Text: Anonymous, “The Ghost of Poe's Raven,” Port Chester Journal (Port Chester, NY), vol XVII, no. 852, March 19, 1885, p. 2, col. 2

[page 2, column 2, continued:]

The following extraordinary fact is given us by a friend in New York, who vouches for its authenticity and who can give names. It is singularly fitting that there should be a wierd [[weird]] element in all incidents connected with Poe's memory, and the holding in possession the bones of “Annabel Lee,” adds to the uncanniness of the singular incident which is now for the first time put in print. Our correspondent says, “It was told us by Mrs. —— , on the very evening on which the gentleman mentioned started for Baltimore, with the remains of Annabel Lee. She — Mrs. — , — had the facts directly from this gentleman, and strange as they seem, they are nevertheless true.[[“]] We append the following clipping, written by the N. Y. correspondent of the Kansas City Times, as a preface:

EDGAR A. POE'S CHILD-WIFE.

The Poe Memorial Monument for Central Park has just arrived from Europe and will be unveiled some time in the Spring. It consists of a plate shaft and a square pedestal, on the four sides of which are has reliefs representing conceptions from the “Raven” and one or two of his other great poems. I mention this for the purpose of relating some facts concerning Poe's poor child-wife, which have never before been published. It was in 1845 or somewhere thereabouts that the poet came to New York to find something to do. He did not succeed well, and it was on that visit that he sold the “Raven” to The American Review for $5. He finally went out to Fordham, a little village up in Westchester County, which borders on the suburbs of New York City. It was then that he was living with his child-wife, who had consumption and died. She was buried at Fordham, and she it was who was the “Annabel” of the most beautiful and touching poem he ever wrote. What other human heart than his could have measured such a depth of tender pathos? About three years ago the people of Fordham determined they would remove the village graveyard. Few of them knew of Edgar Allan Poe or his beautiful “Annabel.” They began to remove the bones and lay them away promiscuously in a sort of charnel ground some distance out in the country. A gentleman in New York who knew much of Poe's life, who loved his poetry and was aware that his wife was buried at Fordham, heard of the removal of the graveyard and went out to protect the bones of sweet “Annabel.” The grave had already been opened and he came near being too late. He collected the precious relics, wrapped them neatly in a paper, and brought them to his home in New York, where he kept them for nearly two years. One day a gentleman called who had known Mrs. Poe and who was very fond of the poem “Annabel Lee.” The conversation drifted toward these beautiful lines, and verse after verse was repeated over and over. Finally the gentleman of the house arose and said: “I will show you something.” He then proceeded to unwrap the bones of the poor heroine. “These,” said he, are the bones of ‘Annabel.’ ” He then proceeded to tell the story. The bones were soon afterward sent to be interred at Baltimore[[.]]

The above is but a part of as weird and uncanny a story as any Poe ever wrought out of his peculiarly uncanny imagination. This sequel has but recently come to our knowledge and every item in it can be proven much more satisfactorily, than many incidents of Poe's daily life and habits, Names and places are withheld in this article, but can be furnished on demand. In the same room in which the bones of sweet Annabel Lee were kept, waiting the transfer into the hands of relatives in Baltimore, was also jealously guarded the original manuscript of “The Raven.” which was destined to a place in the corner stone of the Poe Monument. Late one afternoon, while the window happened to be opened, a raven flew in and lighted on the portfolio containing the precious manuscript. The gentleman in the room was, as can be readily conceived, at first much startled, but upon approaching the bird and finding it quite tame explained the strange coincident satisfactorily enough. The raven showed no disposition to move and the gentleman having no provision for so a guest, took him to a druggist, near by who kept him for his children, as there was no advertisement for him in the at daily the house papers. Soon after, while visiting at the house of a prominent and wealthy New Yorker, the hostess expressed to him a desire for a tame crow. Thinking the raven was worthy of a place in that household as a crow would be, the “gentleman in New York who knew much of Poe's life,” induced the druggist to return to him the raven, which he forthwith sent to the lady before mentioned, and in whose home it still (unless recently lost or deceased) lives a quiet and uneventful life.