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Updated: June 23, 2025
Such are the dangers of the technical temperament unenriched by wide and deep contact with human feeling. Poe's theory of the art of the short story is now familiar enough. The power of a tale, he thought, turned chiefly if not solely upon its unity, its harmony of effect. This is illustrated in all of his finest stories.
It is most logical to suppose that Benda would begin with the first sign and substitute the letters of the alphabet in order. That would give us the cipher code shown on Plate IV. It was all very quick work, just as I had anticipated, once the key-idea had occurred to me. The ease and speed of my method far exceeded that of Poe's method, but, of course, was applicable only to this particular case.
If this is what is meant by keeping one's audience in mind during composition, the true poet will have none of it. Poe's account of his deliberate composition of the Raven is enough to estrange him from the poetic brotherhood. Yet we are face to face with an issue that we, as the "gentle reader," cannot ignore.
A day when the porch was rose-embowered once more and the garden-spot a riot of color and the birds singing in the trees round about, found Mr. Graham seated at Edgar Poe's desk in the office of Graham's Magazine. The door behind him opened, and he raised his head from his writing and quickly glanced over his shoulder. The look of inquiry in his blue eyes instantly kindled into one of welcome.
"Whose criticisms?" asked Emerson. "Poe's," replied Howells. "Oh," Emerson cried after a thoughtful moment, "you mean the jingle man!" This was a moment of confusion and embarrassment for Howells. Had the vituperative pen of Poe ever thrown off more stinging criticism than that? "The jingle man!"
"I met one man, a lawyer, on his way to do some peace work, and he told me that he thought Poe had no right to be in the ranks of a foreign army. Probably most of the pacifists would have returned the same verdict regardless of Poe's love for the cause of the Allies.
Almost without the first sign of moral principle, or of the concrete or its heroisms, or the simpler affections of the heart, Poe's verses illustrate an intense faculty for technical and abstract beauty, with the rhyming art to excess, an incorrigible propensity toward nocturnal themes, a demoniac undertone behind every page and, by final judgment, probably belong among the electric lights of imaginative literature, brilliant and dazzling, but with no heat.
Without letting her know who I was I quoted Poe's To Helen to her. She stood, smiling sweetly, as if it were the most usual thing in the world, to have a lean, wild-faced stranger address her with a poem. "That's the way I feel about you!" I ended. She gave a lovely laugh ... held out both her hands, dropping the quirt on the floor ... took my hands and leaned back gaily, like a child.
They would soothe him with winning endearments and bid him be of good cheer and would make a gallant fight to show him that they were perfectly happy. During the year and a half of Edgar Poe's connection with Graham's Magazine he had raised the number of subscribers from five thousand to thirty-seven thousand.
"'You had better go for the police, said he: 'I have killed your master." The entire story is summed up in the concluding phrase; and the final sentence rings ever after in the reader's memory. Here, to cite a new example, is the conclusion of Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death": "And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night.
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