Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1885-05-21

he wrote down much of what was saiC
By the dying man, as the language hi
used was very remarkable.
Where did you go when you went t.
Baltimore ?" asked him.
"'My mind kept no record he said
1T is dream. L thought they would
throw me in the dock
"Then he talked about Lenore, a pei
name by which he called his dead. ]
| was anxious to find out what his weak,
ness was, and began to feel my way in
order to make a proper diagnosis of the
case.
"'Mr. Poe, you are very weak l said
'I'll have to give you glass of toddy as
stimulant.
"He raised his great, tender eyes and
looked at me in way that made me
avert my face. Then he said in sol
emn voice: Sir, if thought that its po-
tency would transport me to the Elysian
bowers of the undiscovered world, /
would not taste IL.
"But you need sleep 1 urged. You
are exhausted. I'll give you an opiate.'
Twin sister to the doomed and crazed
in perdition, he exclaimed, mOodily.
Soon afterward l told him that he
must die. He seemed to have known
the fact before, but my statement affect
ed me deeply, and he looked up with a
wild look and said slowly: "0h Godl is
there no ransom for the deathless spirit 2
Il told him that there was hope for
him and for all men; that God was love;
that men who had lived terrible lives
could look for mercy to the Savior, and
he rejoined in these peculiar words:
God has His DEGREES legibIy imprinted
on the frontlet of every human being
and upon demons incarnate. Their goal
is the seething wave of black despair
"Still l urged him to go to Christ's
feet while he yet had time. He MUIR
INJURED, Too latel All, too latep and
rolling his eyes upward he folded his
hands and said in clear voice:
Father, believe, know;
For Death, who comes to me
From regions of the blest afar,
Where there's nothing to deceive,
Hath left his iron gates ajar;
And rays of truth you cannot see
Are flashing through eternity.
THE END.
"His limbs quivered and smile stole
over his handsome face. That is how
Poe died. A few minutes before he took
me by the hand and said: Doctor,
must unbosom my heart to you. l was
to have been married in ten days At
ter that he wept like child. You can
say to every one that Poe was frugal,
sober, punctual man in his later years,
and that he died like a Christian There
has been much said aboHt how certain
persons came forward and bought a
handsome caskeS for the poet. 1 wish
to say that he was buried in a cheap,
stained poplar coffin which l bought
myself.
"Since his death 1 have made the ac>
quaintance of Poe's family, and have
found out many interesting things about
him. Only yesterday made discovery
as to The Raven 1t was written in
the house of New York gentleman.
The gentleman's daughter, then girl
of thirteen or fourteen years, is now the
wife of distinguished General. She
used to see Poe at work on The
Raven and often saw him give
her father his manuscript to lock up in
his tron safe al night. Her father used
to deal in plaster and clay casts, and on
shelf over the door of the room ia
which the poem was composed was a
bust of Pallas.' The lady told me that
she never saw Poe under the influence
of drink, and neither did her father.
That is answer to those who say that
the poet was drunk or delirious when
he wrote The Raven