probable　into　the　weird　confines　of　superstition　and　unreality。　He
  combines　in　a　very　remarkable　manner　two　faculties　which　are　seldom
  found　united；　a　power　of　influencing　the　mind　of　the　reader　by　the
  impalpable　shadows　of　mystery；　and　a　minuteness　of　detail　which　does
  not　leave　a　pin　or　a　button　unnoticed。　Both　are；　in　truth；　the
  natural　results　of　the　predominating　quality　of　his　mind；　to　which　we
  have　before　alluded；　analysis。　It　is　this　which　distinguishes　the
  artist。　His　mind　at　once　reaches　forward　to　the　effect　to　be
  produced。　Having　resolved　to　bring　about　certain　emotions　in　the
  reader；　he　makes　all　subordinate　parts　tend　strictly　to　the　common
  centre。　Even　his　mystery　is　mathematical　to　his　own　mind。　To　him　X　is
  a　known　quantity　all　along。　In　any　picture　that　he　paints　he
  understands　the　chemical　properties　of　all　his　colors。　However　vague
  some　of　his　figures　may　seem；　however　formless　the　shadows；　to　him
  the　outline　is　as　clear　and　distinct　as　that　of　a　geometrical
  diagram。　For　this　reason　Mr。　Poe　has　no　sympathy　with　Mysticism。　The
  Mystic　dwells　in　the　mystery；　is　enveloped　with　it；　it　colors　all　his
  thoughts；　it　affects　his　optic　nerve　especially；　and　the　commonest
  things　get　a　rainbow　edging　from　it。　Mr。　Poe；　on　the　other　hand；　is　a
  spectator　_ab　extra。　_He　analyzes；　he　dissects；　he　watches
  〃with　an　eye　serene；
  The　very　pulse　of　the　machine；〃
  for　such　it　practically　is　to　him；　with　wheels　and　cogs　and
  piston…rods；　all　working　to　produce　a　certain　end。
  This　analyzing　tendency　of　his　mind　balances　the　poetical；　and　by
  giving　him　the　patience　to　be　minute；　enables　him　to　throw　a
  wonderful　reality　into　his　most　unreal　fancies。　A　monomania　he　paints
  with　great　power。　He　loves　to　dissect　one　of　these　cancers　of　the
  mind；　and　to　trace　all　the　subtle　ramifications　of　its　roots。　In
  raising　images　of　horror；　also；　he　has　strange　success；　conveying　to
  us　sometimes　by　a　dusky　hint　some　terrible　_doubt　_which　is　the
  secret　of　all　horror。　He　leaves　to　imagination　the　task　of　finishing
  the　picture；　a　task　to　which　only　she　is　competent。
  〃For　much　imaginary　work　was　there；
  Conceit　deceitful；　so　compact；　so　kind；
  That　for　Achilles'　image　stood　his　spear
  Grasped　in　an　armed　hand；　himself　behind
  Was　left　unseen；　save　to　the　eye　of　mind。〃
  Besides　the　merit　of　conception；　Mr。　Poe's　writings　have　also　that　of
  form。
  His　style　is　highly　finished；　graceful　and　truly　classical。　It　would
  be　hard　to　find　a　living　author　who　had　displayed　such　varied　powers。
  As　an　example　of　his　style　we　would　refer　to　one　of　his　tales；　〃The
  House　of　Usher；〃　in　the　first　volume　of　his　〃Tales　of　the　Grotesque
  and　Arabesque。〃　It　has　a　singular　charm　for　us；　and　we　think　that　no
  one　could　read　it　without　being　strongly　moved　by　its　serene　and
  sombre　beauty。　Had　its　author　written　nothing　else；　it　would　alone
  have　been　enough　to　stamp　him　as　a　man　of　genius；　and　the　master　of　a
  classic　style。　In　this　tale　occurs；　perhaps；　the　most　beautiful　of
  his　poems。
  The　great　masters　of　imagination　have　seldom　resorted　to　the　vague
  and　the　unreal　as　sources　of　effect。　They　have　not　used　dread　and
  horror　alone；　but　only　in　combination　with　other　qualities；　as　means
  of　subjugating　the　fancies　of　their　readers。　The　loftiest　muse　has
  ever　a　household　and　fireside　charm　about　her。　Mr。　Poe's　secret　lies
  mainly　in　the　skill　with　which　lie　has　employed　the　strange
  fascination　of　mystery　and　terror。　In　this　his　success　is　so　great
  and　striking　as　to　deserve　the　name　of　art；　not　artifice。　We　cannot
  call　his　materials　the　noblest　or　purest；　but　we　must　concede　to　him
  the　highest　merit　of　construction。
  As　a　critic；　Mr。　Poe　was　aesthetically　deficient。　Unerring　in　his
  analysis　of　dictions；　metres　and　plots；　he　seemed　wanting　in　the
  faculty　of　perceiving　the　profounder　ethics　of　art。　His　criticisms
  are；　however；　distinguished　for　scientific　precision　and　coherence　of
  logic。　They　have　the　exactness；　and　at　the　same　time；　the　coldness　of
  mathematical　demonstrations。　Yet　they　stand　in　strikingly　refreshing
  contrast　with　the　vague　generalisms　and　sharp　personalities　of　the
  day。　If　deficient　in　warmth；　they　are　also　without　the　heat　of
  partisanship。　They　are　especially　valuable　as　illustrating　the　great
  truth；　too　generally　overlooked；　that　analytic　power　is　a　subordinate
  quality　of　the　critic。
  On　the　whole；　it　may　be　considered　certain　that　Mr。　Poe　has　attained
  an　individual　eminence　in　our　literature　which　he　will　keep。　He　has
  given　proof　of　power　and　originality。　He　has　done　that　which　could
  only　be　done　once　with　success　or　safety；　and　the　imitation　or
  repetition　of　which　would　produce　weariness。
  ~~~~~~　End　of　Text　~~~~~~
  DEATH　OF　EDGAR　A。　POE
  BY　N。　P。　WILLIS
  THE　ancient　fable　of　two　antagonistic　spirits　imprisoned　in　one　body；
  equally　powerful　and　having　the　complete　mastery　by　turns…of　one　man；
  that　is　to　say；　inhabited　by　both　a　devil　and　an　angel　seems　to　have
  been　realized；　if　all　we　hear　is　true；　in　the　character　of　the
  extraordinary　man　whose　name　we　have　written　above。　Our　own
  impression　of　the　nature　of　Edgar　A。　Poe；　differs　in　some　important
  degree；　however；　from　that　which　has　been　generally　conveyed　in　the
  notices　of　his　death。　Let　us；　before　telling　what　we　personally　know
  of　him；　copy　a　graphic　and　highly　finished　portraiture；　from　the　pen
  of　Dr。　Rufus　W。　Griswold；　which　appeared　in　a　recent　number　of　the
  〃Tribune：〃｛*1｝
  〃Edgar　Allen　Poe　is　dead。　He　died　in　Baltimore　on　Sunday；　October
  7th。　This　announcement　will　startle　many；　but　few　will　be　grieved　by
  it。　The　poet　was　known；　personally　or　by　reputation；　in　all　this
  country；　he　bad　readers　in　England　and　in　several　of　the　states　of
  Continental　Europe；　but　he　had　few　or　no　friends；　and　the　regrets　for
  his　death　will　be　suggested　principally　by　the　consideration　that　in
  him　literary　art　has　lost　one　of　its　most　brilliant　but　erratic　stars。
  〃His　conversation　was　at　times　almost　supramortal　in　its　eloquence。
  His　voice　was　modulated　with　astonishing　skill；　and　his　large　and
  variably　expressive　eyes　looked　repose　or　shot　fiery　tumult　into
  theirs　who　listened；　while　his　own　face　glowed；　or　was　changeless　in
  pallor；　as　his　imagination　quickened　his　blood　or　drew　it　back　frozen
  to　his　heart。　His　imagery　was　from　the　worlds　which　no　mortals　can
  see　but　with　the　vision　of　genius。　Suddenly　starting　from　a
  proposition；　exactly　and　sharply　defined；　in　terms　of　utmost
  simplicity　and　clearness；　he　rejected　the　forms　of　customary　logic；
  and　by　a　crystalline　process　of　accretion；　built　up　his　ocular
  demonstrations　in　forms　of　gloomiest　and　ghastliest　grandeur；　or　in
  those　of　the　most　airy　and　delicious　beauty；　so　minutely　and
  distinctly；　yet　so　rapidly；　that　the　attention　which　was　yielded　to
  him　was　chained　till　it　stood　among　his　wonderful　creations；　till　he
  himself　dissolved　the　spell；　and　brought　his　hearers　back　to　common
  and　base　existence；　by　vulgar　fancies　or　exhibitions　of　the　ignoblest
  passion。
  〃He　was　at　all　times　a　dreamer…dwelling　in　ideal　realms…in　heaven　or
  hell…peopled　with　the　creatures　and　the　accidents　of　his　brain。　He
  walked…the　streets；　in　madness　or　melancholy；　with　lips　moving　in
  indistinct　curses；　or　with　eyes　upturned　in　passionate　prayer　（never
  for　himself；　for　he　felt；　or　professed　to　feel；　that　he　was　already
  damned；　but）　for　their　happiness　who　at　the　moment　were　objects　of
  his　idolatry；　or　with　his　glances　introverted　to　a　heart　gnawed　with
  anguish；　and　with　a　face　shrouded　in　gloom；　he　would　brave　the
  wildest　storms；　and　all　night；　with　drenched　garments　and　arms
  beating　the　winds　and　rains；　would　speak　as　if　the　spirits　that　at
  such　times　only　could　be　evoked　by　him　from　the　Aidenn；　close　by
  whose　portals　his　disturbed　soul　sought　to　forget　the　ills　to　which
  his　constitution　subjected　him…close　by　the　Aidenn　where　were　those
  he　loved…the　Aidenn　which　he　might　never　see；　but　in　fitful　glimpses；
  as　its　gates　opened　to　receive　the　less　fiery　and　more　happy　natures
  whose　destiny　to　sin　did　not　involve　the　doom　of　death。
  〃He　seemed；　except　when　some　fitful　pursuit　subjugated　his　will　and
  engrossed　his　faculties；　always　to　bear　the　memory　of　some
  controlling　sorrow。　The　remarkable　poem　of　'The　Raven'　was　probably
  much　more　nearly　than　has　been　supposed；　even　by　those　who　were　very
  intimate　with　him；　a　reflection　and　an　echo　of　his　own　history。　_He
  _was　that　bird's
  〃　'　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…never　more。'
  〃Every　genuine　author　in　a　greater　or　less　degree　leaves　in　his
  works；　whatever　their　design；　traces　of　his　personal　character：
  elements　of　his　immortal　being；　in　which　the　individual　survives　the
  person。　While　we　read　the　pages　of　the　'Fall　of　the　House　of　Usher；'
  or　of　'Mesmeric　Revelations；'　we　see　in　the　solemn　and　stately　gloom
  which　invests　one；　and　in　the　subtle　metaphysical　analysis　of　both；
  indications　of　the　idiosyncrasies　of　w