The Washington herald., 1907-03-17
UNPUBLISHED TALE By POE
0ld-time Printer Preserved Manu-
script Left by the Poet.
Il Contains "A Brief Sketch, Entitled
"The skull and a FOrked Tongue"
and Some Verse.

A travelling man who spends much OF
his time in Richmond, Va, has in his pos
session what is said to be the original
manuscript of a short story by Edgar
Allan Poe, says the Indianapolis News.
The manuscript was given To Mr. Apple
gate at Richmond by an old-time printer.
who was once employed as a compositor
on the Southern Literary Messenger, Of
which Poe was editor for brief period.
The manuscript. although faded and time
worn, is in a fair state Of preservation.
The chirography is plain. and resembles
slightly that of James Whitcomb Riley,
the Hoosler poet. The story. so far as is
known. has never been given to the public
II is entitled The Skull with Forked
Tongue" and Is rs follows:
This IS strange hctel. There are bars
on the windows.
''The door of my room is often open, Yet
I may not go out. have books. flowers,
a clean, white bed. and from my window
a fine view of the garden and high wall.
They say I am I'll. Perhaps,
Her picture have hung it near my
bed. Every day I put fresh fowers-the
kind she Ioved-beside il. All is well with
her, for she is dead
Sometimes I sit for hours before that
picture-Iost in tender musings-contem-
plating the beauty OF her life The eyes
are brown-wide open and deep with in
telligence. The silvery hair is parted in
wavy folds over her forehead. The mouth
is firm and sweet
And yet she married my deadly en-
emy-my fathers -enemy-the man !
should have killed.
But she paid the price with her life,
and may her gentle spirit, where ere it
dwells, forgive the son for whom she suf-
fered so much.
MY father died when I was but a boy,
and five years later my mother married
this man. He was coarse, ignorant
fellow He had a mind like a dirty rag
a heart of flint He was thought to be
rich. Three years later I left home, Fear
that I might kill him drove me away.
Long years of busy life in new land
failed 70 quiet my hatred. Ny mother
died Then her husband
when the word reached me that he
was dead I had a wild desire to reach
my old home in time for the funeral
solely that I might spit In his face ere
the grave hid him forever from my fury.
Fool that ] was to have remained silent
so Iongi Yet 1t was for her dear sake.
"They say that he was put away de-
Gently He had neighbOTs and some
friends. and they spoke softly at his
grave The parson and the undertaken
did their parts The grave-digger round
ed I'D a mound over where he lay, and
when all were gone the old sexton locked
the gates for the night, and he, too, went
his way.
There. under the white stars-under
the wide sky-side by side they lay-my
mother and her husband. But between
those two graves, the one green with
Gods fresh grassland the other a new
scar in the soil-there staIked the spec
tre Of my hate. Years came and went.
and once in a passing fancy-dreaming
that he still lived, and that my hatred
might rot lull itself to sleep-I wrote
these lines. which 7 call;
THE HEADMAN's MoNOLOGUE"
''your paTdon. sir. age hath a quality
That challenges the headman's first respect
And yet bali suspect my knife were kind
70 clip yen without pause, when J reflect
What nan you are. That you could kin with words,
Ard had deyilish glse in doing So
would that all might snow-therefore take heed
un;o the things utter ere you go!
Thy tardy taking of I fear
VIII breed a sorTy pestilence in he'll.
Nor lEicst nor book. nor bell viii follow thee
All men shall fee but I-wbo love thee well.
Again your pardonl See The tears I shed!
Ny good blade quivers in the frosty air
Respecting your gray hair. FAREWELL Lie stilli
The blow I strike ! pledge you VIII be fair
And now preTarel Strike. blade. Al. neatly done
The basket takes its quarry with groan
THY Iittle soul hath fed ihe block still holds
\ strgud Of flesh upon rotten bone