, 1845. Title in Southern Literary Messenger, The Coliseum A Pri2e Poem. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. Line 4 length—at (,) 5 and (, and) 7 and (, and) 11 Silence! (Silence). After 11 insert: Gaunt vestibules ! and phantom-peopled aisles! 12 now — (:) 12 strength—(!) 17 falls! (;) 19 bat! (:) 20 gilded (yellow) 21 Waved (Wav'd) 21 thistle! (:). After 21 insert: Here, where on ivory couch the Caesar sate, On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder: 22 lolled (lolPd) 23 , spectre-like, (o. c.) 24 horned (homed) 26 But stay — these (These crumbling) 26 ivy- clad (tottering) 26 arcades — (;) 27 plinths — (;) 27 sad (sad,) 27 blackened (blacken'd) 27 shafts — (;) 28 entab- latures— (;) 28 crumbling (broken) 28 friexe— (;) 29 cornices— (;) 29 wreck— (;) 29 ruin — (;) 30 stones — (;) 30 alas! (! — ) 31 famed, (great) 32 Hours (hours) 33 all—(,—) 33 Echoes (echoes) 33 me—(;) 33 all! (:) 34 sounds (sounds,) 34 forever (for ever) 36 melody (in old days) [omit quotation marks from 1. 34 to end except after glory 1. 46] 36 Sun (sun) 37 — we 192 NOTES. (. We) 39 impotent (desolate) 40 gone— (;) 40 fame—- (;) 41 renown — (;) 42 us— (;) 43 lie— (;) 44 upon, (o. c). Variations ofBroadway Journal from the text. Line 7 altered (alter'd) 9 , gloom, (o. c.) a2 lolled (loll'd) 24 horned (horned) 27 blackened (blacken'd) 29 shattered (shatter'd) 31 famed (fam'd) 32 Hours (Hours,). Editor's Note. The weary pilgrim drinks within his soul the grandeur, gloom, and glory of the Coliseum. Its charms are potent. The ruin is well-nigh complete, but the pallid stones are not impotent because associations clothe them in a robe of more than glory. This reflective description in blank verse would have received the second pri2e in The Baltimore Saturday Visiter if the "Manuscript Found in a Bottle" had not received the first. In this poem is found the second reference to Jesus, the first having been omitted in the revised fonn of the poem in which it occurred, but the charms of this ruin have greater potency than the spells of the Judean King in Gethsemane. This poem supplements "To Helen." It is probably based upon an indefinite and indistinct memory of childhood. Originally it formed part of the drama of "Politian" and was uttered as a monologue by one of the characters. In metrical structure it forms, with the second poem to " Helen," the poem ,' To" "To M. L. S." and "Politian," an interesting study in Poe's manipulation of the rimeless iambic pentameter — blank verse. POEMS. 193 HYMN. Page 58. Southern Literary Messenger, April, 1835 [Morella]; Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, November, 1839 [Morella]; Tales of the grotesgue and arabesgue, 1840 [morella]; 1845 ; Broadway Journal, I. 25 [Morella], II. 6. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. Insert before: Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes Upon the sinner's sacrifice Of fervent prayer, and humble love, From thy holy throne above. Line 1 — at (,) 1 noon — (,) 1 dim — (,) 2 hymn! (.) 3 wo — (,) 3 «/ — (,) 4 God, (!) 5 the (my) 5 Hours (hours) 5 brightly (gently) 6 not a cloud obscured (no storms were in) 8 grace (love) 8 thee; (.) 9 storms (clouds) 10 Darkly (All) 10 Present (Present,) 12 thine! (). For variations of this poem in the tale " Morella," in the various publications, see Notes to the Tales. As it is not considered necessary to repeat all of these here, only the Southern Literary Messenger variations are given in full in this place. It may be observed in general that the verbal variations of Burton''s are exactly the same as those of the Southern Literary Messenger above. 1840 has the inserted stan2a, and a for the 1. 2 ; otherwise no verbal variation from the text. The Broadway Journal shows no variation from the text. Vol. VII. —13 194 NOTES. Editor's Note. This prayer to the Virgin for sweet hopes of her in the future occurs in Morella and is Poe's best formulation of a religious hope and aspiration. SCENES FROM "POL1TIAN." Page sq. Southern Literary Messenger, December, 1835; January, 1836; 184,5. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from text. In the Southern Literary Messenger the piece is entitled "Scenes From An Unpublished Drama," and begins with Part II. of the text. II. 15 couldst (could'st) %t so (so !) 22 Seemed (Seem'd) 25 oh, (!) 42 ma'am,"s (ma'am's,) 43 say, (o. c.) 55 aid! (?) 81 ruined (ruin'd) after 1. 84 speaks, (o. c.) 85 hast, (o. c.) 113 anything (any thing) 116 This sacred (Avow—a) 117 shuddering (cap.) 126 daughter, (!) 128 divine— (!). III. 1 Baldazzar (Balda22ar, his friend) 3 humours (humors) 6 Baldazzar! (,) 7 Surely (I live—) 1 1 hon- oured (honored) 12 sir! (,) 17 sir! (.) 18 field—(,) 33 voice ! (,) 39 high-sounding (o. h.) 42 long— (.) 45 and (, and) 53 alai (cap.) 64 now— (,—) 69 eloquent (voice — that) 70 Surely I (I surely) 76 it (that lattice) 84-90 "And . . . nay!" (And . . . nay!) •)lHist!(—) 94-100 "Is . . . nay!" (Is . . . nay!) 101 hushed (hush'd) 104 Baldazzar, (!) 108-m "Who . . nay!" (Who . . . nay!) 114 savoured (savored) 117 Believe me (Balda22ar! Oh) 119 lattice — (,) 120 "To (To) 121 tongue." (tongue.) 124 do-iun, (o. c.) 125 Say . . . nay! (n. i.) 132 me; (,) 133 to- night (o. h.). POEMS. 195 IV. gardens (cap.) palace (cap.) 5 sob (weep) 6 mourn (weep) 9 Lalage! — turn here thine eyes (Lalage, and listen to me I) 14 / . . . thee; (n. i.) 15 / . . . thee (n. i.) 20 thee (n. i.) 27 dishonoured (dishonored) 30 honours (honors) 3 1 not to me (not— speak not) 36 it: (!) 44 unhonoured(unhonorcd) 49 Arise (n. i.) 53 togethei together (n. i.) 57 knee, (knee) 59 Hist! (\ —) 75 west? (;) 90 thee (thee,) 11o durst (n. i.) 115 veiy (n. i.). In the January number of the Southern Literary Mes- senger are found Parts I. and V. of the text, numbered as I. and II. Same title as in December No. I. a Sad! (! —) 3 Rome! (,) 19 even (ev'n) 23 it! (.) 24 company, (o. c.) 24 bom— (!) 28 Tbou wilt— thou (Thou) 52 / say, (o. c.) 62 Rumour (Rumor) 66 and (, and) 68 it, (p. c.) 70 it. (,) 72 strange! (,) 77 Noiv (Now,). V. 1 faint, (p. c.) 7 Paradisal Hope! (hopes— give me to live,) 14 What (n. i.) 22 himself (himself,) 29 say (n. i.) 30 sir : (,) 35 service: (?) 48 to-morrovu (o. h.). After 1. 50 insert s If that we meet at all, it were as well That I should meet him in the Vatican — In the Vatican — within the holy walls Of the Vatican. 59 Castiglione; (,) 66 then at once (—have at thee then) 72 thy sacred (hold off thy) 72 avaunt (cap.) 73 indeed I dare not (I dare not —dare not) 75 well; (,). After 75 insert: Exceeding well! — thou darest not fight with me? 82 coward, (Coward !). Insert after 82 Thou darest not ! 84 my lord, (alas !) 86 the veriest (— I am — a) 89 Scoundrel . die! (n. i.) 99 sir: (!) 108 indeed (— now this). 196 NOTES. Editor's Note. The Plot of this single attempt at a Drama is as fol- lows: Count Castiglione, son of the Roman Duke di Broglio, is betrothed to Alessandra but in love with Lalage, whom he has betrayed under promise of marriage. Lalage vows vengeance. Politian falls in love with Lalage and per- suades her to flee with him when Castiglione is dead. Politian will not kill Castiglione, who refuses to defend himself, but swears to meet and insult him in public. Castiglione confesses the justice of this vengeance. These five scenes are really the five undeveloped acts of a complete tragedy of revenge. In Scene (Act) One, Alessandra and Castiglione are in conversation in a Hall in the Palace. The tone of the play is given in the first words — 'Thou art sad, Cas- tiglione." In protesting that he is not sad he yet, amid his sighs, utters the name Lalage. Di Broglio enters to announce the unexpected arrival of Politian (Earl of Leicester) and Politian's qualities are discussed. In Scene (Act) Two, Lalage and Jacinta her maid are together. The maid has lost respect for her mistress and serves her now for the remnant of her treasures. Lalage is bemoaning her sad fate when a monk enters to whom she confesses her fall. She asks for a crucifix upon which she may vow Castiglione's death; but when the monk re- fuses, she swears upon the Cross-handle of her dagger. Scene (Act) Third: Politian and Balda22ar (Duke of Surrey) have arrived in Rome and during conversation Politian is entranced by a lady's voice in sorrowing song. Politian bids Balda22ar make his excuses to the Duke and remains. Scene (Act) Four: Lalage tries to repulse Politian's protestations of love to her whose story he knows, but finally accepts his avowals and is ready to fly with him to America, whenever Castiglione is killed. Politian swears he shall die. POEMS. 197 In Scene (Act) Fifth, Politian sends a challenge to Cas- tiglione, who declines it because he knows no reason why he should fight. Castiglione seeks out Politian and is insulted. They draw. Politian draws in the name of Lalage, Castiglione, thus unmanned, refuses to defend himself. Upon this Politian asserts that he will meet him in the streets of Rome and taunt him. The scene closes with Now this indeed is just — Most righteous and most just — avenging Heaven. The incident upon which this drama was founded was also used by Chivers, in his little-known play of '' Conrad and Eudora," by W. Gilmore Simms (" Beauchampe ") and by Charles Fenno Hoffman (in " Greyslaer"). Mr. J. H. Ingram owns the original MS. of the drama, which is said to include unpublished scenes. TO ZANTE. Page 80. Southern Literary Messenger, January, 1837; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 2. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. Line 1 flowers, (o. c.) * take! (,) 6 entombid (en- tombed) 9 more! (!—) 11 Accurstd (Accursed) 13 O (O,) 13 O (O,) 13 Zante! (,). Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. Line 6 entombid (entombed) 11 Accurstd (Accursed). 198 NOTES. Editor's Note. In this Sonnet of the Shakespeare form the poet recites the associations of the 'fair isle' now become accursed ground. Note the recurring — no more. The poem is thought to have been suggested by a pas- sage in Chateaubriand's "Itineraire de Paris i. Jerusa- lem," p. 15. BRIDAL BALLAD. Page 81. Southern Literary Messenger, January, 1837; Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post, July 31, 1841; 1845 ; Broadway Journal, II. 4. Text, 1845, with Lorimer Graham corrections. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. I. a brow; (—) 3 grand (grand,). After 3 insert: And many a rood of land, 5 now. (!) II. 1 And . . . well; (He has loved me long and well,) a But (And) % first (o.) 3 swell— (,) 4 For . . knell, (o.) 5 And the voice (For — the words) 5 seemed bis (were his) 7 now. (!) III. 1 But (And) 2 brow, (_) 3 While (But) 6 (Thinking . . . D'Elormie) (0.) 7 Oh, (O). After III. insert: And thus they say I plighted An irrevocable vow — And my friends are all delighted That his love I have requited — And my mind is much benighted If I am not happy now! POEMS. 199 Lo! the ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow — Satins and jewels grand, And many a rood of land, Are all at my command, And I must be happy now! IV. 1-2 And . vow; I have spoken — I have spoken — They have registered the vow. 3 And, (o. c.) 4 And, (o. c.) 5 Here is a ring as (Behold the golden) 6 / am (proves me) V. a dream (dream —) a how, (!) 3 shaken (shaken,) 4 taken, — (,) 5 Lest (And) 6 now. (!) Variations of Broadway Journal from the text. II. 1 'well; (,) 4 as (like) III. 6 [omit parentheses] IV. 1 spoken; (,) 2 vow ; (,) 5-6 Here . . now! (Behold the golden token | That proves me happy now !) Broadway Journal varies from Griswold in the first two stan2as only; the other variations from the text are due to Lorimer Graham corrections. Editor's Note. In this poem, a reflective lyric rather than a true ballad, there is a story of formal happiness and of real woe. 200 NOTES. THE HAUNTED PALACE. Page 83. Baltimore Museum, April, 1839; Burton's Gen- tleman's Magazine ["The Fall of the House of Usher"], September, 1839; Tales [" Fall of the House of Usher"], 1840 ; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Tales, 1845 [" The Fall of the House of Usher "]. Text, 1845. Variations of the Baltimore Museum from the text. I. 4 Radiant (Snow-white) 5 Thoughts (s. 1.) 7 seraph (cap.) II. 2 flow (—) 3-4 [omit parentheses] 4 •igs, (—) 8 wing'd (winged) 8 odor (odour) III. 1 Wander- ers (All wanderers) 2 windo-ivs, (o. c.) 4 tuned (tuned) 5 'where, (o. c.) 5 sitting, (o. c.) 8 ruler (sovereign) IV. * door, (;) 3 flo-iving (flowing,) 5 Echoes (s. 1.) 6 sing, (o. c.) V. 1 , in (o. c.) 2 estate. (!) 3-4 [omit parentheses] } mourn! (mourn) 5 glory (glory,) VI. 1 , now, (o. c.) 2 see (, see) 3 forms, (o. c.) 4 melody, (;) 5 ghastly rapid (rapid ghastly) 6 door (door,). As the variations of this poem in the Gentleman's Magazine ; Tales, 1840 ; and Tales, 1845, may be found in the notes to the " Fall of the House of Usher," k is regarded as unnecessary to give them in full here. Below will be found the verbal variations in these forms. I. 4 radiant (snow-white) 1840; Gentleman's Maga- zine. II. 8 ruler (sovereign); Gentleman's Magazine. IV. 5 sweet (sole) ; Gentleman's Magazine. V. 1 ghastly rapid (rapid ghastly) ; Gentleman's Mag- azine i Tales, 1840; Tales, 1845. See footnote page 84 for variation in Griswold MS. POEMS. 201 Editor's Note. This fantastic description occurs in "The Fall of the House of Usher," and should be read in its setting. It tells of a radiant palace in the dominion of thought where banners float and odorous airs linger. Here Porphyrogene ruled in glorious state, for his wit and wisdom are sung by trooping echoes. Then evil things assailed his high estate, and now vast forms move through the palace where hideous throngs laugh but smile no more. Cf. with this Longfellow's "Beleaguered City," which Poe accused of being a direct appropriation of his idea; and James Russell Lowell's appreciation in Graham's Magazine, February, 1845. SILENCE. Page 85. Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, April, 1840; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845; Broadway Journal, II. 3. Text, 1845. Variations of Burton's from the text. Line 1 things, (o. c.) 2 life, (life —) % whieh thus is (aptly made,) 5 Silence (n. i.) 7 ; some (. Some) 9 terrorless:(—) 10 Silence: (—) 1% (untimely lot.') (— untimely lot !) 15 man,) (—). The Broadway Journal shows no variations from the text. Editor's Note. This poem varies from the Sonnet form both in the addition of an extra line and a change in the rime order. 202 NOTES. The corporate silence embodied in the no more uttered in the solitude of graves is terrorless, but the shadow of silence, that is, death, has terror. — Cf. Poe's great prose- poem "Silence" (Siope), and "Eleonora." TO ONE IN PARADISE. Page 86. Southern Literary Messenger ["The Visionary"], July, 1835 ; Broadway Journal, I. 19, I. 2j ["The Assignation"]. | "To Ianthe in Heaven," Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, July, 1839; Tales [" The Visionary"], 1840; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843; 1845 I Godey's Lady's Book ["The Visionary"], Janu- ary, 1844. Text, 1845, with Lorimer Graham corrections. As the variations of this poem as occurring in Godey's Lady's Book; Southern Literary Messenger; Tales, 1840; Broadway Journal, I. 23, will be found in the notes to "The Assignation [Visionary]," it is regarded as unnecessary to give the variations from the text in full. The verbal variations are as follows s Godey's: I. 1 all that (that all) 5 with . . . and (round with wild) II. 1 But the dream it could not last. * Young Hope! thou didst arise. 5 " On!on" — but (" Onward ") 6 but (while) III. a Ambition — all — is o'er IV. 1 days (hours) 3 grey (dark) 4 solemn (breaking) 6 eternal (Italian) 7 wbat (far). After 6 insert: Alas! for that accursed time They bore thee o'er the billow POEMS. 203 From me to titled age and crime And an unholy pillow — From Love, and from our misty clime Where weeps the silver willow. The Southern Literaiy Messenger has the same variations except around about with for round with 'wild I. 5; And the star of Hope did rise for Young . . . arise II. a; solemn for breaking, IV. 4 5 me for Love, 1. j; and Love for me, 1. 5 [stan2a above]. 1840 shows no verbal variations from the Southern Literary Messenger form. The following are the verbal variations of Broadway Journal, I. 2$,from the text: I. 1 all that (that all) 5 "Oml on"—but ("On- ward ") IV. 1 And (Now) 6 eternal (Italian). The following are the variations (in full) of the form in Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, entitled "To Ianthe in Heaven ": I. 4 shrine, (p. c.) 5. wreathed (wreath'd) 5 with . fruits (around about with) 5 flowers, (—) 6 all . . . were (the flowers, they all were) II. 1 (But the dream, it could not last;) 2 (And the star of Hope did rise) 3 overcast I (.) cries, (o. c.) 5 " On .' on J"—but ("Onward 1"—while) 5 Past, (o. c.) 6 lies, (o. c.) III. 1 For, (o. c.) 1 me (me,) 2 Ambition, all, is o'er—)3 — no more — (, no more,) 3 more—'' (") 6 tree, (p. c.) 7 soar ! (.) IV. 1 days (hours) 3 grey (dark) 4 gleams — (,). Variations of Broadway Journal, I. i<),from the text. III. 3 omit IV. 3 grey (dark). Editor's Note. Note the fondness for the recurring no more. ao6 NOTES. EULALIE. Page 91. American Whiq Review (with "A Song," as sub- title), July, 1845 , Broadway Journal, II. 5; 1845. Text, 1845. Variation of Broadway Journal from the text. III. 4 and (which). TO F Page 92. 1845, Broadway Journal, I. 17 ["To Mary."], Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1835 ["To One Departed"], Graham's Magazine, March, 1842; Philadelphia Saturday Museum, March 4, 1843. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. (Title, To Mary) I. Beloved . . . woes (Mary, amid the cares — the woes) 2 That crowd (Crowding) 2 path. — (,) 3 Drear (Sad) 4 even (ev'n) 4 rose) — (,) ) 7 bland (sweet) II. a enchanted (enchanted,) a isle (isle,) 4 Some . . . free (Some lake beset as lake can be) 5 meanwhile (, meanwhile,). Variations of Graham from the text. Order of stan2as reversed. I. 1 Beloved . . . woes (For "mid the earnest cares and woes) 2 path — (,) 3 Drear (Sad) 3 alas.' (,) POEMS. 207 4 rose) — (!) ) 6 thee, (thee;) II. 1 And thus (Seraph !) 4 throbbing far and free (vexed as it may be) 5 meanwbile (, meanwhile) 5 — but (5). Broadway Journal shows no variations from the text. Editor's Note. This poem is presumably addressed to Mrs. Osgood, but who was the Mary of 1835 (Eli2a White ?) and the One Departed of 1842? See the following poem. TO F S S. O D [FRANCES S. OSGOOD]. Page 93. 1845 ; I ["Lines written in an Album''], Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835, "To ," Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, Au- gust, 1839, "To F," Broadway Journal, II. 10, lines 1-4. Text, 1845. Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text. Line 1 Thou . beart (Eli2a, let thy generous heart) 2 not I (:) 3 everything (every thing) 5 ways, (—) 6 Tby . . . beauty, (Thy unassuming beauty —) 7 shall be an endless (And truth shall be a) 7 praise, (p. c.) 8 And . . . duty (Forever — and love a duty). Variations of Burton's from the text. Line 1 Thou . heart (Fair maiden, let thy generous heart) 2 not! (—) 6 grace, thy more than (un- assuming) 7 Shall . . . endless (Thy truth shall be a) 8 And love — a (Forever, and love a). Variation of the Broadway Journal from the text. Line 4 not. (!). THE RAVEN OTHER POEMS EDGAR A. POE. NEW YORK: WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY. 1S45. 208 NOTES. Editor's Note. This eight-line stan2a was originally written in honor of Eli2a White, while the version in Burton's was dedicated to some unknown blank. It does duty a third time as one of the numerous tributes to Mrs. Osgood. THE RAVEN. Page 94. The Evening Mirror, January 29, 1845 , The American Whig Review, February, 1845; Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1845; Broadway Journal, I. 6; 1845. Text, 1845, with Lorimer Graham corrections. Variations of the American Whig Review from the text. I. 6 this (this,) II. 3 sought (tried) 6 here (n. i.) III. 1 , sad, (o. c.) 6 is (is,) IV. 5 door; — (;) 6 there (there,) V. 2 mortal (mortals) 3 stillness (darkness) 4 Lenore? (!) 6 this (this,) VI. 1 Bad (Then) 2 again I heard (I heard again) 2 somewhat (something) 6 wind (wind,) VII. Raven (s. 1.; so throughout) 2 yore. (;) 3 a minute (an instant) VIII. 4 shore — (,—) IX. 3 living human (sublunary) X. 2 the [Griswold, that] 4 muttered (muttered,) 6 Then . . said (Quoth the raven) XI. 1 Startled (Wondering) 4^-6 till . . nevermore (— so, when Hope he would adjure Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure, That sad answer, "Nevermore ! ") XII. 1 fancy (sad soul) 2 bust (bust,) XIII. 4-5 lamp- light (p. h.) XIV. 2 Seraphim avbose (Angels whose faint) _J THE RAVEN and OTHER POEMS EDGAR A. POE. NEW YORK: WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY. l«4.r,. POEMS. 209 4 nepenthe (cap.) 6 Raven, (raven) XV. 1 devil! (! —) 5 Quaff, oh (Let me) 6 Raven, (raven) XVI. 1 evil I — (—) 6 Raven, (raven) XVII. 6 Raven, (raven) XVIII. still (n. i.) 3 demon's (demon). Variations of the Southern Literary Messenger from the text. I. 2 lore — (,) 6 this (this,) II. 1 December; (,) % ghosts (ghost) 6 here (n. i.) III. 1 , sad, (o. c.) 6 is (is,) IV. 5 door — (;) 6 there (there,) V. 3 stillness (darkness) 6 this (this,) VI. 1 Back (Then) 2 Again 1 heard (I heard again) 6 wind (wind,) Vll. 2 Raven (s. 1. and so throughout) 2yore. (;) 3 a minute (an instant) X. 2 said (, said) 6 "Of . . . more'" (Of "Never- more" — of "Nevermore.") XI. 1 fancy (sad soul) 2 bust (bust,) 3 Then, (o. c.) XII. 4 that (, that) XIII. 2 Seraphim (angels,) 4 nepenthe (cap.) 4 Lenore; (!) 6 Raven (raven,) [so XIV. etc.] XIV. evil! (! —) -iyet (, yet) XVI. evil! — (—) XVII. 1 stiU (n. i.) 3 demon's (demon) 5 that (, that). Variations of the Broadway Journal from the text. I. 2 lore — (,) 6 this — (this,) II. 1 December; (,) 2 ghosts (ghost) 3 sought (vied) 6 here (n. i.) III. 1 , sad, (o. c.) 6 is (is,) IV. 5 door ; — (;) 6 there (there,) V. 2 mortal (mortals) 3 stillness (darkness) 6 this (this,) VI. 1 /far£ (Then) 2 again / Afara' (I heard again) 2 somewhat (some thing) 6 wind (wind,) VII. Raven (s. 1. and so throughout) 2 yore. (;) 3 a minute (an instant) VIII. 6 Raven, (raven) XI. 2 , jfljrf (o. c.) 2 ;(».*, (o. c.) 6 Of "Nevermore" — of" Nevermore." XII. 1 fancy (sad soul) XIII. 4-5 lamp-light (p. h.) XIV. 2 seraphim whose (angels whose faint) 4 Lenore; (!) XV. 1 evil — (!) XVI. 1 evil!(—) 1. devil! — (!) XVIII. still (n. i.) 3 demon's (demon). In the quotations from the Raven in Poe's " Philosophy of Composition," one verbal variation is noted; VII. 3 minute (moment). Vol. VII. —14 210 NOTES. The Shadow of Poe's Raven. To the Ne-vo Tork Times Saturday Review. — "In answer to the criticism on this line, that the lamp would not throw the shadow of the bird on the floor, Poe says: 'My conception was that of the bracket candelabrum affixed against the wall, high up above the door and bust, as is often seen in the English palaces, and even in some of the better houses of New York.' " (June 10, 1901.) The Raven. By—Quarles. American Whig Review, February, 1845 :— "The following lines from a eorrespondent — besides the deep quaint strain of the sentiment, and the curious introduction of some ludicrous touches amidst the serious and impressive, as was doubtless intended by the author — appear to us one of the most felicitous specimens of unique rhyming which has for some time met our eye. The resources of English rhythm for varieties of melody, measure, and sound, producing corresponding diversities of effect, have been thoroughly studied, much more per- ceived, by very few poets in the language. While the classic tongues, especially the Greek, possess, by power of accent, several advantages for versification over our own, chiefly through greater abundance of spondaic feet, we have other and very great advantages of sound by the modern usage of rhyme. Alliteration is nearly the only effect of that kind which the ancients had in common with us. It will be seen that much of the melody of 'The Raven' arises from alliteration, and the studious use of similar sounds in unusual places. In regard to its measure, it may be noted that, if all the verses were like the second, they might properly be placed merely in short lines, producing a not uncommon form; but the presence in all the others of one line — mostly the second in the verse — which flows continuously, with only an POEMS. 211 aspirate pause in the middle, like that before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic, while the fifth has at the middle pause no similarity of sound with any part beside, gives the versification an entirely different effect. We could wish the capacities of our noble language, in pros- ody, were better understood." — Ed. American Whig Review. Theories as to the Composition of the Raven. Editor's Note. i. It was drafted in the summer of 184a, at the Barhyte Trout-Ponds, Saratoga Springs, New York. This theory rests upon Dr. GrifnV report of what he recollected his wife said. See Home Journal, Nov. 5th, 1884. 2. It was written in the winter of 1843-44, when Poe was in want. This theory rests upon the unsustained testimony of Mr. Rosenbach. 3. It was dashed off one night while Poe was living at Fordham (1844-45). See Fairfield, Seribner'i Maga- zine for October, 1875. This is manifestly impossible: Poe did not move to Fordham until the spring of 1846. 4. According to Col. DuSolle it was written piece- meal, stan2a by stan2a, and criticised by his literary con- temporaries, who assembled at Sandy Webb's in Ann Street. 5. It was written in the office of John R. Thomp- son while Thompson was editor of the Southern Liter- ary Messenger (between 1847-1849). This theory, which is obviously incorrect, is circumstantially described in a persona] letter to Charles W. Kent from Mr. James K. Gait, the great-nephew of John Allan, the foster- father of Poe. 6. For Poe's own theory see his "Philosophy of Composition," and the "Outis" controversy. 212 NOTES. Form of the Poem. It is a melancholy, melodramatic, reflective lyric of love and sorrow. Its metrical form is at first glance trochaic octameter, but in reality it seems to be a four- time tetrameter verse. There are eighteen stan2as of five lines each, with a refrain. The rime order is abcbb, dbebb, fbgbb, etc. There is also internal rime in the ist and 3rd lines. The refrain rimes with the last line of the stan2a. There is much peculiar use of alliteration, the trills r and /, and the so-called "long" a and o. Ingram's and Stedman's monographs on "The Raven" contain interesting historical and metrical dis- cussions, translations, imitations, parodies, etc. The attempt by Col. J. A. Joyce to trace "The Raven" to an Italian original published in the Milan Art Journal for 1809 and called "The Parrot" — by one Leo Pen2oni — has failed for lack of a reproduction of the Italian version and other authenticating data. TO M. L. S Page 101. Home Journal, March 13, 1847. Text, Home Journal. (Kindlv furnished by its present editor, Mr. Dix.) Editor's Note. This blank, verse lyric is without real poetic merit. N. P. Willis, editor of the Home Journal, introduced this poem in the following words: "The following seems said over a hand clasped in the speaker's two. It is by Edgar A. Poe, and is evidently the pouring out of a very deep feeling of gratitude." See Vol. I. for the circumstances surrounding this poem to Mrs. Marie Louise Shew whose nursing probably saved Poe from death. Cf. "To Marie Louise." POEMS. 213 ULALUME. Page ioa. American Whig Review (sub-title, "To December, 1847 ; Home Journal, January i, 1848; Griswold, 1850. Text, Griswold, 1850. The poem as now printed contains 9 stan2as; but the American Whig Review and the Home Journal versions contained a tenth stan2a, as follows: Said we, then —the two, then — " Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls, The pitiful, the merciless ghouls — To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds — From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds — Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo' of lunary souls, This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?" American Whig Review and Home "Journal. Variations from the Grisvoold text. III. 9 We remembered. VIII. 5 And (But). IX. 13 In the (This). From Fordham Poe wrote to Willis, Editor of the Home Journal, Dec. 8, 1847, as follows: "I send you an American Review — the number just issued — in which is a ballad by myself, but published anonymously. It is called 'Ulalume' — the page is turned down. I do not care to be known as its author just now ; but would take it as a great favor if you 214 NOTES. would copy it in the Home Journal, with a word of inquiry as to who wrote it : — provided always that you think the poem worth the room it would occupy in your paper — a matter about which I am by no means sure." Willis printed the poem with the following comment: "We do not know how many readers we have who will enjoy, as we do, the following exquisitely piquant and skilful exercise of variety and niceness of language. It is a poem which we find in th« American Review, full of beauty and oddity in sentiment and versification, but a curiosity (and a delicious one, we think) in philologic flavor. Who is the author r" Editor's Note. In artistic marks this poem is well worth a close study. Its effects of rime, repetition, parallelism, assonance, etc., are interesting. TO Page 106. Columbian Magazine, March, 1848. Text, Griswold. Editor's Note. The writer of these lines had contended that no thought need lack for expression, but now his thoughts of her not even Israfel could utter (seethe poem " Israfel"). He can- not speak, think, or feel, for he sees only her. This poem is a blank verse tribute to Mrs. Shew. POEMS. 215 TO HELEN. Page 107. To , Union Magazine, November, 1848. Text, Griswold. Variations of Sartain's Union Magazine from text. 26-28 O Heaven . . me (o.). Editor's Note. This Helen was Mrs. Whitman, "the Helen of a thousand dreams." AN ENIGMA. Page 110. Sonnet, Union Magazine, March, 1848. Text, GrUwold. Variation of Sartain' 1 Union Magazine from the text. Line 10 tuckermanities (petrarchmanities). Editor's Note. A very irregular sonnet so worded that the first letter of the first line, the second letter of the second line, etc., give the name Sarah Anna Lewis (Anna Estelle Lewis — " Stella." Cf. "A Valentine "). 2l6 NOTES. FOR ANNIE. Page in. Flag of Our Union, 1849; Home Journal, April 28, 1849; Griswold, 1850. Text, Ihmt "Journal (from text kindly furnished by Mr. Dix, editor of Heme Journal.) Variations of Grisixiold from the text. IV. 5 ah (ah,) V. 3 ceased (ceased,) VIII. 7 sUef (?) XIII. 6 Novi , (o. c.) XIV. 3 of(va). Editor's Note. This poem of fifteen stan2as, of varying length and mainly- iambic and anapaestic movement, is addressed to Annie, a lady of Lowell, Mass. (Mrs. Richmond). Note the use of flowers in this poem. A VALENTINE. Page 115. Flag of Our Union, 1849 ; Sartain's Union Mag- azine, March, 1849. Text, Union Magazine. Editor's Note. This pu22le in verse contains the name Frances Sargent Osgood which is deciphered by taking the first letter of the first line, second letter of second line, etc.; Cf. "An Enigma " and " A Few Words on Secret Writing," "The Gold-Bug," etc. POEMS. 217 TO . [From the Griiwold MS.] For her these lines are penned, whose luminous eyes, | Bright and expressive as the stars of Leda, | Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling, lies | Upon this page, enwrapped from every reader. | Search narrowly these words, which hold a treasure | Divine — a talisman — an amulet | That must be worn at heart. Search well the meas. ure — I The words — the letters themselves. Do not forget | The smallest point, or you may lose your labor. | And yet there is in this no Gordian knot | Which one might not undo without a sabre | If one could merely comprehend the plot, j Upon the open page on which are peering | Such sweet eyes now, there lies, I say, perdu | A musical name oft uttered in the hearing | Of poets, by poets — for the name is a poet's too. In common sequence set, the letters lying, Compose a sound delighting all to hear — Ah, this you'd have no trouble in descrying Were you not something of a dunce, my dear:— | And now I leave these riddles to their Seer. Saturday, Feb. 14, 46. (raised ornamented edge all round sheet, and bouquet of flowers left-hand upper corner.) 218 NOTES. TO MY MOTHER. Page 116. Flag of Our Union, 1849. Text, Griiwold, as 00 files of this paper are known. Editor's Note. A beautiful tribute to Mrs. Clemm. ANNABEL LEE. Page 117. New York Tribune, October 9, 1849; Southern Literary Messenger, November, 1849; Sartaim's Union Magazine, January, 1850. Text, Nnv York Tribune. Noti.— In the article in the Tribune in which the poem it inserted, it is stated that the MS. was given the author by Poe "just before he left New York recently."—John R. Thompson makes the same statement as to himself in the Sustierm Littrstrj Messenger. Variations of the Home Journal from the text. I. 2 sea (sea,) IV. 1 angels, (o. c). Stan2as in quotation marks in Home Journal. The poem is introduced in Sartain's by the following note : — POEMS. 2I9 "In the December number of our Maga2ine we an- nounced that we had another poem of Mr. Poe's in hand, which we would publish in January. We supposed it to be his last, as we had received it from him a short time before his decease. The sheet containing our announce- ment was scarcely dry from the press, before we saw the poem, which we had bought and paid for, going the rounds of the newspaper press, into which it had found its way through some agency that will perhaps be here- after explained. It appeared first, we believe, in the N. Y. Tribune. If we are not misinformed, two other Maga2ines are in the same predicament as ourselves. As the poem is one highly characteristic of the gifted and lamented author, and more particularly, as our copy of it differs in several places from that which has been already published, we have concluded to give it as already an- nounced." Variations of Sartain's from the text. I. 2 sea (sea,) II. 1 / . . . she (She ... I) % sea (;) III. 5 kinsmen (kinsman) IV. Yes! — (!) V. 7 Lee: (.) VI. 1 beams, (o. c.) 3 rise, (p. c.) 5 so, (o. c.) 6 — my (,) 6 darling — (,) 6 life (life,) 4 jlee: (;). Editor's Note. This love lyric of beautiful movement celebrates the love of a youth and maiden separated by the death of the maiden. But not death or any other power could sever her from his love. Can this refer to aught save his love for Virginia? Mrs. Whitman thought it referred to herself. Mrs. S. A. Weiss informed Professor Harrison that Poe showed her the poem in 1849, and said it was composed years before his wife's death and had no reference to her. 220 NOTES. ANNABEL LEE. By Edgar A. Poe. [From the Griswold MS.] It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee ;— And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me, / was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel L»e — With a love that the winged seraphs in Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre, In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me — Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. POEMS. 221 But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we — Of many far wiser than we — And neither the angels in Heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: — For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee :— And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea — In her tomb by the sounding sea. [Written on 3 pieces of ruled f. c. paper pasted in one long broad page and enclosed in an outer page of the same bluish white ruled foolscap, in a long oblong shape, old- fashioned envelope style, addressed [Seal.] "Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, No, 7.— University, New York City."] [Gray seal.] 222 NOTES. THE BELLS. Page 119. Home Journal, April 28, 1849; Sartain's Union Magazine, November, 1849. Text, Sartain's Union Magmune. Variations of Home Journal from the text. I. 7 heavens, (o. c.) 8 crystalline (crystaline) II. 1 bells (bells,) 5 delight ! — (!) 15 Future !— (future !) 18 bells — (,) III. 1 3 endeavour (endeavor) 22 ear, (o. c.) 23 twanging, (p. c.) 27 jangling, (p. c.) IV. 13 wba, (o. C.) 19 Ghouls:— (:) 20 tolls :— (;) 21 rolls, (o. c.) 29 bells: — (—) 35 bells: — (; —) 40 bells: — (;). Variations of Grisvuold from the text. II. 1 bells (bells,) 5 delight! — (!) 15 Future! — (!) 18 bells — (,) III. 3 ntnv (now,) 10 fire, (o. c.) 13 endeavour (endeavor) 14 sit, (o. c.) 22 ear, (o. c.) 28 rangling (wrangling) 34 clanging, (clang) IV. 13 wbo, (p. c.) 19 Ghouls: — (:) 20 tolls:— (;) 29 bells : — (—) 31 time (time,) 35 bells :—(;) 40 bells: — (—) 41 bells — (,) 42 bells, (—). "The singular poem of Mr. Poe's, called 'The Bells,' which we published in our last number, has been very extensively copied. There is a curious piece of literary history connected with this |poem, which we may as well give now as at any other time. It illustrates the gradual development of an idea in the mind of a man of original genius. This poem came into our possession about a year since. It then consisted of eighteen tines! They were as follows: POEMS. 223 "The Bells. — A Song. "The bells ! — hear the bells! The merry wedding bells! The little silver bells]! How fairy-like a melody there swells From the silver tinkling cells Of the bells, bells, bells! Of the bells I "The bells !— ah, the bells! The heavy iron bells! Hear the tolling of the bells! Hear the knells! How horrible a monody there floats From their throats — From their deep-toned throats! How I shudder at the notes From the melancholy throats Of the bells, bells, bells! Of the bells! "About six months after this we received the poen. enlarged and altered nearly to its present si2e and form; and about three months since, the author sent another alteration and enlargement, in which condition the poem was left at the time of his death." — From Sartain s Union Magazine, "The original MS. of 'The Bells,' in its enlarged form, from which the draft sent to 'Sartain's' was made, is in our possession at this time. "In the twelfth line of the first stan2a of the original draft, the word 'bells' was repeated five times, instead of four, as Poe printed it, and but twice in the next line. In changing and obviously improving the effect, he has drawn his pen through the fifth repetition, and added another underlined, to the two of the next line. The same change is made in the corresponding lines in the APPENDIX. POEMS ATTRIBUTED TO POE. The following Note by Mr. J. H. Ingram ("The Complete Poetical Works and Essays in Poetry, of Edgar Allan Poe, together with His Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym," Frederick Warne & Co., London and New York) will give what light there is upon four poems attributed to Poe: "Of the many verses from time to time ascribed to the pen of Edgar Poe, and not included among his known writings, the lines entitled 'Alone ' have the chief claim to our notice. Facsimile copies of this piece had been in possession of the present editor some time previous to its publication in Scribners Magazine for September, 1875; but as proofs of the authorship claimed for it were not forthcoming, he refrained from publishing it as requested. The desired proofs have not yet been adduced, and there is, at present, noth- ing but internal evidence to guide us. , Alone' is stated to have been written by Poe in the album of a Baltimore lady (Mrs. Balderstone ?), on March 17th, 1829, and the facsimile given in Scribner's is alleged to be of his handwriting. If the caligraphy be Poe's, it is different in all essential respects from all the many specimens known to us, and strongly resembles that of tie writer of the heading and dating of the manuscript, both of which the contributor of the poem acknowl- edges to have been recently added. The lines, how- V0L.VII.-1s („5) 226 APPENDIX. ever, if not by Poe, are the most successful imitation of his early mannerisms yet made public, and, in the opinion of one well qualified to speak, 'are not un- worthy on the whole of the parentage claimed for them.' "Whilst Edgar Poe was editor of the Broadway "Journal, some lines 'To Isadore' appeared therein, and, like several of his known pieces, bore no signature. They were at once ascribed to Poe, and in order to satisfy questioners, an editorial paragraph subsequently appeared, saying they were by 'A. Ide, junior.' Two previous poems had appeared in the Broadway Journal over the signature of 'A. M. Ide,'1 and whoever wrote them was also the author of the lines 'To Isadore.' In order, doubtless, to give a show of variety, Poe was then publishing some of his known works in his journal over norm de plume, and as no other writings whatever can be traced to any person bearing the name of 'A. M. Ide,' it is not impossible that the poems now republished in this collection may be by the author of 'The Raven.' Having been published without his usual elaborate revision, Poe may have wished to hide his hasty work under an assumed name. The three pieces are included in the present collection, so the reader can judge for himself what pretensions they possess to be by the author of 'The Raven.'" 1 Mr. Ingram is wrong in attributing the Ide poems to Poe. Ide was a real person and corresponded with Poe. See Vol. XVII. — J. A. H. *z8 APPENDIX. TO ISADORE. [Text: Broadway jfournal, 1845.] I. Beneath the vine-clad eaves Whose shadows fall before Thy lowly cottage door — Under the lilac's tremulous leaves — Within thy snowy clasped hand The purple flowers it bore — Last eve in dreams, I saw thee stand, Like queenly nymph from Fairy-land - — Enchantress of the flowery wand, Most beautiful Isadore! II. And when I bade the dream Upon thy spirit flee, Thy violet eyes to me Upturned, did overflowing seem With the deep, untold delight Of Love's serenity; Thy classic brow, like lilies white And pale as the Imperial Night Upon her throne, with stars bedight, Enthrall'd my soul to thee! HI. Ah! ever I behold Thy dreamy, passionate eyes, Blue as the languid skies TO ISADORE. 229 Hung with the sunset's fringe of gold; Now strangely clear thine image grows. And olden memories Are startled from their long repose Like shadows on the silent snows When suddenly the night-wind blows Where quiet moonlight Jies. IV. Like music heard in dreams, Like strains of harps unknown, Of birds forever flown — Audible as the voice of streams That murmur in some leafy dell, I hear thy gentlest tone, And Silence cometh with her spell Like that which on my tongue doth dwell When tremulous in dreams I tell My love to thee alone! In every valley heard, Floating from tree to tree, Less beautiful to me, The music of the radiant bird, Than artless accents such as thine Whose echoes never flee! Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine : — For uttered in thy tones benign (Enchantress ! ) this rude name of mine Doth seem a melody! 230 APPENDIX. THE VILLAGE STREET. [Text: Broadway ycurnal, 1845-] In these rapid, restless shadows, Once I walked at eventide, When a gentle, silent maiden, Walked in beauty at my side. She alone there walked beside me All in beauty, like a bride. Pallidly the moon was shining On the dewy meadows nigh; On the silvery, silent rivers, On the mountains far and high, — On the ocean's star-lit waters, Where the winds a-weary die. Slowly, silently we wandered From the open cottage door, Underneath the elm's long branches To the pavement bending o'er; Underneath the mossy willow And the dying sycamore. With the myriad stars in beauty All bedight, the heavens were seen Radiant hopes were bright around me, Like the light of stars serene; Like the mellow midnight splendor Of the Night's irradiate queen. THE VILLAGE STREET. 231 Audibly the elm-leaves whispered Peaceful, pleasant melodies, Like the distant murmured music Of unquiet, lovely seas; While the winds were hushed in slumber In the fragrant flowers and trees. Wondrous and unwonted beauty Still adorning all did seem While I told my love in fables 'Neath the willows by the stream; Would the heart had kept unspoken Love that was its rarest dream! Instantly away we wandered In the shadowy twilight tide, She, the silent, scornful maiden, Walking calmly at my side, With a step serene and stately, All in beauty, all in pride. Vacantly I walked beside her, On the earth mine eyes were cast; Swift and keen there came unto me Bitter memories of the past On me, like the rain in Autumn On the dead leaves, cold and fast. Underneath the elms we parted, By the lowly cottage door; One brief word alone was uttered Never on our lips before; And away I walked forlornly, Broken-hearted evermore. 232 APPENDIX. Slowly, silently I loitered, Homeward, in the night, alone; Sudden anguish bound my spirit, That my youth had never known; Wild unrest, like that which cometh When the Night's first dream hath flown. Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper Mad, discordant melodies, And keen melodies like shadows Haunt the moaning willow trees, And the sycamores with laughter Mock me in the nightly breeze. Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight Through the sighing foliage streams; And each morning, midnight shadow, Shadow of my sorrow seems; Strive, O heart, forget thine idol! And, O soul, forget thy dreams! (Signed) A. M. Ide. THE FOREST REVERIE. 233 THE FOREST REVERIE. [Text: Broad-may Journal, 1845.] 'T is said that when The hands of men Tamed this primeval wood, And hoary trees with groans of wo, Like warriors by an unknown foe, Were in their strength subdued, The virgin Earth Gave instant birth To springs that ne'er did flow — That in the sun Did rivulets run, And all around rare flowers did blow — The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale And the queenly lily adown the dale (Whom the sun and the dew And the winds did woo,) With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew. So when in tears The love of years Is wasted like the snow, And the fine fibrils of its life By the rude wrong of instant strife Are broken at a blow — Within the heart Do springs upstart Of which it doth not know, 234 APPENDIX. And strange, sweet dreams, Like silent streams That from new fountains overflow, With the earlier tide Of rivers glide Deep in the heart whose hope has died — Quenching the fires its ashes hide, — Its ashes, whence will spring and grow Sweet flowers, ere long,— The rare and radiant flowers of song! (Signed) A. M. Ide. ANNETTE. 235 ANNETTE. [Text: Broadway Journal, December 6, 1845.] With fairy feet who treads the flowers? Whose voice to the wind-harp sings? Whose laughter startles the silent hours And the shadows that brood with wide-spread wings On the vine-hung walls of odorous bowers, And over the waters of star-lit springs? Whose smile do I see, thou beautiful one! On lips like the leaves of the rose! Like the tremulous smile of the radiant sun On fields of the crusted snows : — Or moonbeams that play where rivulets run And crystal rivers repose! Whose eyes so surpassing the violet's hue, That the violets envying weep, With glances of love in their depths of blue, Like the clear, calm skies, so distant and deep, Look out beneath fringes soft as the dew On the violets in their sleep? Annette! Annette! Ah, stay by my side! Let me hear thy tremulous tone! Thou art gentle and fair, like one who died, (Alas that she died !) in days that have flown: And no vision of pain Dost thou bring me again Of the golden-haired — the violet-eyea But dreams of her beauty alone! (Signed) A. M. Ide. Z36 APPENDIX. THE MAMMOTH SQUASH. By Edgar A. Poe. [W. At. GrinpcltTi Correspondence of R. If. Grirwcld, p. aoo.] Green and specked with spots of golden, Never since the ages olden — Since the time of Cain and Abel, Never such a vegetable, So with odors sweetest laden Thus our halls appearance made in. Who — oh! who in kindness sent thee To afford my soul nepenthe? Rude men seeing thee, say "Gosh! 'T is a most enormous squash!" But the one who peers within, Knowledge of himself to win, Says, while total silence reigns, Silence, from the Stygian shore — (Grim silence, darkling o'er) "This may perchance be but the skull Of Arthur Cleveland Coxe so dull — Its streaked, yellow flesh — his brains." Note. "The Mammoth Squash" is prefaced by the fol- lowing words (GrisweltTs Correspondence, pp. 198- 200): "In October, 1845, the literary world was amused by a clever article in T. Dunn English's Mag- 238 APPENDIX. THE FIRE LEGEND. We insert the following poem as probably the most successful imitation of Poe's manner — if imitation it be — now in existence. Mr. J. H. Ingram, in his monograph on "The Raven," London: George Redway: 1885, gives the history of the poem, which he considers a " tawdry parody." Dr. B. B. Minor, editor of the Southern Literary Messenger from 1843 to 1847, sends J. A. H. this note: "I have seen Russell's Mag. for Jan. i860. On p. 372 it says: "' Considered partly as a parody and partly as a pro- fessed imitation, we have seldom read a more success- ful performance than the following: "' Fire-fiend — A Nightmare. "' From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe, in the possession of Chas. D. Gardette.' "The Messenger has 'Fire-legend,' etc. "In Stanza VII., the Mess, has 'world-enrich- ing.' "I hesitated at this when I copied it. "Russell's Magazine has ' world-encircling.'" THE FIRE LEGEND. 239 THE FIRE LEGEND —A NIGHTMARE. [From Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1863.] From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe. In the deepest dearth' of midnight, while the sad and solemn swell Still was floating, faintly echoed from the forest chapel bell — Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were thro' the midnight rolling, chafed and billowy with the tolling — In my chamber I lay dreaming, by the firelight's fitful gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart foredoomed to care! As the last, long, lingering echo of the midnight's mystic chime, Lifting through the sable billows of the thither shore of Time — Leaving on the starless silence not a token, nor a trace — For a quivering sigh departed, from my couch in fear I started, — Started to my feet in terror, for my dream's phantasmal error Painted in the fitful fire a frightful, fiendish, flaming face! 'Depth? 240 APPENDIX. 3. On the red hearth's reddest centre, from a blazing knot of oak, Seemed to gibe and grin this phantom, when in terror I awoke ; And my slumberous eyelids straining as I staggered to the floor, Still in that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze toward the gleaming Hearth and there ! Oh, God ' I saw it ; and from its flaming jaw, it Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling stream of gore 4. Speechless struck with stony silence, frozen to the floor I stood, Till methought my brain was hissing with that hissing, bubbling blood ; Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those lambent lips; Till the demon seemed to name me — then a wondrous calm o'ercame me, And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death-damp stiff and gluey, And I fell back on my pillow, in apparent soul-eclipse. 5. Then as in death's seeming shadow, in the icy fall of fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my ear; THE FIRE LEGEND. 241 Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their sleep — Muttering: “Higher ' higher 1 higher I am demon of the Fire I am Arch-Fiend of the Fire and each blazing roof’s my pyre, And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims weep ! 6. “How I revel on the prairie how 1 roar among the pines | How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the red flame shines And I hear the shrieks of terror with a life in every breath ! How I scream with lambent laughter, as I hurl each crackling rafter Down the fell abyss of fire, until higher, higher, higher, Leap the high priests of my altar, in their merry dance of death ! 7. “I am monarch of the Fire I am Vassal-King of Death ! World enriching, with the shadow of its doom upon my breath ! With the symbol of Hereafter flaming from my fatal face | I command the Eternal Fire! Higher higher higher higher Leap my ministering demons, like the phantasmagoric lemans Hugging Universal Nature in their hideous embrace " Vol. VII. - 16 242 APPENDIX. Then a sombre silence shut me in a solemn, shrouded sleep, And I slumbered like an infant in "the cradle of the deep;" Till the belfry in the forest quivered with the matin stroke, And the martins, from the edges of its lichen-lidded ledges, Skimmed through the russet arches, where the light in torn files marches, Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks of oak. 9- Through my ivy-fretted casements, filtered in a tremu- lous note, From the tall and stately linden where the robin swelled his throat Querulous, quaker-breasted robin, calling quaintly for its mate! Then I started up unbidden from my slumber, night- mare-ridden, With the memory of that dire demon in my central fire, On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a fate! 10. Ah! the fiendish fire had smouldered to a white and formless heap, And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my sleep; But around its very centre, where the demon free had shone, THE FIRE LEGEND. 243 Forked shadows seemed to linger, pointing, as with spectral finger, To a Bible, massive, golden, on a table carved and olden; And I bowed and said, "All power is of God — Of God alone !'' NOTE. "Until recently I had supposed that this piece, [' The Raven '] and a few which its author composed after its appearance, were exceptional in not having grown from germs in his boyish verse. But Mr. Fearing Gill has shown me some unpublished stanzas by Poe written in his eighteenth year, and entitled 'The Demon of the Fire.' The manuscript appears to be in the poet's early handwriting, and its genuine- ness is vouched for by the family in whose possession it has remained for half a century. Besides the plain- est germs of 'The Bells' and 'The Haunted Pal- ace,' it contains a few lines somewhat suggestive of the opening and close of The Raven." [The poem referred to is "The Fire Legend."] E. C. Stedman, The Raven: Illustrated by Gus- tave Dore: New York: Harper & Bros. 1884. Apropos of this interesting subject, the editor is per- mitted to print the following notes from Wm. Fearing Gill, Esq., the noted Poe specialist and connoisseur, author of one of the standard lives of Poe. Mr. Gill's opinion in "The Fire Fiend" matter — strengthened as it is by Edmund Clarence Stedman's — is worthy of very high regard. —J. A. H. 244 APPENDIX. 7 East 46TH Street, New York, Feb. 19, 1901. Dear Sir: The discovery of Poe's poem "The Demon of the Fire," written, according to the history of it published in an obscure Georgia paper, at the University of Virginia, I regard as the most important thing that has transpired since my book came out re- garding Poe. One Charles A. Gardette claimed the verses as his own and published them in a collection, "One Hun- dred Choice Selections," as a successful imitation of Poe's style under the title of "The Fire Fiend." But you will find that E. C. Stedman mentions the original verses as in my possession in Poe's handwrit- ing in his preface to Dore's illustrations of "The Raven," Harper & Bros. The poem is in the same metre as "The Raven," and was unquestionably the germ of that symphony of remorse. Yours sincerely, W. Fearing Gill. 318 West 57Th Street, New York, June 1, 1901. Dear Mr. Harrison: Your letter has just been received, — forwarded here. The title of the desired poem as Poe wrote it is "The Demon of the Fire," not "The Fire Fiend." Gardette took that title to mask his steal from Poe of the verses. I do not know if the "Fire Legend," Southern Literary Messenger, 1860, is the same; I never saw that. "The Demon of the Fire " was sent to me from Georgia in 1882, I think, first a printed copy in a small quarto sheet, then THE FIRE LEGEND. 245 the original in Poe's hand on a single sheet of paper yellow with age. The poem, it was stated by Mr. Hoyt, I think, who sent it, was written at the Uni- versity of Virginia when Poe was a student there. Stedman borrowed the original, and had it away for some time. There can be no doubt whatever that it was an original poem by Poe. One word was lacking in a line at the end of the second page; but in Gar- dette's plagiarism this is filled in by some word, added by him. Owing to the demands of a very sick child, I have been unable to make a thorough search for my copy of "The Demon of the Fire," but I have written to Georgia, and hope to get another copy. The original was lost in moving some years after it came into my hands. I will lose no time in sending you the copy if it comes. Gardette's publication of the verses under a different title is unfortunate, but I think not unprecedented by what happened in "Betsey and I Are Out" and "Beautiful Snow." Yours sincerely, W. Fearing Gill. 246 APPENDIX. THE II POETS AND POETRY OF AMERICA. || A Satire.\ By Lavante. || Philadelphia :|| William S. Young, — || No. 173 Race Street.|| 1847. Note from " Passages from the Correspondence of R. W. Griswold :" W. M. Griswold, Cambridge, 1898 : p. 88: "The metrical satire referred to had the same title as Griswold's book [' The Poets and Poetry of America.']. 'The poem,' continues the [iV. T. Evening] Post writer [July 8, 1893], 'which is signed "Lavante," is written in heroic couplets and comprises about 950 lines. The fact of Poe's author- ship was pretty clearly shown a few years ago by an enterprising gentleman, hiding himself behind the nom de plume of " Geoffrey Quarles," who unearthed the original Philadelphia edition in some out of the way place and carefully edited a reprint.'" The editor has copied one hundred lines of the "Lavante '' satire from the Philadelphia edition of 1847, and herewith presents them to the reader for his judgment as to whether they are Poe's or not. "And with his moral and religious views Woos the wild fancies of an infant Muse, Inspiring thoughts that he could not express, Obscure, sublime! his secret happiness." Ckabbe. Clime of the brave ! entire from sea to sea! Vain is thy boast that thou art blest and free! POETS AND POETRY OF AMERICA. 247 Oh servile slave to eastern rules and rhyme, Almost from Milton's blank to Chaucer's chime! Thy own proud bards behold ! a motley band To lead the music of their native land. Immortal Griswold! thine the deathless name' Shall bear the palm of more than mortal fame! For thine the lofty boast at once to save The humble bard perchance from hapless grave, Weave with his crown thy fadeless laurel bays, And with thy nursling gain undying praise. Yea, thine alone to search o'er Delphian height That which shall give to gods and men delight; At once to snatch from each lone wand'ring Muse All which on earth could profit or amuse, Then rise and soar o'er loftier peaks away, And bask in Phoebus' pure effulgent ray! Blest be thy name ! nor grief thy pleasure mar, Nor fade thy life but with the morning star! Awake, Satiric muse! awake in might To strike, for Poesy's insulted right! Awake in spite of Saunders and the fools Who think of thee, as I of Parker's rules, That thou art weak—and not that deathless fame Awaits thy course to crown thy empty claim! The chase is up; arise and onward press, If mean the game, yet not the sport is less! Keen be the jest, yet just the pointed stroke, To silence folly in her shameless cloak; Let impulse lead, not prudence guide the song, Nor laughter fail to cheer the muse along. 1 It a the invaluable collection of Griswold that has formed the plot and ground-work of the Tale. 248 APPENDIX. What age can boast improvements like our own, When men to gods, and idiots bards have grown? No want of rhyme, though oft as light as chaff, Vain as a buttle or a cenotaph; Dreams, clouds, or gas-light, all are made At cheapest rate by Espy or a blade! Oh wondrous age! whose glories far excel All which romancers dream or fictions tell! When monster banks can raise a monstrous panic, And infants gain their growth by means galvanic! Thus population, like the mania, speeds O'er western wilds and noxious prairie meads. New states are born, new stars our banner bless, And struggling realms are caught like men at chess! Our green-house bard and critic puff behold, With native lead to make them brave and bold, "Whose tow'ring brow and eagle eye " might tell With them undoubted genius, talent dwell! Not in the past such lovely quacks were caught, When Horace sung and elder Cato taught! Oh! had they lived that censor's scowl to claim, Soon had they found the downward path to fame. No trace were left to tell their sunken race, In life as worthless as in dying base; Nor theirs the crime to wield the pointless pen, Nor mine the task to lift the scourge again 1 In modern times, who may not hope for praise, When all we ask is but unmeaning lays? And thoughtless bards can suit the servile throng With heartless verse and worse than worthless song? No theme Byronic, not the critic strain Of reckless Pope, in thought and meaning plain; Nor joyous Hope, by Campbell taught to please POETS AND POETRY OF AMERICA. 249 Alike when life is sad or wrapt in ease; Not these the subjects which our times demand, To please the public and to curse the land! But all enough if but the poet paint Some fleeting shadow by a touch as faint, Recount those hues which in the autumn streak The woodland grove or distant mountain peak; Some sickly dream relate to close the rhyme, The task is done — complete without a crime! No more we ask, no more the bard can give — In times like these can mind or merit live? Can genius flourish, or but scorn the crew Such slaves to art and superficial view? No! but for this the poet yields his name, That public taste may canvass on his claim; Condemn the false, approve the true to life, Or sink the whole to end at once the strife; No genius he who not demands in pride That final word to be his future guide. Buch is my crime before this righteous age! Too proud to stoop, or heed the critic's rage, I printed but to suit the present whim Without a preface or a suppliant hymn! Some others too have sought the luckless play; To all I pledge the boon of health to-day, But ere I close let none repine to see That public trash is held most wondrous free. Oh! for an arm less feeble than mine own To sweep from dust Apollo's sacred throne! Too much the chaff infests the precious grain When shall a Pope or Byron live again? Dr. Kent does not believe that these lines are by Poe. — Ed. 250 APPENDIX. TRANSLATION. Hymn to Aristogeiton and Harmooius. Attributed to Pot by Mr. J. H. Ingram ("The Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe," J. C. Nimmo, London, 1SS4; Vol. i»., p. 330). [Stmticr* Literary Mtistngcr, December, 1835.] I. Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I '11 conceal, Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave. II. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home — Where Achilles and Diomed rest. III. In fresh myrtle my blade I '11 entwine, Like Harmodius, the gallant and good, When he made at the tutelar shrine A libation of Tyranny's blood. IV. Ye deliverers of Athens from shame! Ye avengers of Liberty's wrongs! Endless ages shall cherish your fame, Embalmed in their echoing songs! POE AND JOHN NEAL. 1 Poe and John Neal. Poe's Earliest Letter. The 1829 Poems in MS. The Magician. The Skeleton Hand. "The Yankee ; and Boston Literary Gazette : New Series . . . No. 1: July, 1829," is the title of a rare periodical monthly edited by John Neal with a motto from Bentham: "Utility. —The greatest hap- piness of the greatest number," and devoted, in the twenties, to literature, art, science, and the drama. In some way Poe's attention was drawn to this publi- cation after the issue of his Boston "Tamerlane" volume of 1827, and while he was engaged in prepar- ing for the press the "Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems" of 1829. He was barely twenty at the time, and scanning the horizon all around for a sympathetic friend, his gaze fell by chance, it seems, on John Neal and his period- ical at a time when the partial rupture with the Allans rendered Poe peculiarly susceptible to sympathy. The result was that Poe began a correspondence with Neal 1 The editor has been permitted to make this study of Poe's early literary relations with John Neal and "The Yankee" through the courtesy of the authorities of the Hallowell (Maine) Social Library, which owns the rare volume of "The Yankee" quoted. He would also thank Prof. C. F. Richardson, of Dartmouth Col- lege, for his kindness in locating and securing the use of the volume for him. — I. A. H. (*s0 *5* APPENDIX. which resulted in several contributions of poems to the magazine. The two poems we reproduce here — "The Skeleton Hand" and "The Magician" — appear, the former in the August number of "The Yankee" signed " P ," the latter in the Decem- ber number, signed the same way. Both are in our opinion boyish products of Poe's muse, "The Magi- cian," a finely imaginative one; and as to the latter, the writer has the high authority of Prof. Richardson, who agrees with him that it is undoubtedly Poe's. As to "The Skeleton Hand," Prof. Richardson and Dr. Kent dissent; Dr. Kent, also, thinks "The Magi, cian" is not Poe's. I. THE SKELETON-HAND. [From The Yankee, Aug., 1829.] Lo ! one is on the mountain side, While the clouds are passing by — With their black wings flapping heavily, Like eagles in the sky; Or lying up in the forest trees, And waiting there for the mountain-breeze. And now he passes through the clouds — And up to the mountain-top, Nor yet to look for the joyous sun Does the hasty traveller stop. POE AND JOHN NEAL. 253 Bat he leapeth down in the broken path With a step as light and free — As ever in his days of mirth, In the dance and revelry. Why endeth he his hasty speed? Why stoppeth on his way? In truth it is a fearful thing, For human tongue to say. He fears that toward him pointeth there, A fleshless human hand; Where the mountain rains have swept away, Its covering of sand; That hand his very soul doth stir, For it proveth him a murderer. Ay long ago on the mountain side, The fearful deed was done; And the murderer thought him safe, that none Could see, save the broad bright sun, As he rolled in the heavens the dead above, And flooded the earth with his rays of love. Now lifted he his clouded eye, To the mountain crests behind; And o'er them came the broad black clouds, Upheaving with the wind; And on them their thick darkness spread — A crown upon the mountain's head. 254 APPENDIX. And then shone out the flaming sun, From the waters of the sea; And God's own bow came in the clouds, And looked out gloriously; But its colours were of wo and wrath, That threw their light o'er the murderer's path. And now God's chariots — the clouds, Came rolling down with might; Their wheels like many horsemen were, In battle or in flight. And yet no power to move hath he, His soul is in an agony. Over the murderer and dead, They rolled their mighty host; Old ocean's waves come not so thick, By northern tempests tost. Forth from their mighty bosom came, A flash of heaven's wrath, And away the heavy clouds — and sun, Rolled from the murder-path. And the sun shone out where the murderer lay, Before the dead in the narrow way — With his hand all seared, and his breast torn bare - God's vengeance had been working there. (Signed) P *56 APPENDIX. A boat with a starving crew — For hunger they howled and swore; While the blood from a fellow's veins they drew I came upon them with rush and roar — Far under the waves that boat I bore. Two ships in a fearful fight — When a hundred guns did flash I came upon them — no time for flight — But under the sea their timbers crash And over their guns the wild waves dash A wretch on a single plank — And I tossed him on the shore — A night and a day of the sea he drank, But the wearied wretch to the land I bore — And now he walketh the earth once more — Magician. Storm spirit — go on thy path — The spirit has spread his wings — And comes on the sea with a rush of wrath, As a war horse when he springs — And over the earth his winds he flings — And over the earth — nor stop nor stay — The winds of the storm king go out on their way. (Signed) P . POE AND JOHN NliAL. 257 FAIRY LAND. In September, 1829, Neal in his notices "To Cor- respondents" aims the following dart at Poe —which incidentally mentions the poem now known as " Fairy- Land" by the "Baltimore poet ": "If E. A. P. of Baltimore — whose lines about 'Heaven' though he professes to regard them as altogether superior to anything in the whole range of American poetry, save two or three trifles referred to, are, though nonsense, rather exquisite nonsense — would but do himself justice [he] might [sic] make a beautiful and perhaps a magnificent poem. There is a good deal here to justify such a hope: Dim vales and shadowy floods, And cloudy looking woods, Whose forms we can't discover For the tears that — drip all over. The moonlight falls Over hamlets, over halls. Wherever they may be, O'er the strange woods, o'er the sea — O'er spirits on the wing, O'er every drowsy thing — And buries them up quite In a labyrinth of light: And then how deep! Oh, deep! Is the passion of their sleep I "He should have signed it, Bah! We have no room for others." Vol. VII. —17 258 APPENDIX. In the November number, 1829, p. 280, Neal has the following notice: "TO CORRESPONDENTS. "Many papers intended for this number have been put aside for the next, from necessity, owing to the death of a man, who, occupying the place he did, and being what he was, could not be overlooked even for a month. Among others are Night — The Magician — Unpublished Poetry (being specimens of a book about to appear at Baltimore), Death of James William Miller, our late highly gifted and most amiable associate, and a long piece of poetry which may or may not appear. "Several other communications will hereafter be at- tended to, though a particular notice may not be given." The following month (December, 1829) a very interesting paper, which we quote entire, fills several pages of "The Yankee," giving us not only the earliest known dated letter of Poe's, but long and in- teresting quotations from " Al Aaraaf," "Tamerlane," and a minor poem. The verbal deviations, and the differences in punctuation, abbreviation, and italics from the text of the present edition, are numerous: "UNPUBLISHED POETRY. [From Tbe Yankee, December, 1829.] "The following passages are from the manuscript- works of a young author, about to be published in Baltimore. He is entirely a stranger to us, but with 260 APPENDIX. "I left a calling for this idle trade, A duty broke — a father disobeyed " — for I have no father — nor mother. , I am about to publish a volume of " Poems," the greater part written before I was fifteen. Speaking about "Heaven," 1 the editor of the " Yankee " says, "He might write a beautiful, if not a magnificent poem"—(the very first words of encouragement I ever remember to have heard). I am very certain that as yet I have not written either — but that I (an, I will take oath — if they will give me time. 'The poems to be published are "Al Aaraaf" — "Tamerlane" —one about four and the other about three hundred lines, with smaller pieces. "Al Aaraaf" has some good poetry, and much extrava- gance which I have not had time to throw away.* • " Al Aaraaf" is a tale of another world — the star discovered by Tycho Brahe, which appeared and dis- appeared so suddenly — or rather, it is no tale at all. I will insert an extract, about the palace of its presid- ing Deity, in which you will see that I have supposed many of the lost sculptures of our world to have flown (in spirit) to the star " Al Aaraaf" — a delicate place, more suited to their divinity. Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthened air — s Flashing, from Parian marble, that twin-smile Far down upon the wave that sparkled there, 1 A poem by the author of "Al Aaraaf," mentioned In No. Ill: 168. * This will remind the reader of the following anecdote. Your sermon was too long, sir— why did n't you make it shorter? / had n't lime. — [Neal's note.] 3 Alluding to a prior part. POE AND JOHN NEAL. 261 And nursled the young mountain in its lair: Of molten stars their pavement — such as fall Thro' the ebon air — besilvering the pall Of their own dissolution while they die — Adorning, then, the dwellings of the sky; A dome by linked light' from Heaven let down, Sat gently on these columns as a crown; A window of one circular diamond there Looked out above into the purple air, And rays from God shot down that meteor chain And hallow'd all the beauty twice again, Save when, between th' Empyrean, and that ring. Some eager spirit flapp'd a dusky wing: But, on the pillars, seraph eyes have seen The dimness of this world: that grayish green That nature loves the best for beauty's grave, Lurked in each cornice — round each architrave — And every sculptur'd cherub thereabout That from his marble dwelling ventured 3 out, Seemed earthly in the shadow of his niche — Archaian [?] statues in a world so rich? Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis — From Balbec and the chilly, clear abyss Of beautiful Gomorrah ! — oh! the wave Is now upon thee — but too late to save! Far down within the crystal of the lake Thy swollen pillars tremble — and so quake The hearts of many wanderers who look in Thy luridness of beauty — and of sin. 1 The idea of linked light is beautiful; but the moment you read it aloud, the beauty is gone. To say link-cd light would be queer enough, notwithstanding Moore's "wreath-ed shell j'' but to say link'd-light would spoil the rhythm. [Note in The Tanku."\ * The word in the original was peered: we have changed it for the reason stated above. — [Neal.] 262 APPENDIX. • Another — — Silence is the voice of God — Ours is a world of words: quiet we call "Silence " — which is the merest word of all. Here Nature speaks—and ev'n ideal things Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings; But ah! not so, when in the realms on high, The eternal voice of God is moving by, And the red winds are withering in the sky! 'From Tamerlane — The fever'd diadem on my brow I claimed and won usurpingly: Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Caesar — this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind And a proud spirit, which hath striven Triumphantly with human-kind. On mountain soil I first drew life, The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head; And, I believe, the winged strife And tumult of the headlong air Hath nestled in my very hair. So late from Heaven, that dew, it fell, Mid dreams of one unholy night, Upon me with the touch of Hell— While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Seem'd then to my half-closing eye POE AND JOHN NEAL. 263 The pageantry of monarchy; And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me telling Of human battle (near me swelling). The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd, and the heavy wind Was giantlike — so thou, my mind! It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me — and the rush — The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires — with the captive's prayer; The hum of suitors, and the tone Of flattery round a sovereign-throne. Young Love's first lesson is the heart: For mid that sunshine and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I 'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears, There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet any fears Of her — who ask'd no reason why, But turned on me her quiet eye. 'Tamerlane dying — Father! I firmly do believe — I know — for Death, who comes for me From regions of the blest afar, (Where there is nothing to deceive) Hath left his iron gate ajar; 264 APPENDIX. And rays of truth you cannot see Are flashing through Eternity — I do believe that Eblis hath A snare in every human path; Else how when in the holy grove I wandered of the idol, Love, Who daily scents his snowy wings With incense of burnt offerings From the most undefiled things — Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven Above with trelliced rays from Heaven No mote may shun — no tiniest fly The lightning of his eagle eye. How was it that Ambition crept Unseen, amid the revels there, Till, growing bold, he laugh'd and leapt In the tangles of Love's brilliant hair? 'Passage from the minor poems. If my peace hath flown away In a night — or in a day — In a vision — or in none — Is it therefore the less gone? I am standing mid the roar Of a weatherbeaten shore, And I hold within my hand Some particles of sand — How few! and how they creep Through my fingers to the deep! My early hopes ? — No — they Went gloriously away, Like lightning from the sky At once — and so will I.' POE AND JOHN NEAL. 265 "Having allowed our youthful writer to be heard in his own behalf, — what more can we do for the lov- ers of genuine poetry? Nothing. They who are judges will not need more; and they who are not — why waste words upon them? We shall not." POE AND CHIVERS. 269 Eonchs of Ruby. A Gift of Love. By T. H. Chivers, M.D. Opinions of the Press. it 'we might quote passages of even beauty through- out the book — passages replete with the loveliest developments of the divine poetic idea in the man's soul. From his harp proceed master strains, which seem struck out often as a sort of Pythonic delirium.' — Message Bird. it 1 it The Eonchs of Ruby " is a treasure of classic and sublime poetry — a rara avis of a rich and ardent imagination. The author's ideas partake more of the celestial than of the terrestrial; and many of the best productions of this book are dedicated to beings who were once dear to him in life, but who were called away in the flower of their age to enjoy a world more glorious and perfect than this miserable earth. These lamentations of an afflicted parent so charmingly and truthfully expressed, may truly be called superior to anything of the kind ever written by any American or English poet.' " — From I'Eco a"Italia. The New fork Quarterly, however, took a some- what different tone : — " The quaint conceits of these title pages [Nos. 6 and 7] are a warning of the affec- tation and absurdity which nestle within the covers of the present astounding volumes. Such a farrago of pedantry, piety, blasphemy, sensuality, and delirious fancies has seldom before gained the imprint of a re- spectable publisher. If the reader can imagine the fusion of the Hebrew Prophets, Solomon's Song, Jacob Bdhme, Edgar A. Poe, Anacreon, Catullus, POE AND CHIVERS. 271 Lit up for my Lily Adair. For my child-like Lily Adair, For my heaven-born Lily Adair, For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.' "There is immortality in these verses, unless immor- tality is 'a figment.'" It will be seen from the following list that Chivers' works number more than six volumes. Numbers 2, 8 and 9 are in the library of Harvard College, hav- ing belonged to J. R. Lowell. Numbers I and 3 are taken from the catalogue of the Harris collection. (1.) Conrad and Eudora, or the Death of Alonzo, Phil'a, 1834, 144 pp. (2.) Nacoochee (etc.) with other poems, by T. H. Chivers, M.D. — New York: W. E. Dean, Printer, 2 Ann St., 1837; 180, 143 pp. (3.) The Lost Pleiad. N.Y., 1845. (4.) Facets of Diamond. (5.) EonchsofRuby. N.Y., Shepard & Spauld- ing, 1851, 168 pp. (6.) Virginalia, or Songs of my Summer Nights. Phil'a, Lippincott, Grambo & Co., 1853. (7.) Atlanta, or the True Blessed Island of Poesy: a Paul (Prose?) Epic in three Lustra. Macon, 1855, 8°. (8.) Memoralia, or Phials of Amber full of the Tears of Love. A Gift for the Beautiful. By T. H. Chivers, M.D. —Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo & Co., 1853,18°, 168 pp. This consists of ' Eonchs of Ruby ' preceded by a single 12 page poem. The copyright date is 1851, so that it is probably the same as No. 5. (9.) The Sons of Usna, a Tragi-Apotheosis, in POE AND CHIVERS. 273 Baltimore Visiter prize for the best poem in the mem- orable competition which awarded the prize for the best prose tale to "A MS. found in a Bottle," October 12, 1833. "Scenes from Politian" were, however, not published in the Messenger until Decem- ber, 1835, and January, 1836, though a fragment from it had appeared in The Visiter, in 1833, and in the Messenger in August, 1835. Chivers' "Conrad and Eudora" bears the date 1834 an^ ,s a tragedy founded upon the same theme as Poe's. "The incidents of this drama" ["Po- litian"], says Mr. Ingram, who owns the poet's MS., "were suggested by real events connected with Beauchampe's murder of Sharp, the Solicitor-General of Kentucky [in 1828], the facts of which celebrated case are fully as romantic as the poet's fiction. Poe appears to have written a portion of ' Politian' as early at least as 1831, and to have first published some frag- ments of it in the Southern Literary Messenger of 1835—36 as 'Scenes from an Unpublished Drama.'" (I., 111-114.) The singular part of this circumstance is that, though absolutely unlike, the two tragedies should, by a strange coincidence, have been written by two young poets who had fallen upon the same theme without each other's cognizance, men whose after fates were continually to be thrown into fantastic juxtaposition. The selection of subject was the merest accident: Charles Fenno Hoffman and William Gilmore Simms had also been struck by the tragic and romantic aspects of the murder, and had each written a novel embodying them. There is no suspicion of plagiarism here: mere coincidence is the explanation. But in 1831 Poe published his West Point volume Vol. VII. — 18 POE AND CHIVERS. 275 Sale, in the poem "To Cecilia," p. 81. Again, at p. 167, Israfel crops up in the " Sonnet on Reading Milton's Paradise Lost." In the poem "Bessie Bell " Israfel comes again. But "Virginalia," Phila.: 1853, contains the crowning appropriation of Poe's idea: "Out of the lutestrings of her heart she wove, Like Israfel in Heaven, with her sweet singing, A subtle web of Poesy, which Love Around my heart then wound, wherewith upspring- ing, She to the Mount of Fame her way with me went winging." Una, p. 15. Again: "My knowledge comes to thee down-flowing, As does an angel's free from earthly sin, Out of the life divine of God all-knowing — Ours from without — thine to thy soul within — And Angel-like, although thy lips are mute, Like Israfel in Heaven, thy heartstrings are a lute." The Beautiful Silence, 1851. The "Song of Seralim," dated 1836, is a direct imitation of Poe's Israfel, and the heart-strings motif reappears again at p. 6:. The influence of Poe on Chivers in this one poem — "Israfel" — was profound, almost ludicrous, for Chivers goes on with his " Israfelia" (actually the name of one of his poems — the adjective "Israfelian" also occurring) after Poe is dead, in "Eonchs of Ruby" and "Virginalia," dated respectively 1851 and 1853. The Greek quotation "Avro «o6" avroficffavrov,/tovo tidef 2 76 APPENDIX. aui ov" (sic), (from Plato), which is found on the title- page of "Virginalia," is taken from Poe's "Mo- rella." Poehas poems to '' Eulalie," and " To One in Paradise ;" so has Chi vers. The reader may judge for himself of the Poean echoes in the following stanzas from the collections of 1851 and 1853 : — IS ADO RE. "I approach thee — I look dauntless into thine eyes. The soul that loves can dare all things. Shadow, I defy thee, and compel." — Zanoni. While the world lay round me sleeping, /, alone, for hadore. Patient Vigils lonely keeping! Some one said to me while weeping, "Why this grief forever more?" And I answered, "I am weeping For my blessed hadore!" Then the Voice again said, "Never Shall thy soul see hadore! God from thee thy love did sever — He has damned thy soul forever! Wherefore then her loss deplore? Thou shalt live in Hell forever! Heaven now holds thine hadore! Like two spirits in one being, Were our souls, dear hadore! Every object singly seeing — 278 APPENDIX. All her soul seemed full of blisses — All her heart seemed full of love — Which she rained on me in kisses, Like Heaven manna from above. Sought, the young Fawn in her wildness Is not wilder in the Dell; Unapproached, the Dove in mildness Is not mild as Bessie Bell. Lake the sweetest of Heaven's singers, Israfel about his Lord, Music smote her lily-fingers From her Heavenly Heptachord. You should know this modest Maiden. Pretty, bonny Bessie Bell, Queen of all the flowers of Aiden, Whom my heart doth love so well. Like some sorrowing soul atoning For her sins with sobbing sighs — Wasting, wailing, melting, moaning Out her heart in agonies; Sang this saintly modest Maiden, Pretty, bonny Bessie Bell, Queen of all the flowers of Aiden, Whom my heart doth love so well. Like the psychical vibration Of the Butterfly's soft wings, Dallying with the rich Carnation — Played her fingers with the strings. Israfelian in its clearness — POE AND CHIVERS. 279 All her heart's deep love to tell — Bell-like, silver in its clearness, Fell the voice of Bessie Bell. Chivers indeed was a poet run mad with the sense of rhythm: it made no difference to him whether his combinations made sense or not, if only there were an exquisite mellifluence of sound. His peculiar crotchet was the feminine rhyme — the melodious terminations in — ing, — ation, combined with a passion for vocalisms — open vowel sounds — and for luxurious alliterations. All this he shared with Poe, though he did not share with Poe the artistic self- restraint necessary to make these crude elements of poetry a success. On all the moon-struck sea of Chivers there sails not a barque that has survived his whirlwind of words—1,500 pages of verse! We might mention as graceful and musical the "Boat- Song," "Bessie Bell," "Invocation to Spring," "Serenade," "The Poet of Love," "The Com- forter," "The New Moon," "The Angelus," "Euthanasia," " The Heavenly Reaper," "Avalon," "Mary's Lament for Shelley," "The Wife's La- ment for the Husband lost at Sea ;" "The Soaring Swan," is highly poetical, and "Neah-Emathla" is deeply pathetic and beautiful in parts; but the general run of the thousands of lines is a wild orgy of words — mere protoplasm, not proto-Poe — a jellied unintelligibility, without form and void: such poems a sea-squib might write, shooting its ink into inarticulate speech. Whatever Poe did, Chivers thought he must at least try: thus Poe's Queen-Mablike "Al Aaraaf" POE AND CHIVERS. 281 person singular: "exeunt Doctor ("Conrad and Eudora," pp. 73 and 54); using such expressions as "Come thee out this way" (Ibid., p. 63); "why art all these tears?" (Ibid., p. 67); "like I and thou" (Ibid., p. 20), using like as a conjunction; rhyming there and are, tare and are (in the fashion of the Georgia "Crackers"), etc., etc. If only the expression was a musically-sounding one, sense — to him —might fly to the four winds. What one notices, however, especially in Chivers, is his intense tenderness of soul and passionate devotion to his mother and children. It would be difficult to say how many of these hundreds of poems are conse- crated to them, in lament, in elegy, in threnody, in every chord that Grief can strike or Sorrow conceive. "The Lily of Heaven," "The Violet in the Valley of Death," "To Allegra Florence in Heaven" — the titles run through the whole gamut of delirious lamentation, in every variety of metre. His muse is essentially elegiac: it dwells in Heaven, in Aidenn, far more than on earth, among the prosaic realities of the world. Reams of paper are filled with rhyming meditations of this kind: nearly all the poems in the 1837 volume are of the Scriptural, elegiac, or devo- tional character; one of them incidentally fixes the date of the poet's birth, which is inaccurately given in all the manuals. On p. 90 of this volume (1837) he addresses a poem "To My Precious Mother, on the anniversary of my Twenty-Fifth Year," and subscribes it "written at Philadelphia, October 18, 1834." One curious poem of 1833 in this collection, entitled "Medora of Ultramontane," has the refrain, "Come, hear sweet Medora sing ultramontane." POE AND CHIVERS. 283 He dug his heart a cruel ditch, Because his parents made him rich. Alamo, p. 1 25. Grapes of glory there to gather, In the bosom of the Father. Eonchs of Ruby, p. 21. Byron, that Bird of Jove, Perched on the Andes of immortal fame! Ibid., p. 38. Chivers' vocabulary is often as singular as his meta- phors. Here are a few of his words and word- combinations: "Cydonian suckets," "melphonic rhyme," "Chrysomelian Hours," "Down the dark vistas of the rcboantic Norns," " Corybantine Hours," "Conchimarian Horns," "empyreal heights," "diaphane dew," "hyaline," "azure sound," "dasdal," "earthquake of sweet joy," "Miriam jubilations," "red-litten," "anastasis," "Christ- couching of our mortal sight," " Ouphantic fairies," "choirs of Cherubinical Willows," "Edenic," "pyrotechnical joy," "the luscious vineyard of her clustering curls." "So do I hope to gather golden grain Into the Adamantine Pyramid Bins Of Heaven." Usna, 44. "I feel these inspirations are But tokens from above, To lift my parting spirit near The paradigms of love." The Dying Poet, p. 47. 284 APPENDIX. Occasionally a highly poetical expression or pas- sage occurs: "For now it seems As if the words were syllabled in stars Of living light." Death of Time, p. 32. "Brother, in the fleecy bankments of the sky, No angels lean to listen to the soul that now repines." The Soaring Swan, p. 37. This last poem is exceedingly poetical and has evidently influenced Rossetti. "For they [waves of melody] shall fall as soft upon that lake As if an angel's hand had stricken them From out the leaning rainbows, which were made A rainbow-harp, whose seven strings were hues." The Soaring Swan, p. 39. In 1842 Dr. Chi vers wrote a poem addressed to "Allegra Florence in Heaven" which we reproduce in full as the Chivers school claim it to be the "orig- inal " of " The Raven" written in December, I 844, and printed in 1845. POE AND CHIVERS. 28; TO ALLEGRA FLORENCE IN HEAVEN. THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS. "My life, my joy, my food, my all-the-world."— Shaklptare. "I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me." — Bible. "But the grave is not deep — it is the shining tread of an Angel that seeks us." — Jean Paul Ricbur. When thy soft round form was lying On the bed where thou wert sighing, I could not believe thee dying, Till thy angel-soul had fled; For no sickness gave me warning, Rosy health thy cheeks adorning — Till that hope-destroying morning, When my precious child lay dead! Now, thy white shroud covers slightly Thy pale limbs, which were so sprightly, While thy snow-white arms lie lightly On thy soul-abandoned breast; As the dark blood faintly lingers In thy pale, cold, lily fingers, Thou, the sweetest of Heaven's singers! Just above thy heart at rest! Yes, thy sprightly form is crowded In thy coffin, all enshrouded, Like the young Moon, half enclouded, On the first night of her birth; And, as down she sinks when westing, Of her smiles the Night divesting — In my fond arms gently resting, Shall thy beauty to the earth! POE AND CHIVERS. 287 For, as birds of the same feather On the earth will flock together, So, around thy Heavenly Father, They now gather there with thee — Ever joyful to behold thee — In their soft arms to enfold thee, And to whisper words oft told thee In this trying world by me! With my bowed head thus reclining On my hand, my heart repining, Shall my salt tears, ever shining On my pale cheeks, flow for thee — Bitter soul-drops ever stealing From the fount of holy feeling, Deepest anguish now revealing, For thy loss, dear child! to me! As an egg, when broken, never Can be mended, but must ever Be the same crushed egg forever — So shall this dark heart of mine! Which, though broken, is still breaking, And shall never more cease aching For the sleep which has no waking — For the sleep which now is thine! And as God doth lift thy spirit Up to Heaven, there to inherit Those rewards which it doth merit, Such as none have reaped before; Thy dear father will, tomorrow, 288 APPENDIX. Lay thy body, with deep sorrow, In the grave which is so narrow — There to rest for evermore! Oaky Grove, Ga., Dec. ia, 1842. Is there anything in the above poem even remotely resembling the music, the mystery, the fantastic horror, the weird beauty and the elements of subtle charm which have preserved "The Raven " for immortality .' Poe has confessed in the frankest manner that the metre of the single line in " The Raven " was not original with him; that it had been used repeatedly before, and was suggested in his particular use by a line in Mrs. Browning's " Lady Geraldine's Courtship." "The late Buchanan Read," (says Mr. J. H. In- gram, I., 276) "informed Robert Browning that Poe described to him (Read) the whole process of the construction of his poem, and declared that the sug- gestion of it lay wholly in a line from 'Lady Ger- aldine's Courtship.' '" With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air the purple curtain,' etc." "Of course" (says Poe in "The Philosophy of Composition "), "I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm, or the metre of 'The Raven ;' what originality 'The Raven' has is in their [the forms of verse employed] combination into stanzas; nothing even remotely approaching this combination has ever been attempted." \>SNX>W ft a. ">. X V < v*X w V** ••• ---> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- --~~ - - - - - -