Unpublished Correspondence by Edgar Allen Poe [pp. 421-430]

UNPUB~ISHED CORRESPONDENCE BY EDGAR A. POE. 423
church-bells. Playfully, Mrs. Shew said, "Here is
paper; " but the poet, declining it, declared: "I so
dislike the noise of bells to-night, I cannot write.
I have no subject-I am exhausted." The lady
then took up the pen, and, pretending to mimic his
style, wrote, "The Bells. By E. A. Poe;" and
next, in sportiveness, began, "The bells, the little
silver bells," Poe finishing off the stanza. She then
suggested for the next verse, " The heavy iron
bells;" and this Poe also expanded into a stanza.
HIe next copied out the complete poem, and headed
it, "By Mrs. M. L. Shew," remarking that it was
her poem; she having suggested it, and composed
so much of it.' Mrs. Shew adds: "My brother
came in, and I sent him to Mrs. Clemm to tell her
that'her boy would stay in town, and was well.'
My brother took Mr. Poe to his own room, where
he slept twelve hours, and cculd hardly recall the
evening's work. This showed his mind was injured
-nearly gone out for want of food and from disappointment. He had not been drinking, and had
only been a few hours from home. Evidently his
vitality was low, and he was nearly insane. While
he slept we studied his pulse, and found the same
symptoms which I had so often noticed before. I
called in Dr. Francis (the old man was odd, but very
skillful), who was one of our neighbors. His words
were,' He has heart-disease, and will die early in
life.' We did not waken him, but let him sleep....
After he had breakfasted, I went down-town with
him, and drove him home to Fordham in my carriage.
He did not seem to realize that he had been ill, and
wondered why' Madame Louise' had been so very
good as to bring him home."
Mrs. Shew long continued to befriend the poet,
but, ultimately, his eccentricities compelled her to
define certain limits to their intercourse. Poe took
umbrage at this, and in June, I849, wrote his last
letter to her. From it the following extracts are
taken; and with respect to them the lady says: "I
believe I am the only correspondent of Mr. Poe's
to whom he called himself'a lost soul.' He did not
believe his soul was lost-it was only a sarcasm he
liked to repeat to express his sufferings and despair.
I never saw a quotation from'The Raven' in any
letter of his but this.... Mr. Poe's cat always left
her cushion to rub my hand, and I had always to
speak to it before it would retire to its place of rest
again. He called her'Catarina:' she seemed possessed. I was nervous and almost afraid of his wonderful cat. Mr. Poe would get up in the night to let
her in or out of the house or room, and it would not
eat when he was away. The cat died while Mrs.
Clemm was in an unsettled state, breaking up housekeeping. She found it dead when she returned for
her last load of boxes. I was glad when I heard
this cat was dead, as all she seemed to love was also
dead."
"' one, z849.
"Can it be true, Louise, that you have the idea
fixed in your mind to desert your unhappy and un
1 This manuscript is now in my possession.-J. H. I.
fortunate friend and patient? You did not say so, I
know, but for months I have known you were de serting me, not willingly, but none the less surely my destiny "Disaster following fast and following faster, till his songs one
burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore-of
'Never-never more.'
So I have had premonitions of this for months. I
repeat, my good spirit, my loyal heart! must this
follow as a sequel to all the benefits and blessings
you have so generously bestowed? Are you to van ish like all I love, or desire, from my darkened and
'lost soul?' I have read over your letter again
and again, and cannot make it possible, with any de gree of certainty, that you wrote it in your right
mind (I know you did not without tears of anguish
and regret). Is it possible your influence is lost to
me? Such tender and true natures are ever loyal
until death; but you are not dead, you are full of
life and beauty! Louise, you came in... in your
floating white robe -'Good - morning, Edgar-'
There was a touch of conventional coldness in your
hurried manner, and your attitude as you opened the
kitchen-door to find Muddie, is my last remembrance
of you. There was love, hope, and sorrow in your
smile, instead of love, hope, and courage, as ever before. Oh, Louise, how many sorrows are before
you! Your ingenuous and sympathetic nature will
be constantly wounded in its contact with the hollow, heartless world; and for me, alas! unless some
true and tender, and pure womanly love saves me, I
shall hardly last a year longer alive! A few short
months will tell how far my strength (physical and
moral) will carry me in life here. How can I believe in Providence when you look coldly upon me?
Was it not you who renewed my hopes and faith in
God?... and in humanity? Louise, I heard your
voice as you passed out of my sight, leaving me with
... but I still listened to your voice! I heard
you say with a sob,'dear Muddie.' I heard you
greet my Catarina, but it was only as a memory...
nothing escaped my ear, and I was convinced it was
not your generous self... repeating words so foreign to your nature-to your tender heart! I heard
you sob out your sense of duty to my mother, and
I heard her reply,'Yes, Loui... yes.'... WVhy
turn your soul from its true work for the desolate to
the thankless and miserly world?... I felt my
heart stop, and I was sure I was then to die before
your eyes. Louise, it is well-it is fortunate-you
looked up with a tear in your dear eyes, and raised
the window, and talked of the guava you had brought
for my sore throat. Your instincts are better than a
strong man's reason for me-I trust they may be for
yourself! Louise, I feel I shall not prevail-a
shadow has already fallen upon your soul, and is reflected in your eyes. It is too late-you are floating
away with the cruel tide... It is not a common
trial-it is a fearful one to me. Such rare souls as
yours so beautify this earth! So relieve it of all
that is repulsive and sordid. So brighten its toils
and cares, it is hard to lose sight of them even for a