hrough which he ran his
pencil.

"Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above my chamber door."

"I must get rid of that word," he said; "for, of course, no beast could
be expected to occupy such a position."

"Oh, yes; a mouse, for instance," I suggested, at which he gave me one
of his rare humorous smiles.

Leaving this point for future consideration, we passed on to a more
serious difficulty.

"This and more I sat divining,
With my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet _lining_, with the lamplight gloated o'er."

The knotty point here was in the word "lining"--a blunder obvious to
every reader. Poe said that the only way he could see of getting over
the difficulty was by omitting the whole stanza. But he was unwilling to
give up that "violet velvet" chair, which, with the "purple silken
curtain," he considered a picturesque adjunct to the scene, imparting to
it a character of luxury which served as a relief to the more sombre
surroundings. I had so often heard this impossible "lining" criticised
that when he inquired, "Shall I omit or retain the stanza?" I ventured
to suggest that it might be better to give up the stanza than have the
poem marred by a defect so conspicuous. For a moment he held the pencil
poised, as if in doubt, and I have since wondered what would have been
his decision.

But just here we were interrupted by the tumultuous entrance of my
little dog, Pink, in hot pursuit of the family cat. The latter took
refuge beneath the table at which we were seated, and there ensued a
brisk exchange of duelistic passes, until I called off Pink and Mr. Poe
took up the cat and, placing her on his knee, stroked her soothingly,
inquiring if she were my pet. Upon my disclaiming any partiality for
felines, he said, "I like them," and continued his gentle caressing.
(Was he thinking of _Catalina_, his wife's pet cat, which he had left at
home at Fordham, and which after her death had sat upon his shoulder as
he wrote far into the night? Recalling his grave and softened
expression, I think that it must have been so. But at that time I had
never heard of Catalina.)

But now came the final and most difficult "tangle" of all--the blunder
apparent to the world--the defect which mars the whole poem, and yet is
contained in but a single line:

"And the lamplight o'er him streaming casts his shadow on the floor."

Poe declared this to be hopeless, and that it was, in fact, the chief