The poet at this period was residing in a small but elegant little home,
superintended by his ever-faithful guardian, his wife's mother--his own
aunt, Mrs. Clemm, the lady whom he so gratefully addressed in after
years in the well-known sonnet, as "more than mother unto me." But a
change came o'er the spirit of his dream! His severance from 'Graham's',
owing to we know not what causes, took place, and his fragile schemes of
happiness faded as fast as the sunset. His means melted away, and he
became unfitted by mental trouble and ill-health to earn more. The
terrible straits to which he and his unfortunate beloved ones were
reduced may be comprehended after perusal of these words from Mr. A. B.
Harris's reminiscences.

Referring to the poet's residence in Spring Gardens, Philadelphia, this
writer says:

"It was during their stay there that Mrs. Poe, while singing one
evening, ruptured a blood-vessel, and after that she suffered a
hundred deaths. She could not bear the slightest exposure, and needed
the utmost care; and all those conveniences as to apartment and
surroundings which are so important in the case of an invalid were
almost matters of life and death to her. And yet the room where she
lay for weeks, hardly able to breathe, except as she was fanned, was a
little narrow place, with the ceiling so low over the narrow bed that
her head almost touched it. But no one dared to speak, Mr. Poe was so
sensitive and irritable; 'quick as steel and flint,' said one who knew
him in those days. And he would not allow a word about the danger of
her dying: the mention of it drove him wild."

Is it to be wondered at, should it not indeed be forgiven him, if,
impelled by the anxieties and privations at home, the unfortunate poet,