"Very sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined to
"No, dat he aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe
pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."
"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking about.
You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"
"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad about de matter--Massa
Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him--but den what make him go
about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as
white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de time--"
"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"
"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I ebber
did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty
tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore de sun up and
was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to
gib him deuced good beating when he did come--but Ise sich a fool dat I
hadn't de heart arter all--he look so berry poorly."
"Eh?--what?--ah yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be too
severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't very well
stand it--but can you form no idea of what has occasioned this illness,
or rather this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened since
I saw you?"
"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin unpleasant since den--'twas fore den I'm
feared--'twas de berry day you was dare."
"How? what do you mean?"
"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now."
"De bug,--I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout de
head by dat goole-bug."
"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"
"Claws enuff, massa, and mouth too. I nebber did see sick a deuced
bug--he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch
him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I tell you--den
was de time he must ha got de bite. I did n't like de look oh de bug
mouff, myself, no how, so I would n't take hold ob him wid my finger,
but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de
paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dat was de way."
"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle,
and that the
" _R.Page 3
Share with Landor his one "night of memories and of sighs" for Rose Aylmer, and you have this to the full.Page 5
Its monodies are twelve poems, whose music strives to change yet ever is the same.Page 6
may not inspire the Fantasy that peoples with images the interlunar vague.Page 7
For six years he had been an active writer, and enjoyed a professional reputation; was held in both respect and misdoubt, and was at no loss for his share of the ill-paid journalism of that day.Page 8
Amid much matter below the present standard, it contained some that any editor would be glad to receive.Page 9
Lang's pretty edition of Poe's verse, brought out in the "Parchment Library," he has shown the instinct of a scholar, and has done wisely, in going back to the text in the volume just mentioned, as given in the London issue of 1846.Page 10
Fearing Gill has shown me some unpublished stanzas by Poe, written in his eighteenth year, and entitled, "The Demon of the Fire.Page 11
" Poe's raven is a distinct conception; the incarnation of a mourner's agony and hopelessness; a sable embodied Memory, the abiding chronicler of doom, a type of the Irreparable.Page 12
"Lenore," _The Raven_, "The Sleeper," "To One in Paradise," and "Ulalume" form a tenebrose symphony,--and "Annabel Lee," written last of all, shows that one theme possessed him to the end.Page 13
at its calamity.Page 14
Of course an artist, having perfected a work, sees, like the first Artist, that it is good, and sees why it is good.Page 15
" But it seems to me that his ill-luck ended with his pitiable death, and that since then his defence has been persistent, and his fame of as steadfast growth as a suffering and gifted author could pray for in his hopeful hour.Page 16
Beauty pure and simple, and the perfect excellence thereof, he rarely seemed to comprehend.Page 18
"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 explore;-- '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.Page 19
'" But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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.Page 20
" "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian 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! Take.Page 21
" [Illustration] "Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore.Page 22
'" [Illustration] "Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy.