about certain emotions in the reader, he makes all subordinate parts
tend strictly to the common centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to
his own mind. To him _x_ is a known quantity all along. In any picture
that he paints, he understands the chemical properties of all his
colors. However vague some of his figures may seem, however formless the
shadows, to him the outline is as clear and distinct as that of a
geometrical diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy with
_Mysticism_. The Mystic dwells _in_ the mystery, is enveloped with it;
it colors all his thoughts; it affects his optic nerve especially, and
the commonest things get a rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, on the other
hand, is a spectator _ab extra_. He analyzes, he dissects, he watches

----with an eye serene,
The very pulse of the machine,

for such it practically is to him, with wheels and cogs and piston-rods,
all working to produce a certain end.

This analyzing tendency of his mind balances the poetical, and, by
giving him the patience to be minute, enables him to throw a wonderful
reality into his most unreal fancies. A monomania he paints with great
power. He loves to dissect one of these cancers of the mind, and to
trace all the subtle ramifications of its roots. In raising images of
horror, also, he has a strange success; conveying to us sometimes by a
dusky hint some terrible _doubt_ which is the secret of all horror. He
leaves to imagination the task of finishing the picture, a task to which
only she is competent.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear
Grasped in an armed hand; himself behind
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind.

Beside the merit of conception, Mr. Poe's writings have also that of
form. His style is highly finished, graceful and truly classical. It
would be hard to find a living author who had displayed such varied
powers. As an example of his style we would refer to one of his tales,
"The House of Usher," in the first volume of his "Tales of the Grotesque
and Arabesque." It has a singular charm for us, and we think that no one
could read it without being strongly moved by its serene and sombre
beauty. Had its author written nothing else, it would alone have been
enough to stamp him as a man of genius, and the master of a classic
style. In this tale occurs, perhaps, the most beautiful of his poems.

The great master