I am not ambitious — unless negatively. I, now and then feel stirred up to excel a fool, merely because I hate to let a fool imagine that he may excel me. Beyond this I feel nothing of ambition. I really perceive that vanity about which most men merely prate — the vanity of the human or temporal life. I live continually in a reverie of the future. I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active — not more happy — nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago. The result will never vary — and to suppose that it will, is to suppose that the foregone man has lived in vain — that the foregone time is but the rudiment of the future — that the myriads who have perished have not been upon equal footing with ourselves — nor are we with our posterity. I cannot agree to lose sight of man the individual, in man the mass. — I have no belief in spirituality. I think the word a mere word. No one has really a conception of spirit. We cannot imagine what is not. We deceive ourselves by the idea of infinitely rarefist matter. Matter escapes the senses by degrees — a stone — a metal — a liquid — the atmosphere — a gas — the luminiferous ether. Beyond this there are other modifications more rare. But to all we attach the notion of a constitution of particles — atomic composition. For this reason only, we think spirit different; for spirit, we say is unparticled, and therefore is not matter. But it is clear that if we proceed sufficiently far in our ideas of rarefaction, we shall arrive at a point where the particles coalesce; for, although the particles be infinite, the infinity of littleness in the spaces between them, is an absurdity. — The unparticlet matter, permeating & impelling, all things, is God. Its activity is the thought of God — which creates. Man, and other thinking beings, are individualizations of the unparticled matter. Man exists as a “person”, by being clothed with matter (the particled matter) which individualizes him. Thus habited, his life is rudimental. What we call “death” is the painful metamorphosis. The stars are the habitations of rudimental beings. But for the necessity of the rudimental life, there would have been no worlds. At death, the worm is the butterfly — still material, but of a matter unrecognized by our organs — recognized, occasionally, perhaps, by the sleep-waker, directly — without organs — through the mesmeric medium. Thus a sleep-waker may see ghosts. Divested of the rudimental covering, the being inhabits space — what we suppose to be the immaterial universe — passing every where, and acting all things, by mere volition — cognizant of all secrets but that of the nature of God’s volition — the motion, or activity, of the unparticled matter.

  You speak of “an estimate of my life” — and, from what I have already said, you will see that I have none to give. I have been too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence of temporal things, to give any continuous effort to anything — to be consistent in anything. My life has been whim — impulse — passion — a longing for solitude — a scorn of all things present, in an earnest desire for the future.

  I am profoundly excited by music, and by some poems — those of Tennyson especially — whom, with Keats, Shelley, Coleridge (occasionally) and a few others of like thought and expression, I regard as the sole poets. Music is the perfection of the soul, or idea, of Poetry. The vagueness >>and<< of exultation arous[ed by] a sweet air (which should be strictly indefinite & never too strongly suggestive) is precisely what we should aim at in poetry. Affectation, within bounds, is thus no blemish.

  I still adhere to Dickens as either author, or dictator, of the review. My reasons would convince you, could I give them to you — but I have left myself no space. I had two long interviews with Mr D. when here. Nearly every thing in the critique, I heard from >>D<< him or suggested to him, personally. The poem of Emerson I read to him.

  I have been so negligent as not to preserve copies of any of my volumes of poems — nor was either worthy preservation. The best passages were culled in Hirst’s article. I think my best poems, “The Sleeper”, “The Conqueror Worm”, “The Haunted Palace”, >>“A Paen”<< “Lenore”, “Dreamland” & “The Coliseum” — but all have been hurried & unconsidered. My best tales are “Ligeia”; The “GoldBug”; The “Murders in the Rue Morgue”, “The Fall of the House of Usher”, The “Tell-Tale Heart”, The “Black Cat”, “William Wilson”, & “The Descent into the Maelstrom.” “The Purloined Letter,” forthcoming in the “Gift”, is, perhaps, the best of my tales of ratiocination. I have lately written, for Godey, “The Oblong-Box”, and “Thou art the Man” — as yet unpublished. With this, I mail you “The Gold-Bug”, which is the only one of my tales I have on hand.

  Graham has had, for 9 months, a review of mine on Longfellow’s “Spanish Student”, which I have “used up”, and in which I have exposed some of the grossest plagiarisms ever perpetrated. I can’t tell why he does not publish it. — I believe G. intends my Life for the September number, which will be made up by the 10th August. Your article shd be on hand as soon as convenient.

  Believe me your true friend.

  E A Poe.

  EDGAR ALLAN POE TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL — AUGUST 18, 1844

  New-York: August 18. 1844

  My Dear Friend,

  With this letter I take the liberty to mail you a number of the “Columbian Magazine,” in which you will find a paper on “Mesmeric Revelation”. In it I have endeavoured to amplify some ideas which I suggested in my last letter.

  You will observe many corrections & alterations. In fact the article was wofully misprinted; and my principal object in boring you with it now, is to beg of you the favor to get it copied (with corrections) in the Brother Jonathan — I mean the Boston Notion — or any other paper where you have interest. If you can do this without trouble, I would be very deeply indebted to you. I am living so entirely out of the world, just now, that I can do nothing of the kind myself.

  In what are you occupied? — or is it still the far niente? For myself I am very industrious — collecting and arranging materials for a Critical History of Am. Literature. Do you ever see Mr Hawthorne? He is a man of rare genius. A day or two since I met with a sketch by him called “Drowne’s Wooden Image” — delicious. The leading idea, however, is suggested by Michael Angelo’s couplet:

  Non ha l’ottimo artiste alcun concetto

  Che un marmo solo in se non circunscriva

  To be sure Angelo half-stole the thought from Socrates.

  How fares it with the Biography? I fear we shall be late.

  Most truly your friend.

  Edgar A Poe

  JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — SEPTEMBER 27, 1844

  Elmwood, September 27, 1844

  My Dear Friend, — I kept back the biography a short time in order to send it on by a private hand. It is not half so good as it ought to be, but it was written under many disadvantages, not the least of which was depression of spirits which unfits a man for anything. I wish you to make any suggestions about it that may occur to you, and to reject it entirely if you do not like it.

  I have mentioned Chatterton in it rather too slightingly; will you be good enough to modify what I say of him a little? His “Minstrel’s Song in Ella” is better than the rest of his writings.

  You will find the package at No. I Nassau Street, up stairs. It was addressed to the care of C. F. Briggs. If his name is not upon the door, you will probably see the name of “Dougherty” or “Jones.”

  As ever, your friend,

  J. R. Lowell

  EDGAR ALLAN POE TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL — OCTOBER 28, 1844

  New-York: Oct. 28. 44.

  My Dear Friend,

  A host of small troubles growing from the one trouble of poverty, but which I will not trouble you with in detail, have hitherto prevented me from thanking you for the Biography and all the well intended flatteries which it contains. But, upon the principle of better late than never, let me thank you now, again and again. I sent it to Graham on the day I received it — taking with it only one liberty in the way of modification. This I hope you will pardon. It was merely the substitution of another brief poem for the last you have done me the honor to quote.

  I have not seen your marriage announced, but I presume from what you said in your penultimate letter, that I may congratulate you now. Is it so? At all events I can wish you no better wish than that you may derive from your marriage as substantial happiness as I have derived from mine.

  A long time ago I wrote you a long letter to which you have never replied. It concerned a scheme for protecting ourselves from the imposition of publishers by a coalition. I will state it again in brief. Suppose a dozen of the most active or influential men of letters in this country, should unite for the purpose of publishing a Magazine of high character. Their names to be kept secret, that their mutual support might be the more effectual. Each member to take a share of the stock at $100 a share. Each, if required, to furnish one article each month — the work to be sustained altogether by the contributions of the members, or by unpaid contributions from others. As many of the members as possible to be taken from those connected otherwise with the press: — a black-ball to exclude any one suggested as a member by those already conjoined — this to secure unanimity — These, of course, are mere hints in the rough. But suppose that (the scheme originating with yourself & me) we write to any others or, seeing them personally, engage them in the enterprize. The desired number being made up, a meeting might be held, and a constitution framed. A point in this latter might be that an editor should be elected periodically from among the stockholders.

  The advantages of such a coalition seem to me very great. The Magazine could be started with a positive certainty of success. There would be no expense for contributions, while we would have the best. Plates, of course, would be disdained. The aim would be to elevate without stupifying our literature — to further justice — to resist foreign dictation — and to afford (in the circulation & profit of the journal) a remuneration to ourselves for whatever we should write.

  The work should be printed in the very best manner, and should address the aristocracy of talent. We might safely give, for $5, a pamphlet of 128 pp. and, with the support of the variety of our personal influence, we might easily extend the circulation to 20,000 — giving $ 100,000 The expenses would not exceed $40,000 - if indeed they reached 20,000 when the work should be fairly established. Thus there would be $60,000 to be divided among 12 - $5000 per an: apiece.

  I have thought of this matter long and cautiously, and am persuaded that there would be little difficulty in doing even far more than I have ventured to suggest.

  Do you hear anything more about the Lectures?

  Truly Yours.

  E A Poe

  JAMES R. LOWELL TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — DECEMBER 12, 1844

  Elmwood, Dec. 12, 1844.

  My Dear Friend, — You will forgive me for not writing sooner & for writing so little now, when I tell you that I have been for some time keeping a printing office agoing at the rate of from eight to twenty pages a day. I am printing a volume of prose (in conversation form) about poets and everything else, [“ Conversations on Some of the Old Poets”] & not having prepared my copy, am obliged to write & print at once. You will like some parts of the book and dislike others.

  My object in writing this is to introduce you to my friend, Charles F. Briggs, who is about to start a literary weekly paper in New York & desires your aid. He was here a month or two since, & I took the liberty of reading to him what I had written about you & today I received a letter from him announcing his plan & asking your address. Not knowing it, & not having time to write him I thought that the shortest way would be to introduce you to him. He will pay & I thought from something you said in your last letter that pay would be useful to you. I also took the liberty of praising you to a Mr. Colton, who has written “Tecumseh” . . . . & whom I suspect, from some wry faces he made on first hearing your name, you have cut up. He is publishing a magazine & I think I convinced him that it would be for his interest to engage you permanently. But I know nothing whatever of his ability to pay.

  I am not to be married till I have been delivered of my book; which will probably be before Christmas, & I shall spend the winter in Philadelphia. I shall only stop one night in New York on my way on. Returning I shall make a longer stay & shall of course see you. You will like Briggs & he will edit an excellent paper. Opposite, I write a note to him.

  Yr. affectionate friend,

  J. R. Lowell.

  P. S. You must excuse me if I have blundered in recommending you to Colton. I know nothing of your circumstances save what I gleaned from your last letter, &, of course, said nothing to him which I might not say as an entire stranger to you. It is never safe to let an editor (as editors go) know that an author wants his pay. I was in hopes that I should have been able to revise my sketch of you before it appeared. It was written under adverse circumstances & was incomplete. If you do not like this method of getting acquainted, send Briggs your address. His is No. I Nassau St. I never wrote an introductory letter before & do not own a complete letter writer — so you must excuse any greenness about it.

  LYNCH, MRS. ANNE CHARLOTTE

  ANNE C. LYNCH TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — JUNE 25, 1845

  My dear Mr. Poe,

  I take the liberty of sending you the poem for Mr. Keese, if you will be so kind as to give it him you will oblige me. Mr. Tuckerman promised to call for it but done so. Will you ascertain if Mr. Keese wishes the poem for The Opal for 1846? I wrote him a note but he has not answered it.

  Very truly yours,

  Anne C. Lynch

  Wed. 25

  ANNE C. LYNCH TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — JUNE 27, 1845

  My Dear Mr. Poe, — I thank you for your very kind notice of my poems, no less than for your kind and friendly note. Indeed, I thank you more for the last than for the first, for I value literary reputation only for the bread and butter considerations, and friendship to me is invaluable. It is my mental sustenance — as absolutely necessary as the material, and infinitely higher. But I am exceedingly pained at the desponding tone in which you write. Life is too short & there is too much to be done in it, to give one time to despair. Exorcise that devil, I beg of you, as speedily as possible. The ancients, I believe, had a saying, that it was essential to have overcome the fear of death before we could attain true greatness. Now if you have accomplished this, as I dare say you have, what remains to be feared? what to be despaired of? I see nothing. Tell me what you see, & ten to one I can prove to you it is a chimera of your own vivid imagination. At all events come over and see me tomorrow evening (Saturday) & we will talk the matter over. “I have thought — long & darkly,” but out of the “whirling gulf of phantasy & flame” there has sprung a firm will or resolution to meet the realities of life with an iron energy & I find myself the better for it. So do not give up but come & let me talk to you. — Give my very kindest regards to Mrs. Poe. I intended to have seen her before this time, but I have some friends staying with me from the country & next week I am going to leave town for a few days, so I must defer it till my return. — I hope she will be able to come with you to-morrow night.

  Very truly yours,

  Anne C. Lynch.

  I am sorry I shall not be in town to hear your poem, on Tuesday evening. Can’t you bring over & read a few passages? — If you do not come tomorrow eve. I shall be at home on Sunday evening & happy to see you then. — I shall take the Tales with me & read them in the country. Many thanks for them.

  ANNE C. LYNCH TO EDGAR ALLAN POE — JULY 17, 1845

  My dear Mr. Poe,

  <>I was very sorry not to find you at home when I called on Mrs. Poe the other day. I wanted to ask you what I am now going to write, that is, lf you will not come here on Saturday evening, and read your poem or some passages from it. Of course you will say “it is too warm” — but I do not believe it will ever be any cooler so if that is all your objection you must not refuse me. Let me hear your decision so that I may ask a few friends if you consent. Do you know Mr. William Wallace? I should like to make his acquaintance — I like his “Gods of Greece” so much.

  Remember me to Mrs. Poe, I hope she is better.

  I must tell you how much pleasure I took in reading your Tales and in knowing that they are a selection from seventy, all of which I hope to read. They are unsurpassed by any stories I have ever read in poetry of language and fire of imagination. More of them when I see you.

  Truly yours

  Anne C. Lynch

  Thursday July 17. 116 Waverly Place.

  MACKENZIE, THOMAS GILLIAT

  EDGAR ALLAN POE TO THOMAS GILLIAT MACKENZIE — APRIL 22, 1843

  Philadelphia

  April 22. 1843

  My Dear Thomas,

  About a fortnight ago, I wrote to Peter D. Bernard, who married one of T. W. White’s daughters, and made inquiry about “The Southern Literary Messenger”, but have received no reply. I am very anxious to ascertain if it is for sale, and if it is, I wish to purchase it (through my friends here). You wrote me, some time ago, that the heirs had not made up their minds respecting it. Would you do me the favor, now, to call upon Bernard, or upon some one of the other heirs, and inquire about it? I can’t imagine why Bernard did not reply to my letter. If the list is for sale I would make arrangements for its immediate purchase upon terms which would be fully satisfactory to the heirs. But do not let them suppose I am too anxious. By the bye, there may be some prejudice, on the part of the heirs, against me individually, on account of my quitting White — suppose, then, you get some one of your friends to negotiate for you and don’t let me be known in the business at all. Merely ascertain if the list is for sale & upon what terms. Please oblige me in this matter as soon as possible, as I am exceedingly anxious about it. Tell Rose that Virginia is much better, toe and all, & that she has been out lately, several times, taking long walks. She sends a great deal of love to all. Remember me kindly to the whole family & believe me