THE MAMMOTH SQUASH. BY EDGAR A. POE. [W. M. Griswold's Correspondence of R. W. Griswold, p. 200.] GREEN and specked with spots of golden, Never since the ages olden Since the time of Cain and Abel, Never such a vegetable, So with odors sweetest laden Thus our halls appearance made in. Who-oh! who in kindness sent thee To afford my soul nepenthe? Rude men seeing thee, say "Gosh! Says, while total silence reigns, "This may perchance be but the skull Its streaked, yellow flesh his brains." NOTE. "The Mammoth Squash" is prefaced by the following words (Griswold's Correspondence, pp. 198200): "In October, 1845, the literary world was amused by a clever article in T. Dunn English's Mag azine, The Aristidean, a part of which I reprint as it indicates, more or less accurately, the prevailing opinion of the authors mentioned. "Anxious to present our readers with the best specimens of the poetry of this country, we addressed notes to various of our poets, requesting them to furnish us, without charge, the means of fulfilling our desire. This, we conceived, to be a very modest request. To our surprise, some of these notes were returned, and others were retained, but no reply made. To some we received answers, with the required poems. We print, below, the whole of the latter. Our readers will enjoy these sublime effusions.'" Then follow letters and poems from J. Pierpont, C. J. Peterson, Geo. P. Morris and J. G. Whittier, with the following burlesque : "NEW YORK CITY, Sept. 28, 1845. "MY DEAR SIR: For old acquaintance' sake I comply with your request; but your attempt will be a failure. Reasoning a priori, I could demonstrate that it cannot succeed. But I will not waste my logic on an obstinate man. "Your obedient servant, "EDGAR A. POE." Then follows The Mammoth Squash." THE FIRE LEGEND. : WE insert the following poem as probably the most successful imitation of Poe's manner if imitation it be now in existence. Mr. J. H. Ingram, in his monograph on "The Raven,' London George Redway 1885, gives the history of the poem, which he considers 66 a tawdry parody.' Dr. B. B. Minor, editor of the Southern Literary Messenger from 1843 to 1847, sends J. A. H. this note : “I have seen Russell's Mag. for Jan. 1860. On p. 372 it says: "Considered partly as a parody and partly as a professed imitation, we have seldom read a more successful performance than the following: ... FIRE-FIEND A NIGHTMARE. "From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe, in the possession of Chas. D. Gardette.' "The Messenger has Fire-legend,' etc. "In Stanza VII., the Mess. has ing.' world-enrich "I hesitated at this when I copied it. THE FIRE LEGEND—A NIGHTMARE. [From Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1863.] From an unpublished MS. of the late Edgar A. Poe. I. In the deepest dearth of midnight, while the sad and solemn swell Still was floating, faintly echoed from the forest chapel bell Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were thro' the midnight rolling, chafed and billowy with the tolling In my chamber I lay dreaming, by the firelight's fitful gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart foredoomed to care! 2. As the last, long, lingering echo of the midnight's mystic chime, Lifting through the sable billows of the thither shore of Time Leaving on the starless silence not a token, nor a trace For a quivering sigh departed, from my couch in fear I started, Started to my feet in terror, for my dream's phantasmal error Painted in the fitful fire a frightful, fiendish, flaming face! 1 Depth? 3. On the red hearth's reddest centre, from a blazing knot of oak, Seemed to gibe and grin this phantom, when in terror I awoke ; And my slumberous eyelids straining as I staggered to the floor, Still in that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze toward the gleaming Hearth and there! Oh, God! I saw it; and from its flaming jaw, it Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling stream of gore! 4. Speechless struck with stony silence, frozen to the floor I stood, Till methought my brain was hissing with that hissing, bubbling blood; Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those lambent lips; Till the demon seemed to name me — then a wondrous calm o'ercame me, And my brow grew stiff and gluey, cold and dewy, with a death-damp And I fell back on my pillow, in apparent soul-eclipse. 5. Then as in death's seeming shadow, in the icy fall of fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my ear; |