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a worthless volume, and he held an insecure connection with the Philadelphia magazines. That wonderful piece of verbal melody, "The Bells," appeared in Sartain's Magazine, in 1849. When he first sent it to the editor, it consisted of only eighteen lines: a few months later he furnished another copy, altered and very much enlarged; finally he sent the poem as it is now printed. This was the first version:

THE BELLS.

The bells!-hear the bells!

The merry wedding bells!

The little silver bells !

How fairy-like a melody there swells
From the silver tinkling cells

Of the bells, bells, bells!

Of the bells!

The bells !-ah, the bells!

The heavy iron bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells!

Hear the knells!

How horrible a monody there floats

From their throats

From their deep-toned throats!

How I shudder at the notes

From the melancholy throats

Of the bells, bells, bells—

Of the bells

executor.

66

Poe wrote at this time, besides "The Bells," the stanzas "For Anne," and "Annabel Lee," and a series of brief paragraphs which were published in the Messenger as Marginalia." In the summer of this year he made another journey from Fordham to Richmond, and under the impression that he might not return he requested that Dr. Griswold should be his literary When he got as far as Philadelphia he fell in with some of his old boon companions, and was overcome by the old temptation. It was "hail-fellow, well met " with him while his money lasted. When it was all gone he was obliged to solicit charity for the means of reaching Richmond. When he was first heard of by his friends there he had been for several days at a sort of common tavern in a common part of the city. One of these friends, the late Mr. John R. Thompson, who was then editing the Messenger, took a carriage and drove thither with the intention of fetching him away, but he had disappeared. The tavern keeper knew nothing of his whereabouts, or who he was, except that he said his name was Poe,

and that he had slept for a number of nights on the sanded floor of the bar-room. At the end of a week or ten days he appeared one morning at the office of Mr. Thompson, whom he knew only by correspondence, and introduced himself. His garments were old and seedy, but brushed with scrupulous care, and there were no signs of dissipation in his clean and fresh-shaved face. He asked permission to have his letters directed to Mr. Thompson's box, and room enough in his office to write in, both of which requests were cordially granted. A desk was given him, and he was soon at his literary work-"Marginalia." Mr. Kennedy had done for him nearly sixteen years before in Baltimore was done for him now-he was rejuvenated as regards his clothing, and made presentable in society by Mr. Thompson's tailor. For a time all went well with him, but at last he disappeared. At the end of several days he returned with a damaged eye. He had been mistaken for some one else by a ruffian in a bar-room, and knocked down without a word. He returned to his work, to disappear again. He was

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