Without attempting to discuss the mode in which these poems have been given to the world, it will be quite sufficient to quote a few, and these of the very best, to show that Poe’s Spirit has not produced anything at all equal in quality to the poems written by Poe whilst he was still in the flesh. Power, freshness, and originality they seem to lack entirely, but the quantity is superabundant; the chief difficulty in making a selection that shall be at once illustrative and interesting, is to avoid making it too voluminous. Few, indeed, of these poems possess the attributes of Poe’s style,――his luxurious reiteration of thought in similar lines,――his musical alliteration――his exquisite sense of rhyme. Here and there occurs a slight assumption of the mystical, but it is mere obscurity without suggestiveness. It is asserted that most of these Spiritual Poems were taken down from the lips of persons whilst in a state of trance. One of the earliest Spirit Poems was said to be dictated through the medium of Mrs. LYDIA TENNEY, of George Town, Mass., U.S.A., and was triumphantly claimed as a proof that Poe’s Spirit had written a poem. Mr. William Sawyer utterly demolished this poem in an article in the _Brighton Herald_, and as it does not possess any resemblance to Poe’s style, it would be out of place here. The first Spirit poem to be quoted is a sequel to “The Raven,” by a certain R. ALLSTON LAVENDER, who asserted that it was dictated to him by the spirit of E. A. Poe. When last heard of Mr. Lavender was an inmate of a lunatic asylum in the United States. SEQUEL TO THE RAVEN. Fires within my brain were burning, Scorning life, despairing, yearning, Hopeless, blinded in my anguish; Through my body’s open door Came a Raven, foul and sable, Like those evil birds of fable, Downward swooping where the drooping Spectres haunt the Stygian shore. Ghosts of agonies departed, Festering wounds that long had smarted, Broken vows, returnless mornings, Griefs and miseries of yore; By some art revived, undaunted, I gazed steadfast: the enchanted, Black, infernal Raven uttered A wild dirge――not evermore. Gazing steady, gazing madly On the bird, I spoke, and sadly Broke down, too deep for scorning, Sought for mercy to implore. Turning to the bird, I blessed it―― In my bosom I caressed it; Still it pierced my heart, and revelled In the palpitating gore. I grew mad; the crowning fancies, Black weeds they――not blooming pansies―― Made me think the bird a spirit. Bird, I cried, be bird no more; Take a shape――be man, be devil, Be a snake; rise in thy revel! From thy banquet rise――be human! I have seen thee oft before; Thou art a bird, but something more.” * * * * *