heart.” Gilfillan, ascribing to him “passions controlled by the presence of art until they resembled sculptured flame,” tells us that he caused the death of his wife that he might have a fitting theme for the Raven. A serious objection to this ingenious theory may perhaps be found in the “refractory fact” that the poem was published more than a year before the event which these persons assume it was intended to commemorate.
We might cite the testimony alike of friends and enemies to Poe’s unvarying kindness towards his young wife and cousin, if other testimony were needed than that of the tender love still cherished for his memory by one whose life was made doubly desolate by his death—the sister of his father, and the mother of his Virginia.
It is well known to those acquainted with the parties that the young wife of Edgar Poe died of lingering consumption, which manifested itself even in her girlhood. All who have had opportunities for observation in the matter have noticed her husband’s tender devotion
