De Quincey: his Life and Writings, with Unpublished Correspondence (2024)

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{{Template}}De Quincey: his Life and Writings, with Unpublished Correspondence (1877) is a book by Alexander Hay Japp. The correspondence was supplied by De Quincey's daughters)..

PREFACE.

E QUINCEY had himself so fully told thestory of his childhood and youth-with itsdreams and strange sufferings-that something exceptionally interesting may be presumed tolie in the reading of letters and documents illustrating and confirming his " Confessions " and " Autobiographic Sketches " -letters and documents ofwhich he could scarcely have had any thought whenhe was penning those memorials. The careful readerwill see from the original matter in the earlier chapters of this book how correct and conscientious hewas even in minor details, when he found it requisiteto refer to them at all.Such a nature as De Quincey's needs to be seen inmany lights before it will reveal itself with eventhe degree of fulness necessary to consistent interpretation. I have been much helped in my endeavour in this direction by the great kindness of Mrs.Baird Smith and Miss de Quincey, who have affordedme free access to his papers now in their possession ,and rendered me such aid as I cannot fully signalisevi PREFACE.here, though the book throughout will be found topresent the proofs of it. Nor can I believe that.the " Reminiscences " by Mr. James Hogg, who wasso intimately associated with De Quincey in theclosing years of his life, will fail to be read withinterest, on account of their freshness, and the newview in some aspects that they give us of De Quincey.The same, I trust, may be said of Mr. Jacox'sRecollections, and of Dr. Warburton Begbie's accountof " The Last Days. " Scientific students, and thoseinterested in psychological investigations, will , nodoubt, turn with special interest to Dr. Eatwell'spaper on the " Medical View of De Quincey's Case, "in the Appendix, which he has kindly written atthe request of Mrs. Baird Smith. The story of thelife, as I think, was worth being completely told:whether I have done it justice is a question for othersto decide.I have to thank Mr. Carlyle for the privilegeof printing his letter at p. 278, vol. i. For valuablehelp, and hints, in the progress of my work, whichmay.not appear in the work itself, I have also tothank E. L Lushington, Esq. , LL.D. , Professor J.Nichol, LL.D., Professor Veitch, LL.D. , the Rev.W. H. Wylie, and other friends.H. A. PAGE.LONDON, March 1877.CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.ОНАР.1. INTRODUCTORYII. CHILDHOODPAGK1• 14III. SCHOOLS, AND TOUR IN IRELAND 28IV. MANCHESTER, AND WANDERINGS IN WALES .88888 63V. IN LONDONVI. OXFORDVII. WORDSWORTH AND COLERIDGE86100116VIII. SETTLEMENT AT GRASMERE • • 148IX. EDINBURGH 185X. GRASMERE, AND MARRIAGE · 192XI. THE WESTMORELAND GAZETTEXII. IN LONDON AGAINXIII. THE STRUGGLE MAINTAINED .XIV. RESIDENCE IN EDINBURGH205• 219, 273300XV. LASSWADE • • 319viii CONTENTS.LETTERS IN VOLUME I.From the Bath Grammar School to his SisterFrom Winkfield School to his SisterFrom Rev. E. W. Grinfield to Mrs Craig From Rev. Thomas Grinfield ·From Mr GraceTo his Mother, on his way to Ireland From Ireland, DescriptiveFrom Westport to his Mother From Manchester Grammar School to his MotherFrom Clifton to his SisterFrom Colonel PensonFrom London to Mr Kelsall at ManchesterFrom London to his Sister at SidmouthFrom Professor WilsonDo. Do. To Miss WordsworthFrom Grasmere to his Sister (with extract from a letter fromWordsworth)From Colonel PensonTo the WordsworthsTo Colonel PensonFrom Kendal to his WifeFrom Edinburgh to his Daughter MargaretFrom Professor Wilson (to "My Dear Plato ")From Miss Wordsworth (for Mrs De Quincey)From Mr Thomas CarlyleTo his DaughtersTo Miss Jessie MillerTo his Son FrancisTo a FriendTo Miss MitfordTo Mr Young, Banker, LasswadeTo his Daughter Margaret To Dr Moir ("Delta")To Professor LushingtonTo Miss MitfordTo his Daughter MargaretDo. Do. Do.Do.To his Daughter Florence To his Daughter MargaretTo a Young Friend, on a Literary Career To Mr Josiah QuinceyTo his Daughter FlorenceTo his Daughter Emily Letter about PopeTo Rev. Francis JacoxPAGE3640434447484952· 74 122137139140162163167• 172• 180· 181206· 213218270274278 304306· 322· 330· 331332· 336· 338• 338 339 341343· 345· 347· 350· 352366367370· 371373THOMAS DE QUINCEY.CHAPTER I.INTRODUCTORY.E QUINCEY himself, in descanting on theDream-faculty, says, " Habitually to dreammagnificently, a man must have a constitutional determination to reverie." In that sentence heannounces the true law of all literature that comesunder the order of pure phantasy. But in his case, inspite of the strength of the dream-element, we cannotproceed far till we discover that his determination toreverie was but the extreme projection of one phase ofa phenomenal nature balancing its opposite. He wasalso shrewd, observant, master of a fine humour thatdemanded contact with life for its free exercise. Froma nice examination of details he was under an inbornnecessity to rise to the principle that relates them,linking the disparate together; deeply interestedin the most practical and dry of studies-politicaleconomy. He was skilled in the exercises of theanalytic understanding-a logician exacting andprecise-else his dreaming had never gained for himVOL. I. A2 De Quincey's Life and Writings.the eminence it has gained. Surely it is calculatedto strike the most casual reader on a perusal of thatfirst edition of the " Confessions, " that his powersof following up sensational effects and tracing withabsolute exactness the most delicately varying shadesof experience, and recording them with conscientiousprecision, were as noticeable as were the dreams towhich they served to give effect. No proper groundhas been laid for a liberal and sympathetic appreciation of De Quincey till these points have been clearlyapprehended; and assuredly this is one of the caseswhere, as he himself has well said, " not to sympathiseis not to understand.One of the most tempting problems for criticismin reference to De Quincey would be to find out howthese varied elements influenced and reacted on eachother-a point on which we may elsewhere havesomething to say. But we cannot be wrong inurging at the very outset, that to isolate one development of a mind which was active in many directions,must prove as misleading to those who are guilty ofit as it is unjust to the subject. It is by way ofguarding ourselves from misapprehension at thestart that we make this statement, because criticismmust reduce the personality to a series of partsbefore it can reconstruct them into unity. It is wellthat we shall be able to present a narrative beforeany serious effort is made in this direction, so thatfacts themselves may qualify any disproportion.While we proceed to speak especially of the Dreaming power in De Quincey for a moment, it must beunderstood that it is with full perception of thequalifying elements with which it was allied.The Dreaming-power. 3What we are first of all concerned to make clearin reference to it is that De Quincey did not becomea dreamer because he fell under the " Circean spellof opium," but rather that he fell under the spell ofopium because of the excessive sensibility, thatcreated for him a world in which, in a very specialsense, he walked apart with creatures of his owncreation—the images or shadows of those whom hehad met and loved and lost. Every person thathad come close enough to his sympathy was soontranslated into an atmosphere of dream, whosepresence immediately penetrated his views of life andofnature, imparting to all a shadowy spirituality andpathetic pomp of colouring. It was because of thiselement that his sympathy with Wordsworth and hisinsight into that great poet's purposes were at onceso keen and so true; but this excessive sensibility,accompanied as it was with sensuous perceptionsunduly exacting, rendered him dependent on theperiodical gratification of certain senses or appetites.What he said of Lamb may with far greaterexpressness be applied to himself: "The sensibilityof his organisation was so exquisite that effectswhich travel by separate stages with most other men,in him fled along the nerves with the velocity oflight; " but it should be added that they levieda heavy tax on the vital powers, which could onlybe resuscitated by certain sensuous agencies. Hehimself repeatedly tells how essential had become tohim the gratification of the ear by music, and thiswas but one of the forms in which his nature cravedrelief and strengthening. He frankly confesses thathe was a Hedonist or Eudæmonist-that is, a seeker4 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of pleasure. But in his case the pleasure, if sensuous in its forms, was valued for the poetical orspiritual suggestions with which they were charged;so that if we must accept his own words in thismatter, it is with the clear qualification that he wasa refined and spiritual seeker of pleasure. Hefrankly writes:-" I confess it as a besetting infirmity of mine,that I am too much of an Eudæmonist; I hankertoo much after a state of happiness both for myselfand others: I cannot face misery, whether my ownor not, with an eye of sufficient firmness; and amlittle capable of encountering present pain for thesake of any reversionary benefit."It is to be noted, too, that in this frank confession he does in no way disconnect himself fromhis fellows-a point which deserves to be speciallydwelt on, as it shows how his love of solitude wasqualified by keen vicarious interests in ordinary cares,pains, and losses. His abstractive tendency, hisabsorption in his ideal world, his shy retiring fromcontact with the rough front of actual affairs, didnot, as in the case of many secluded dreamers andidealists, cause him to be discontented, peevish, andimpatient, persecuted with an egotistic itch for selfutterance, or for outward changes and reforms. Onthe contrary, his dreamy abstraction was associatedwith the utmost geniality, patience, a true sympathywith moods and habits the most alien from his own.He is, in spite of some tendencies often allied withmorbidity, very far from morbid. He is a philosopher, as he claims to be; but, as we have said, heis so far an idealist, and carries his own atmosphereHis Fellow-feeling. 5with him; throwing over every creature with whomhe comes into close contact the mantle of a gracioustolerance, in which defects were softened or obtrusivefaults condoned; and not seldom, by the very consideration and humane concession which this habitually prompted, he drew sweet waters where bitterstreams might have flowed. One of the most expressive and touching examples of this was the kindnesshe received from his rough fellow-passenger on thetop of the coach on that fruitless journey to Eton, inthe hope of gaining Lord Westport's aid to negotiatean advance on security of his expectations."The case was this: for the first four or five milesfrom London I annoyed my fellow-passenger on theroof by occasionally falling against him when thecoach gave a lurch to his side; and indeed if theroad had been less smooth and level than it is, Ishould have fallen from weakness. Of this annoyance he complained heavily, as perhaps in the circ*mstances most people would; he expressed hiscomplaint, however, more morosely than the occasionseemed to warrant; and if I had parted with himat that moment, I should have thought of him (if Ihad considered it worth while to think of him at all)as a surly and almost brutal fellow. However, Iwas conscious that I had given him some cause forcomplaint; and therefore I apologised to him, andassured him I would do what I could to avoid fallingasleep for the future; and at the same time, in asfew words as possible, I explained to him that I wasill and in a weak state from long suffering; and thatI could not afford at that time to take an insideplace. The man's manner changed, upon hearing6De Quincey's Life and Writings.this explanation, in an instant; and when I nextawoke for a minute from the noise and lights ofHounslow (for in spite of my wishes and efforts Ihad fallen asleep again within two minutes from thetime I had spoken to him) , I found that he had puthis arm round me to protect me from falling off:and for the rest of my journey he behaved to me withthe gentleness of a woman, so that at length Ialmost lay in his arms; and this was the more kind,as he could not have known that I was not goingthe whole way to Bath or Bristol. "Such experiences seemed to justify the philosophyon which he claims to have acted as deeming nohuman creature beneath his interest and his kindness; for we find him exclaiming even of the earlierLondon sufferings:He"Thank God! even in those years I needed notthe embellishments of novel accessories to conciliatemy affections. Plain human nature, in its humblestand most homely apparel, was enough for me. "is full of sympathy; his heart goes out at the slightestcall of weakness, suffering, or grief; and he invariably lifts the object to his own level, and surroundsit with the radiant light of his own sensibilities.And paradoxical as it may seem to say it, thisvein of kindly common-sense philosophy in DeQuincey, dreamer as he was, and persecuted by overfine sensibilities, went along with a vein of theConservative John Bull, to which he owed not alittle. How this came to consist with the otherelements in his constitution is another of the inscrutable puzzles of character and temperament,presenting us in his works with the most con-Not without Faults.7tradictory phenomena; and some attempt mayfarther on be made critically to deal with it. Wemay here say, however, that to it we owe his loveof the open air, his need for exercise, and his appreciation even of some forms of sport-whichdoubtless it was, almost as much as his ingenuityand learning, and the suggestiveness and originalityof his conversation, that fitted him to be for yearsthe close daily companion of Christopher North. Toit we owe also, perhaps in a still more intimate andspecial sense, his reverence for old English institutions, the Church of England in particular, and alsohis ready appreciation of human character, no lessthan his tendency to subordinate the picturesque, orstriking aspects of nature in themselves, to commonhuman interests and the ordinary concerns of life.De Quincey had faults, many faults, some frailties ,even; but, we take it, he who sees farthest will beinclined to censure least. He was often unpunctual toengagements; though courteous in the extreme, he didsometimes speak plainly, in spite of what a writer ofsome repute has named " a general weakness of themoral nature. " It is so easy to be severe; and notseldom severity comes of incomplete and hasty surveys. We admit that De Quincey might often havewritten with more rigour and compactness; and haveexercised more self-denial and self-suppression. Hehimself knew this well, and never sought to palliatehis offences. This, for example, is one mosttouching record of this kind: " In 1824 I had comeup to London upon an errand of itself sufficientlyvexatious of fighting against pecuniary embarrassments, by literary labours; but, as had always hap-8De Quincey's Life and Writings.•pened hitherto, with very imperfect success, throughderangement of one organ. It was rare indeedthat I could satisfy my own judgment, even tolerably,with the quality of any literary article I produced:and my power to make sustained exertions droopedin a way I could not control, every other hour of theday, insomuch, that what with parts to be cancelled ,and what with whole days of torpor and pure defectof power to produce anything at all, very often itturned out that all my labours were barely sufficient(sometimes not sufficient) to meet the current expenses of my residence in London."But if he had written differently, we are not surethat he would have written better, or that his additions to literature would have been more valuable—at all events, so far as they are autobiographic. Ifhe regarded too little the value of what is called apopular style, and steeped his writings too often inthe aroma of reverie, that has the advantage of presenting to those who read them in the true mooda most suggestive, if informal, biography. Andthen, assuredly, perfect characters are not tempting in biography. The interest of a life lies in thedifficulties that disturbed its even tenor, in theefforts made to conquer defects, inherited or induced,habits long-formed and persistent. De Quincey's lifewill be found to exhibit a double drama-first, aconflict with constitutional weakness, due to inheriteddisease, and strong habits superimposed upon it;and next, a contest against poverty and outwardill-fortune. In the subtle intertwistings of thesethe record is almost unique, full of the pathos thatinseparably connects itself with the sense of someSympathy a Pre-requisite. 9tragical fatality, such as is most often to be foundin fictions of the first order. But some degree ofsympathy is a pre-requisite. Without qualificationthese words may be applied to De Quincey himself:—" To understand in the fullest sense either the gaietyor the tenderness ofaparticular passage, you must havesome insight into the peculiar bias of thewriter's mind,whether native and original, or impressed graduallyby the accidents of situation; whether simply developed out of predispositions by the action of life, orviolently scorched into the constitution by some fiercefever of calamity. There is in modern literature awhole class of writers, though not a large one,standing within the same category; some markedoriginality in the character of the writer becomes a coefficient with what he says to a common result; youmust sympathise with this personality in the authorbefore you can appreciate the most significant partof his views. In most books the writer figures as amere abstraction, without sex or age, or local station ,whom the reader banishes from his thoughts.We read a Physiology, and need no informationabout the life and conversation of its author; ameditative poem becomes far better understood bythe light of such information; but a work of genialand at the same time eccentric sentiment, wandering into untrodden paths, is barely intelligible without it."·While fully and frankly acknowledging all thatcould be urged against him for actions that, in theeye of worldly prudence, could not be otherwise characterised than as simple or foolish-his lack ofcalculation, his odd, erratic ways, and his utter in-ΙΟ De Quincey's Life and Writings.capacity practically to face certain conditions, or todeal with certain types of character, all exaggeratedby his excessive indulgences in opium, -there yetremain elements of supreme attraction, which gainupon one the more that they are studied. Oneof the finest traits probably to be found in anyman who has risen to a high rank in literature isthat De Quincey was absolutely, from first to last,untouched by the vulgar desire for fame. Ifhe addedreal and permanent treasures to English literature,as we believe he did, then we owe them to adversecirc*mstances, and not to his desire to secure a placeamongst the great names of his country. And herearises a point which we deem it due to ourselves andto him to urge with all the emphasis that we cancommand. It is in one aspect the lesson of his life.He was driven at a comparatively early age into thehard competitions of literary and journalistic life inLondon. He had no craving for publicity. It hadoften struck those who had met him with keenestsurprise that a man who had mastered so much, andwho had already projected great works, felt so absolutely satisfied with secret self-expression. Up tothe year 1818, he had not published a single line,save with one notable exception, testifying to friendlydevotion, ofwhich we shall speak in the proper place.His "Confessions " were written under the sharpspur of necessity alone. His small patrimony, owingto his own almost reckless liberalities and his lackof worldly wisdom, had been extensively broken inupon. He was forced to make efforts to secure alivelihood for wife and children. The sufferings ofearly days had led to his yielding himself to opiumPsychological Interest. IIwhile yet a young man. His sense of duty to hisfamily it was that impelled him to persevere in hisgreat effort to break himself off the habit, which hedid, if not absolutely, yet in such a degree as enabled him to write what editors would buy. Henever piqued himself upon a strong will, but, on thecontrary, by inference, if not directly, acknowledgedits weakness. A sympathetic student, then, canhardly fail to be moved to some admiration of thisconfessed Hedonist, whose worst enemies were thoseof his own household-overfine sensibilities, andconstitutional habits of mind not readily yieldingthemselves to the line of marketable literature-whodid watch his moods, so as to have in some measure succeeded in a purpose that seemed hopeless.Realise, however vaguely, the besetting temperamental incapacity for sustained exertion on solidwork, the propensity to reverie, the added enfeeblements of frame induced by excessive opium-indulgences, and his life cannot but be viewed with somesympathy. His visionary power, his fine fancy, hiswide knowledge, his rare humour, taken togetherwith his true kindliness, his wide and yet stronglyindividual interests, present a combination of qualities which could hardly be conceived to exist in oneIf we could tell his story aright, even sofar as it is susceptible of being told, we feel certainthat few readers could fail to be touched by it.man.Whatever might, from certain points of view, beurged as to " the weakness of the moral nature," theinterest of a profound inward struggle-psychologically attractive in the highest sense -is not lacking.We see the dreaming faculty at first aided andI 2 De Quincey's Life and Writings.stimulated by the opium which in turn paralysedthe judgment and the will; and the effort is put forthover and over again to escape, and to reinstate thewill in its true place. De Quincey says in an earlierwriting:-" The fact is, that twice I mastered it, and byefforts even more prodigious in the second of thesecases than in the first. But one error I committed inboth. I did not connect with the abstinence fromopium, so trying to the fortitude under any circ*mstances, that enormity of exercise which (as I havesince learned) , is the one sole resource for making itendurable. I overlooked, in those days, the one sinequa non for making the triumph permanent. TwiceI sank, twice I rose again. A third time I sank,partly from oversight as to exercise, partly fromother causes, on which it avails not now to troublethe reader. I could moralise, if I chose; and perhaps he will moralise, whether I choose it or not.But, in the meantime, neither of us is acquaintedproperly with the circ*mstances of the case; I, fromnatural bias of judgment, not altogether acquainted;and he (with his permission) not at all. "And in the latest writing of all in which hetouches on the subject of opium, he tells us:-" After I had become a regular opium-eater, and frommismanagement had fallen into miserable excessesin the use of opium, I did, nevertheless, four severaltimes contend against and renounce it; renounced itfor long intervals; and finally resumed it upon thewarrant of my enlightened and deliberate judgment,as being of two evils by very much the least. In thisI acknowledge nothing that calls for excuse.IHis Renouncements ofOpium. 13repeat again and again, that not the application ofopium, with its deep tranquillising powers, to themitigation of evils bequeathed by my London hardships, is what reasonably calls for sorrow, but thatextravagance of childish folly which precipitated meinto scenes naturally producing such hardships. "If he thus fell over and over again, he did not tothe end cease the struggle; and as the result, wehave a body of literature that is now classic; sosubtle, graceful, and full of characteristic touches,that any of our older masters might well be pleasedto acknowledge it.This, however, is neither the place for eulogismnor for detailed criticisms; our business now is merelyto present an overture, to strike a keynote, to indicate generally the point of view. If we have prepared the reader to trace in the earlier stages of thisremarkable man's life the influences which afterwards became so express and powerful in his writings;to see how his fine genius was built up, appropriating its own proper nutriment from the most extraordinary and exceptional circ*mstances, we shallhave so far succeeded in our aim, and pass on withthe better heart to the pleasant task of general biographical survey.CHAPTER II.CHILDHOOD.N the occasion of an unexpected audience withroyalty at Frogmore, De Quincey, then a ladof sixteen, with his young companion, LordWestport, was amiably conversed with by George III.In the course of the interview the boy was grievedto discover that the King deemed him to be ofHuguenot or French extraction; but, with moretact than most boys would have shown in the circ*mstances, he was bold enough to remove theimpression by saying, " Please your Majesty, ourfamily has been in England since the Conquest.And on the King asking him how he knew that, hereferred to the existence of the name in old booksnotably in the earliest, " The Chronicle of Robertof Gloucester "-whereupon the King, who ratherprided himself on his genealogical knowledge, replied," To be sure: I know, I know. "99The De Quinceys were in origin unmistakablyNorse one of those families of restless, adventurous blood, ready to follow any worthy leader. Theydid join William the Norman, and as a reward,doubtless for good service , had privileges bestowedThe De Quinceys. 15on them, assumed a territorial distinction from thevillage of Quincey in Normandy, and from thence,us was to be expected of a family of such character,transplanted themselves to England in due course.There, by dint of discernment and prudent intermarriages, they rose to rank and influence. Ayounger branch of the family was among the earliestemigrants to New England; and, yielding to thedemocratic atmosphere in which they found themselves, they laid aside the aristocratic prefix, onlyto attach to the name of Quincey a distinction stillmore historical, as that of great American senatorsand men of letters. The squires who had madegood their footing in England as proprietors of thesoil, have not, from whatever cause, perpetuatedthemselves in that guise to our day. De Quinceyhimself tells us that the " last of them who enjoyedany relics whatever of that territorial domain wasan elder kinsman of my father. "The De Quinceys, however, in the more peacefulpursuits of commerce, to which in later days theybetook themselves, would seem to have been almostas successful as their ancestors in the stormier timesofwarfare. And Thomas de Quincey's father in thisshared all the old good fortune, or what was perhapsmore to the purpose, exhibited all the old enterpriseand prudence. He was a Manchester merchant,carrying on extensive transactions with America andthe West Indies. We find records of him in thecourse of his son's reminiscences to the effect thathe was "esteemed during his life for his greatintegrity," was besides " a man of cultured taste,given to literary pursuits, and was himself an anony-16 De Quincey's Life and Writings.mous author. " He had married while still younga Miss Penson, the daughter of an English officer,a woman of very marked character and rare intellectual endowments. Of her we read: " Mymother, I may mention with honour, as still morehighly gifted; for though unpretending to the nameand honours of a literary woman, I shall presume tocall her (what many literary women are not) anintellectual woman; and I believe that if ever herletters should be collected and published, they wouldbe thought generally to exhibit as much strong andmasculine sense, delivered in as pure ' mother English,' racy and fresh with idiomatic graces, as any inour language-hardly excepting those of Lady MaryWortley Montagu. "Thomas de Quincey was the fifth child of thisunion, and was born in Greenheys, near Manchester,on the 15th August 1785. Three sisters and abrother were his seniors; and their influence on him,together with that of the circ*mstances of hischildhood, were very marked and abiding. Greenheys was a suburb of Manchester, then particularlyretired "a rustic solitude "-forming a sort ofterminus ad quem, beyond which was nothing but acluster of cottages, composing the little hamlet ofGreenhill. Shortly after the birth of Thomas, hisfather fell into such ill health that, under medicaladvice, he was compelled to spend nearly the wholeof his time abroad. This circ*mstance, as may besupposed, cast a shadow over the social life of thefamily, and imparted to the atmosphere of the homea deep quietude, which served to add to its isolation .But the boy did not need the help of the ordinaryEarliest Incidents. 17stimulants to develop his faculties. While a mereinfant, according to his own account, he was soinfluenced by certain aspects of nature, and so possessed by the remembrance of majestic dreams, thatin the ordinary sense he can scarcely be said to havehad any childhood-his mind, as it were, unfoldinginto flower without the gradual initiatory process ofbudding. In one of his less known papers he says:-" Living in the country, I was naturally first laidhold of by rural appearances or incidents. The veryearliest feelings that I recall of a powerful characterwere connected with some clusters of crocuses in thegarden. Next, I felt the passion of grief in a profound degree, for the death of a beautiful bird, akingfisher, which had been taken up in the gardenwith a fractured wing. That occurred before I wastwo years of age. Next, I felt no grief at all , butawe the most enduring, and a dawning sense of theinfinite, which brooded over me, more or less, afterthat time. "In his "Autobiographic Sketches " he thus drawshis own inference from this and other circ*mstancesof that period:-"The earliest incidents in my life, which left stingsin my memory so as to be remembered at this day,were two, and both before I could have completedmy second year; namely, first, a remarkable dreamof terrific grandeur about a favourite nurse, whichis interesting to myself for this reason that itdemonstrates my dreaming tendencies to have beenconstitutional and not dependent upon laudanum;and, secondly, the fact ofhaving connected a profoundsense of pathos with the reappearance, very earlyVOL. I. B18De Quincey's Life and Writings.in the spring, of some crocuses. This I mention asinexplicable for such annual resurrection of plantsand flowers affect us only as memorials, or suggestions of some higher change, and therefore in connection with the idea of death; yet of death Icould, at that time, have had no experience whatever. "About the same time the death of his sister Janeleft a still more profound impression on his mind,complicated as the circ*mstances were by elementsof a wholly new character. These resulted from thefact that a few days before the child's death therehad been some whispering amongst the other servantsand the children of cruelty done to her by a nurse.Though it never reached the mother's ear, it left adeep impression on the boy's mind, which may benoted as the cause of his first awakening to the senseof the strife and evil of the world, and to a consciousness of constitutional horror of violence. Hesays:-" I did not often see the person charged withthis cruelty; but, when I did, my eyes sought theground; nor could I have borne to look in her face;not, however, in any spirit that could be calledanger. The feeling which fell upon me was a shuddering horror, as upon a first glimpse of the truththat I was in a world of evil and strife. "The faculty of rising from facts and persons to theabstract idea, which underlies them and only revealsitself to the adult meditative mind by educated effort,is every way remarkable. And whatever deductionsdifferent minds may feel inclined to make withregard to these reports of childish experiences ,"A Doll that could Talk." 19it is abundantly clear that we have to do with apremature and wholly abnormal development. Asyet De Quincey himself does not claim that theidea of death, as separation and absolute removal,had revealed itself to him. "I knew little moreof mortality than that Jane had disappeared. Shehad gone away; but perhaps she would come back.Happy interval of heaven-born ignorance! Graciousimmunity of infancy from sorrow disproportioned toits strength! I was sad for Jane's absence. Butstill in my heart I trusted that she would comeagain. Summer and winter came again-crocusesand roses; why not little Jane? "When a little over two years old he was seizedwith an ague which persistently clung to him tillthe end of his fourth year. During this period ofaffliction his mother assiduously attended to him andread to him, and it was towards the end of this illness that a memorable association was begun. Hismother was then visited by a Miss Watson, a daughterof General Watson, that friend who afterwards became Lady Carbery, and who figures so radiantly inDe Quincey's later Recollections. The girl was so attracted by the quaint and premature ways of the child,that though De Quincey speaks of her as having foundin him a " doll that could talk," we may well believethat a sensitive, well- educated young girl might veryeasily have felt a more intelligent interest in his oddand unchildlike speeches. We find elsewhere a verycharacteristic memory of his emergence from thisplague of ague:-" I remember even yet, as a personal experience,that when first arrayed, at four years old, in nankeen20 De Quincey's Life and Writings.trousers, though still so far retaining hermaphroditerelations of dress as to wear a petticoat above mytrousers, all my female friends (because they pitiedme, as one that had suffered from years of ague)filled my pockets with half- crowns, of which I canrender no account at this day."But the death of a second sister, Elizabeth, whilehe was still in his sixth year, awakened in him fullythe sense of the ineffable mystery of death. Shewas about nine. " Perhaps," he says, " the naturalprecedency in authority of years, united to the tenderhumility with which she declined to assert it, hadbeen among the fascinations of her presence. " Herdeath left his existence empty, dark, like a worldwithout a sun; and he does not hesitate to say thathis sad and strange experiences at that stage ofchildhood projected themselves, in their effects, farinto his later years. "For thou, dear noble Elizabeth, around whose ample brow, as often as thysweet countenance rises upon the darkness, I fancya tiara of light, or a gleaming aureola in token ofthy premature intellectual grandeur,-thou whosehead, for its superb developments, was the astonishment of science,-thou next, but after an intervalof happy years, thou also wert summoned awayfrom our nursery; and the night, which for megathered upon that event, ran after my steps farinto life; and perhaps at this day I resemble littlefor good or for ill that which else I should havebeen. Pillar of fire, that didst go before me to guideand to quicken, -pillar of darkness, when thy countenance was turned away to God, that didst tootruly reveal to my dawning fears the secret shadowA Vision. 21of death, -by what mysterious gravitation was it thatmy heart was drawn to thine? "While she lay a corpse he stole secretly to herchamber, knelt by her side, and in mute farewellkissed the cold lips in a passion of grief. We noticethese circ*mstances, because already had arisen onhim that peculiar faculty of identifying the mostpassionate as well as the most impalpable of feelingswith the impressions of the ear:-" From the gorgeous sunlight, I turned round tothe corpse. There lay the sweet childish figure;there the angel face; and, as people usually fancy,it was said in the house that the features had suffered no change. Had they not? The forehead,indeed the serene and noble forehead-that mightbe the same; but the frozen eyelids, the darknessthat seemed to steal from beneath them, the marblelips, the stiffening hands, laid palm to palm, as ifrepeating the supplications of the closing anguish,-could these be mistaken for life? Had it beenso, wherefore did I not spring to those heavenly lipswith tears and never- ending kisses? But so it wasnot. I stood checked for a moment; awe, not fear,fell upon me; and whilst I stood, a solemn wind beganto blow-the saddest that ever ear heard. It was awind that might have swept the field of mortalityfor a thousand centuries. Many times since, uponsummer days, when the sun is about the hottest, Ihave remarked the same wind arising and utteringthe same hollow, solemn, Memnonian but saintlyswell: it is in this world the one great audible symbol of eternity. . . Instantly, when my ear caughtthis vast Æolian intonation, when my eye filled22 De Quincey's Life and Writings.with the golden fulness of life, the pomps of theheaven above, or the glory of the flowers below, andturning when it settled upon the frost which overspread my sister's face, instantly a trance fell uponme. A vault seemed to open in the zenith of thefar blue sky, a shaft which ran up for ever. I, inspirit, rose as if on billows that also ran up theshaft for ever; and the billows seemed to pursue thethrone of God; but that also ran before us and fledaway continually. The flight and the pursuit seemedto go on for ever and ever. Frost gathering frost,some Sarsar wind of death, seemed to repel me;some mighty relation between God and death dimlystruggled to evolve itself from the dreadful antagonism between them; shadowy meanings even yetcontinue to exercise and torment, in dreams, the deciphering oracle within me. I slept for how longI cannot say; slowly I recovered my self-possession;and, when I awoke, found myself standing, as before,close to my sister's bed." I have reason to believe that a very long intervalhad elapsed during this wandering or suspension ofmy perfect mind. When I returned to myself, therewas a foot (or I fancied so) on the stairs. I wasalarmed; for if anybody had detected me, meanswould have been taken to prevent my coming again.Hastily, therefore, I kissed the lips that I shouldkiss no more, and slunk, like a guilty thing, withstealthy steps from the room. Thus perished thevision, loveliest amongst all the shows which earthhas revealed to me; thus mutilated was the partingwhich should have lasted for ever; tainted thuswith fear was that farewell sacred to love andHis Father's Home-coming. 23grief, to perfect love and to grief that could notbe healed."The majesty of the English funeral service andall the attendant circ*mstances mingled themselveswith his impressions at the bedside of the dead. Andwhilst he was yet " obstinately tormenting the bluedepths with his scrutiny, searching them for oneangelic face that might perhaps have permission toreveal itself for a moment, " he was anew called toconfront the image of death. His father, who hadfor years been absent in France, in Lisbon, inCintra, in Madeira, in the West Indies, in the hopeof relief from consumption, at length came home todie. Very graphic is his record of the anxious waiting at Greenheys for the sound of the carriage bringing the invalid. His whole attitude-his clearperception of the practical bearings of the case, hismeditative melancholy-belongs rather to the manwho has suffered, yet has lost nothing of his originalsensibility and tenderness, than to a child of seven.He writes:-" The first notice of the approach was the suddenemerging of horses' heads from the deep gloom of theshady lane; the next was the mass of white pillowsagainst which the dying patient was reclining. Thehearse-like pace at which the carriage moved recalledthe overwhelming spectacle of that funeral which hadso lately formed a part in the most memorable eventof my life. But these elements of awe, that mightat any rate have struck forcibly upon the mind of achild, were for me, in my condition of morbid nervousness, raised into abiding grandeur by the antecedent experiences of that particular summer night.24 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The listening for hours to the sounds from horses'hoofs upon distant roads, rising and falling, caughtand lost, upon the gentle undulation of such fitful airsas might be stirring-the peculiar solemnity of thehours succeeding to the sunset-the glory of thedying day-the gorgeousness which, by description,so well I knew, of sunset in these West IndianIslands from which my father was returning-theknowledge that he returned only to die-the almightypomp in which this great idea of death appareleditself to my young sorrowing heart-the corresponding pomp in which the antagonistic idea, not lessmysterious, of life, rose, as if on wings, amidsttropic glories and floral pageantries that seemed evenmore solemn and pathetic than the vapoury plumesand trophies of mortality,-all this chorus of restlessimages, or of suggestive thoughts, gave to myfather's return, which else had been fitted only tointerpose one transitory red-letter day in the calendar of a child, the shadowy power of an ineffaceableagency among my dreams. This, indeed, was theone sole memorial which restores my father's imageto me as a personal reality; otherwise he would havebeen for me a bare nominis umbra. He languished,indeed, for weeks upon a sofa; and during thatinterval, it happened naturally, from my repose ofmanners, that I was a privileged visitor to himthroughout his waking hours. I was also present athis bedside in the closing hour of his life, which exhaled quietly, amidst snatches of delirious conversation with some imaginary visitors. "It is worthy of notice too, that, in his " Confessions, " the solemn pomp of the funeral service, nowHis Father's Library. 25again heard, fixed itself indelibly in his mind, concurring, as he says, with all his previous feelings.So we see laid in the dim and tender years of childhood the foundations of a nature open to all therare influences of life, sensitive to sounds, as finding there symbols of mystery and awe, and apt toconnect every sensitive impression, however vagueand impalpable, with some outward and sensiblepresence.Not unnaturally he now more than ever stroveto find some small means of escape from his ownmisery in books; but, unfortunately, his father'slibrary afforded little that helped him. While dwelling on this circ*mstance in one of his less knownwritings, he gives us a little glimpse into themode of thought and feeling that had obtained atGreenheys:" Cowper was the poet whom they generally mostvalued; Dr. Johnson, who had just ceased to be aliving author, was looked up to with great reverence and interest upon various mixed feelings;partly for his courage, for his sturdy and uncomplying morality, according to his views, and hisgeneral love of truth. Too little attention waspaid to music, and a disproportionate reverence toerudition. Not having the advantage of a collegeeducation themselves, my father and his classlooked up with too much admiration to those whohad; ascribing to them, with a natural modesty,a superiority greatly beyond the fact; and notallowing themselves to see that business and thepractice of life had given to themselves countervailing advantages, nor discerning that too often26 De Quincey's Life and Writings.the scholar had become dull and comatose overhis books; whilst the activity of trade, and thestrife of practical business , had sharpened theirown judgments, set an edge upon their understandings, and increased the mobility of their generalpowers. "Notwithstanding the aspect of stateliness in thelife at Greenheys, the children were treated with aSpartan- like simplicity in diet and other things;faring, indeed, as De Quincey says, less sumptuouslythan the servants-a matter for which he significantly expresses gratitude. He deliberately recordsit as cause for thankfulness , also, that he passed hischildhood in a rural solitude, and that his " infantfeelings were moulded by the gentlest of sisters,and not by horrid pugilistic brothers." This hemight not have been able to record so unqualifiedly,if his elder brother, who was strong and active, hadnot been much with his father abroad, and morerecently at a public school. He very soon after thisbrought a new element of strife and fear into DeQuincey's life. Meantime deep peace fell for a spaceon the family at Greenheys, while the shadows ofgrief and loss rested upon it. The first raising ofthe curtain which was to introduce him to the greatworld was not far distant, for the question of aschool was discussed, and with such discussionsmay it not be said that the outward signs of childhood have passed?The outward circ*mstances of the family werehardly equal to the position in which they had lived.In spite of the father's success, his lengthened illness, and his early death in his thirty-ninth year, areSimplicity ofLife at Greenheys. 27reasons sufficient why, notwithstanding the aspectof luxury and elegance that obtained at Greenheys,the whole estate left amounted only to £1600 a year-the allowance to each of the boys being £ 150, andto each of the girls £100.BCHAPTER III.SCHOOLS, AND TOUR IN Ireland.OUGH was his awakening from the luxury ofdreams in which he had found his solace.No sooner were the boys relieved from therestraints imposed by a period of mourning, than theelder brother, an adventurous and haughty boy, withno love of books or of gentle pleasures, began to lordit over his fragile companion. This boy, after returning from a period of residence at Lisbon with hisfather, had been for some time at the Grammar Schoolat Louthin Lincolnshire; and, having passed throughthe ordeal to which boys were then exposed at publicschools, he was not disinclined to practise what hehad learned, in all probability, not without a measure of pain. His contempt for his shy and delicatecompanion was soon awakened on perceiving howhe shrank from the calls made upon him to aid inrough escapades. His scorn was freely expressed,even whilst the younger was struggling, against allhis deeper feelings, to obey his behests." ThePillars of Hercules," says De Quincey, humorously,66 upon which rested the vast edifice of his scorn ,were these two -1st, my physics; he denounced meA Juvenile Campaign.29for effeminacy: 2d, he assumed, and even postulatedas a datum, which I myself could never have the faceto refuse, my general idiocy. Physically, therefore,and intellectually, he looked upon me as belownotice; but, morally, he assured me that he wouldgive me a written character of the very best description, whenever I chose to apply for it. "All De Quincey's sufferings were intensified when,shortly after his father's death, the boys were sentdaily to study classics under the Rev. Samuel Hall,one of their guardians, in Salford, within a mile ofGreenheys. The coming and going became continuousscenes of feud. The elder brother picked a quarrelwith the factory boys, and a campaign was persistently carried on. De Quincey was compelled to helphis brother under terror of being punished and gibedat; and he lived in a fever of fear. The account ofthis period is brightened by the play of that quainthumour which De Quincey could so well throw oversuch reminiscences.Among his papers we have found not a few references to this period, and to circ*mstances connectedwith it. He is fond of figuring their contests withthe factory boys under the phantasy of regular warfare, and writes in one place:" Because of this good disposition on my part, mypromotion went forward rapidly; and I am sure itwill give the reader satisfaction to hear that precisely on my eighth birthday I was raised to therank of major-general. And by merit, observepure merit. What else could it be? For interest orirregular influence, by means of back-stairs or frontstairs, I never had. The particular merit which I30 De Quincey's Life and Writings.had consisted in absolute docility. What I was toldto do I did, never presuming to murmur or toargue, or so much as to think about the nature ofmy orders. Doubtless, and willingly I allow it, ifthose orders were to run away, I obeyed them morecheerfully. "And he thus carries out the phantasy by picturinga visit from his tutor:-"My reverend guardian had always been free ofthe house at Greenheys-free to come, and free to go,without question asked or limits prescribed to hisvisits. Nobody was more respected in the house; andsometimes, but not very often, he used this licence.Had he happened to walk over upon a night when Iwas desired to consider myself under arrest, and hadbeen told of my exceeding depression, he would haveto my bedside; in which case the followingdialogue must to a certainty have taken place between us; so certainly, that I request the reader toconsider me as reporting rather what was than whatmerely might have been:-come up" Guardian. -What is this I hear, child? Whatare you fretting about?'" I.-Because I'm under arrest. '" Guard.-Arrest! Nonsense! Who could putyou under arrest? A child like you?""I. -The commander-in-chief. 'Who was it?'" Guard. —Oh, dear! this is very sad. My poorchild, I'm afraid you're very ill indeed. The commander-in-chief, do you say? And pray, now, ifit's no secret, what for?'" I. -Oh, because he says that I didn't chargethe left wing of the enemy with sufficient pluck. 'Under Arrest.31" Guard. (after musing for some time. ) —Well,now, my poor dear child, is that true? Does HisRoyal Highness the commander-in-chief say trulywhen he charges you with this breach of duty? '" I. (Rising up energetically in bed. )—No, sir;he does not. I did my best. '" Guard.-Well, that's right; nobody can domore."“ ' I. —But he's never content; he▬▬I am" Guard.-Who? the commander- in-chief? '" I.—Yes, sir, the commander- in-chief.but a major-general myself. However-" Guard.-Oh! you are a major-general, areyou?'" I.-Yes, sir, nothing more; and the case is ,that the commander-in-chief-" Guard.- Charged you with not charging theenemy. He charges you, but you didn't charge theenemy.'‹‹‹ I.—Oh, no, if you please; he knew very wellthat I charged them; but he said that I did notcharge home.'" Guard.-Well, now, my opinion is , that youbehaved well enough if you charged at all. Andsupposing that I should write to the Horse Guardsupon this painful subject, I shall say as much; inwhich case I think that the arrest will be taken off,In the meantime, as it seems to disturb your rest,perhaps you had better take a little medicine. Butfirst I will go and consult your mother. ' "On one or two occasions the poor boy actually fellinto the hands of the enemy; and on these occasionshis treatment was a surprise.32 De Quincey's Life and Writings." In my former captures," he says, writing of amemorable third one, "there had been nothingspecial or worthy of commemoration in the circ*mstances. Neither was there in this third, exceptingthat, by accident, in the second stage of the case,I was delivered over to the custody of young womenand girls; whereas the ordinary course would havethrown me upon the vigilant attention (relieved frommonotony by the experimental kicks) of boys. Sofar the change was very much for the better. I hada feeling myself, on first being presented to my newyoung mistresses, of a distressing sort. Havingalways, up to the completion of my sixth year, beena privileged pet, and almost, I might say, rankingamong the sanctities of the household, with all itsfemale sections, whether young or old (an advantagewhich I owed originally to a long illness , an ague,stretching over two entire years of my infancy) ,naturally I had learned to appreciate the indulgenttenderness of women; and my heart thrilled withlove and gratitude, as often as they took me up intotheir arms and kissed me. Here it would have beenas everywhere else; but, unfortunately, my introduction to these young women was in the very worst ofcharacters. I had been taken in arms-in armsagainst their own brothers, cousins, sweethearts, andon pretexts too frivolous to mention. ".Terrors and manifold dim anticipations of punishment were passing through his brain, he says, " whensuddenly one young woman snatched me up in herarms, and kissed me; from her, I was passed roundto others of the party, who all in turn caressed me,with no allusion to that warlike mission, againstCaresses ofthe Enemy. 33them and theirs, which only had procured me thehonour of an introduction to themselves in the character of captive. The too palpable fact that I wasnot the person meant by nature to exterminate theirfamilies, or to make wildernesses, and call thempacifications, had withdrawn from their minds thecounter-fact that, whatever had been my performances, my intentions had been hostile, and that insuch a character only I could have become theirprisoner. Not only did these young people kiss me,but I (seeing no military reason against it) kissedthem. Really, if young women will insist on kissingmajor-generals, they must expect that the generalswill retaliate. One only in the crowd adverted tothe character in which I came before them: to be alawful prisoner, it struck her too logical mind, thatI must have been caught in some aggressive practices. ' Think,' she said, ' of this little dog fighting,and fighting our Jack. ' ' But,' said another, in apropitiatory tone, ' perhaps he'll not do so any more. 'I was touched by the kindness of her suggestion, andthe sweet, merciful sound of that same Not do soany more. It may be, indeed, that the arrest ofwhich we have found such careful record may havebeen the punishment for this unsoldierly yieldingto the caresses of the enemy.999 .De Quincey, as the reader is hardly prepared tofind, attributes to his introduction to this roughexperience some markedly compensatory influences."Well was it for me at this period, if well for me tolive at all, that from any continued contemplation ofmy misery, I was forced to wean myself, and suddenly to assume the harness of life. Else, underVOL. I. C34 De Quincey's Life and Writings.the morbid languishing of grief, and of what theRomans call desiderium (the yearning too obstinateafter one irrecoverable face), too probably I shouldhave pined away into an early grave. Harsh was myawaking; but the rough febrifuge which this awaking administered, broke the strength of my sicklyreveries through a period of more than two years;by which time, under the natural expansion of mybodily strength, the danger had passed over."This brother, William, —to whom De Quincey soungrudgingly attributes a good influence on his ownfate, —was in every way a boy of remarkable character and energy. Though he disliked study, he couldmake use of books. He was incessantly writing andinventing, and invariably assumed towards the othersthe attitude of a teacher or master. He read lectureson physics in the nursery, and tried to construct anapparatus for walking across the ceiling like a fly,first on the principle of skates , and afterwards onthat of a humming-top. He made balloons; heacted tragedies full of imaginary horrors; and drewpictures that frightened his sisters and the servants.He was fond of ghostly stories , and of speculatingon possibilities in connection with them, -as, forinstance, whether it were not possible that a confederation of all the ghosts might not defeat thewhole living generation ofmen-indicating a spiritualor speculative vein wholly exceptional as associatedwith such practical force. The two brothers installedthemselves as governors of imaginary kingdomsthat of the younger being always, on some pretext,invaded by the neighbouring potentate; and there isan odd but characteristic incident, due to Lord Mon-The Bath Grammar School.35boddo's theory, which, doubtless, would have made hisLordship laugh, but which was very gravely real andearnest to one of the persons concerned. In truth, thewhole character of the young family is marked by precocity the most complete, suggesting howfar the hereditary taint is to be credited with so exceptional a development. De Quincey afterwards had no doubt ofhereditary taint in his own case, speaking plainly ofhis symptoms in youth-hectic complexion, nocturnalperspiration, difficult breathing, and other signs ofphthisis. These, as we shall see, he considered wereafterwards arrested by his recourse to opium.William, amongst his other gifts, showed a geniusfor drawing; and when Greenhay was broken up, hewas parted from his brother, and apprenticed, withpremium, to Mr. de Louthenberg, then a well- knownAcademician. He died in London, of typhus, in hissixteenth year.Thomas's progress at Salford had been remarkable,especially in Latin, in which his tutor, as he himselftells us, was an expert scholar. It was probablyon account of his proficiency in this branch that, inhis eleventh year, it was arranged he should enterthe Bath Grammar School, then under Mr. Morgan,an accomplished Etonian. To it he accordingly went,along with a brother younger than himself by fouryears, of whom he has given us some charmingglimpses. This was a child of beauty almost feminine,and of very winning disposition -so much so, that theattentions paid to himwere apt to become troublesome." For two years, " says De Quincey, " this continued-a subject of irritation the keenest on one side, andof laughter on the other, between my brother and his36De Quincey'sLife and Writings.99uglier schoolfellows, myself being among the number." All readers of De Quincey's " AutobiographicSketches will remember the many references to" Pink," the pain of the parting of the brothers asthey afterwards proceeded to different schools; andthe shadow of disaster that sat upon " Pink's " younglife.We are fortunately able to give a specimen or twoof De Quincey's schoolboy letters. The followingwas written to his sister Mary, who was then atschool in Bristol, and shows that thus early hisfancifulness and fun had begun to assert themselves.He playfully signs himself, as will be noticed,66 Tabitha," on which some jokes are founded, anddrops the aristocratic " de "-a circ*mstance on whicha remark will fall to be made by and by.66BATH, GREEN PARK BUILDINGS EAST, No. 6.Tuesday Morning, March 12th, 1799.MY DEAR SISTER,-Once more after a long campaign—afterBella, horrida bella"-I return to the arts of peace. Don'tyou think this a fine metaphor? Well, I suppose you wouldlike to hear how this war first broke out? This day six weeksas we were up saying, Mr. M. was called out, and so forsoothlittle, or rather big Mounseer Collins must jump into the desk.It happened that little Harman minor wanted his hat, whichhung up over Collins's head. Wilbraham asked for the cane toreach it him, which Coll. refused, and at the same time to givea little strength (I suppose) to his refusal, and to enforce hisauthority as a master, endeavoured to hit him on the shoulder(as he says); but how shall I relate the sequel? On poor Egodid it fall. Say, Muse, what could inspire the cane with such adireful purpose? But not on my shoulder, on my pate it fell-unhappy pate! worthy of a better fate! Do you see thatpate and fate rime, ay? However, I went on with my lessonwhen Mr. M. returned. As soon as Icame home my motherThe Accident to his Head. 37sent for Mr. Grant; about three o'clock he came. I was thenshaved on the place, and bled with six leeches; and two of theold jockies were so fond of my head that they staid on forthree hours, and would not have departed even then, had notMr. Grant (who came again at nine o'clock) flogged them offwith some salt. Next morning I was bled again by the samenumber. For three weeks I neither read, nor wrote, nortalked, nor eat meat, nor went out of the back drawing- room,except when I went to bed. In the fourth week I read for aquarter ofan hour per day! and eat a little bit of meat; but Idid not write. I now do everything as I used to do, exceptdancing, running, drinking wine. I am not to go to school tillEaster.My mother wishes to know whether onny of the little Innocents are coming to Bath; because she would wish you to comewith them. I should suppose old Madam Richardson orIngleby, or some of those old jockies, will come, and then youmight take a Saturday-afternoon coach and come to tea; sowrite as early as you can. I believe you will be in time forMademoiselle's ball, which was put off (as I suppose) on myaccount.I was introduced last Thursday night to young Lord Westport (Lord Altamont's only child), and on Sunday I dined withhim at his house at Lansdown. He is a very nice boy, aboutmy size. My mother will call upon Mr. and Mrs. Grace (N.B.Mr. Grace is his tutor), and invite them and Lord W. to ourhouse, where I shall have the opportunity of introducing himto you. Dr. Mapleton and Mr. Grant have left off coming tovisit me. My mother desires her love to you. Mrs. Pratt continues to grow better; she has no complaint, but is still unableto walk even upstairs without help. She goes out every day ina chair. N.B. They have a gang of robbers in Manchester.Mr Kelsall's warehouse was attempted, but John C. called thewatchmen, who drove them off. Some of the new books arecome-viz. , " Asiatic Researches " (Sir William Jones' work),Goldsmith's Histories of Greece and England, Milner's"Ecclesiastical History," " Rambler," Hoole's "OrlandoFurioso," Hoole's "Tasso," Venn's " Duty of Man," Ogden's"Sermons," &c.-Believe me, your affectionate sister,TABITHA QUINCEY.38De Quincey'sLifeandWritings.His passion for books-of which he had begunto make a collection-had even at this early stagebrought a shadowy sorrow into De Quincey's boylife. He exceeded his liberal allowance of pocketmoney, and ran in debt to the extent of some threeguineas; and as he was ashamed to tell any of hisfriends or to ask their help, his trouble of conscienceand his grief became excessive. Not improbably thiscirc*mstance, in conjunction with his natural dislikeof being made an object of show, sufficed to renderhim little pleased with the plaudits which wereshowered upon him at the Bath Grammar School.He soon reached the acme of distinction. The masterparaded his Latin verses before the older boys. They,however, were moved rather to hatred than to emulation. In one or two instances he was reproachedand insulted by them. They tried by every meansto fasten quarrels on him. He, all this time, waspining for a sympathy that seemed inaccessible, andhe thus indicates his feelings at that period:-" Yet, for a word spoken in kindness , how readilyI would have resigned (had it been altogether at myown choice to do so) the peaco*ck's feather in mycap as the merest of baubles. Undoubtedly, praisesounded sweet in my ears also; but that was nothing.by comparison with what stood on the other side. Idetested distinctions that were connected with mortifications to others; and, even if I could have gotover that, the eternal feud fretted and tormented mynature. The contest was terminated for me by myremoval from the school, in consequence of a veryalarming illness threatening my head; but it lastedmore than a year, and it did not close before severalHis Progress in Greek. 39among my public enemies had become my privatefriends. 'At Bath, too, it was that De Quincey developedhis passion for Greek, soon acquiring great masteryin it. His former tutor had given all the preference to Latin, and when he first went to Bath, theolder boys, who were directed to his Latin verses asto models, had the advantage over him in the freedom with which they could handle the choral partsof Greek plays; but, taken with the love of Greek,his remarkable memory and his tact for languagesstood him in good stead. " At thirteen, I wroteGreek with ease," he says, " and at fifteen my command of that language was so great, that I not onlycomposed Greek verses in lyric metres, but couldconverse in Greek fluently, and without embarrassment-an accomplishment which I have not sincemet with in any scholar of my times, and which, inmy case, was owing to the practice of daily readingoff the newspapers into the best Greek I could furnish extempore; for the necessity of ransacking mymemory and invention, for all sorts and combinations of periphrastic expressions, as equivalents formodern ideas, images, relations of things, &c. , gaveme a compass ofdiction which would never have beencalled out by a dull translation of moral essays, &c.' That boy, ' said one of the masters, pointing theattention of a stranger to me, that boy couldharangue an Athenian mob, better than you or Icould address an English one. ' He who honouredme with this eulogy was a scholar, and a ripe andgood one: ' and of all my tutors, was the only onewhom I loved or reverenced. "40 De Quincey's Life and Writings.During the illness which had necessitated hisremoval from Bath, his mother read to him, as shehad done during his infantine sufferings from ague.It is very characteristic of his mother, as illustratingher austerity of character, that she was " shocked atmy hearing compliments to my own merits, and wasaltogether disturbed at what doubtless the teachershad expected to see received with maternal pride. Shedeclined to let me return to the Bath School on myrecovery, and [shortly afterwards] I went to anotherat Winkfield, in the county of Wilts, of which thechief recommendation lay in ' the religious characterofthe master."" In this trait of De Quincey's mother,readers of recent biography will detect something nota little kindred to what frequently comes out in LordMacaulay's treatment by his father in the earlierdays. This type of severity would almost seem tobe inseparable from certain forms of Evangelicalism—as if rigid and gloomy dogmas leave no openings forsympathetic expression in certain directions, but ascertainly, account for it how we may, it has been aleading influence in framing noble characters.It must have been some relief for the boy to indulge freely his fun and frolic in writing to hissister at Bristol. In one letter we find him thusexcusing himself for delay in writing:-—MY DEAR SISTER,-The tip of my nose is covered with confusion, my young toe blusheth and my old one is ashamed ,when I consider my profound impudence in disobeying yourcommands. But, my dear, I have had very little time to writeto you, considering that I have almost twenty-five boys' business to do every day.Next Tuesday being the 18th, I hope to see the tip of theTurkey carpet in our dining- room. On Monday night is the1The French Tutor. 4Ibreaking-up supper. All Monday is a holiday ( for which Icare just as much as I do for the fourth tuck in Miss Ingleby'sfrock) . We shall be in Bath by eleven o'clock. I believe MissSpencer is coming with us to Bath; and Miss Christiana, MissBetsey, and Amey are at Oxford. What beautiful paper!what charming writing!My mother (I meant to write it with a great M) has beenhere about a fortnight. Remember, when you write to me,child (which you mustn't do before the holidays), never towrite the day of the month in figures, but at full length inwhat-d'ye-call- ums, for it's very disrespectful to use contractions to your superiors. -My dear, believe me, your ever dutiful son and affectionate sister,WINKFIELD, June 11th.TABITHA QUINCEY.De Quincey omits to mention in the above passage that for a short time after leaving the BathGrammar School, and before proceeding to Winkfield, his mother kept him under her own eye,having engaged tutors for him and his brothers.One of these was a Frenchman, who had fled fromhis own country in the Reign of Terror, thankful tokeep his head where it was originally placed. Ofthis Frenchman many stories were current amongthe members of the family at the time. One ofthese Miss de Quincey recalls, as having been toldto her by her aunt, and it will no doubt have theeffect of disturbing that conception of De Quincey'sboyish character which is exhausted by the phrases"dreamy," " brooding," ' visionary. " It showshim full of prank and boyish frolic:-66 "My grandmother," says Miss de Quincey, wasan attractive-looking and agreeable woman; and thisFrenchman-a man of considerable rank and fortune-had a great business in looking after these unruly42 De Quincey's Life and Writings.children, who were all the worse for finding out thathe had wanted to marry their mother. Instead ofdoing their lessons , the two younger brothers andmy father took seats at the window, and employedtheir time in making faces at an old lady who livedopposite. The poor French gentleman, utterlyunable to teach or to keep order, was constantly tobe heard crying, ' Now, Monsieur Tomma, oh, dobe parsuaded! Oh, do be parsuaded! ' The poorman wept over his troubles, but Monsieur Tommawould not be ' parsuaded.' At length the oldlady complained. My grandmother then represented the matter in its true light, and suddenlyMonsieur Tomma was ' parsuaded ' to go over andapologise to the old lady, who was somewhat surprised to receive a call from the little wretch whohad so annoyed her, but who made such a handsomeapology that she asked him to sit down, and he atonce entered into conversation with her. She afterwards spoke of him to many people, saying that hewas the cleverest and nicest little boy she ever saw.The tutor went back to France, but not as MonsieurTomma's stepfather. "It was probably such inveterate unmanageableness, under home supervision and French tutors, thatcaused Winkfield-whose " chief recommendationlay in the religious character of the master"" —tobe thought of.Another reason may, however, have weighed withDe Quincey's mother. In spite of a return of goodspirits, the boy continued at intervals to suffer muchfrom pains in the head, attributed to the blow whichWinkfield. 43he had received. A school in the country may thushave had the additional recommendation of beinglikely to promote his health, which threatened tobe permanently impaired. But he was eminentlycompanionable anything but a moping or solitaryboy. Certain letters which passed between one ofhis school-fellows-the Rev. E. W. Grinfield, wellknown as a theologian and Biblical critic -andDe Quincey's eldest daughter, Margaret-Mrs Craig-in 1859-60, just after his death, furnish somereminiscences of him then."He came to Spencer's," wrote Mr. Grinfield ,"because he had received a blow on the head fromthe usher of the Bath Grammar School, from theeffects of which it was fancied that he still suffered;and he was attended by a physician, Dr Mapletonfrom Bath. But I think the injury was purelyimaginary, and that his pains arose from irritationin his too active and susceptible brain. I rememberhis great affection for his brother Richard, whom wecalled ' Pink,' because he was so handsome. I canremember their mother coming to Winkfield—a veryclever lady, and intimate with Hannah More; but Irecollect that your father said his mother was asclever as Hannah. We carried on a little weeklypaper called ' The Observer, ' for our own improvement in composition, and for the benefit and amusem*nt of the Miss Spencers; and I remember wellthe interest De Quincey took in it, and the clever,funny things he wrote. I can even now recall somelines he composed in answer to a challenge from aneighbouring school:-44 De Quincey's Life and Writings.'Since Ames's skinny school has daredTo challenge Spencer's boys,We thus to them bold answer giveTo prove ourselves " no toys. "'Full thirty hardy boys we are,As brave as e'er was known;We will nor threats nor dangers mindTo make you change your tone!'" He was a great favourite with all the boys atSpencer's, and my younger brother, Tom, at Clifton ,remembers how he assisted him in his lessons. Hedid not much like old Spencer, who was a veryinferior scholar to his first tutor at Manchester andhis teachers at Bath; but he was a special favouritewith the Miss Spencers. "The younger brother Tom, referred to above, became rector of Clifton; and in a letter addressed byhim to De Quincey in 1847, to which we shall findpathetic reference in one of De Quincey's letters tobe given afterwards, we read:-" It is probable that the fine memory, which issure to form an ingredient in such a mind as yours,may still enable you to recall from a long, longoblivion a certain quiet, tame, insignificant schoolfellow, by name Tom Grinfield (not Edward, hiselder brother) , whom you used occasionally to helpin his Virgil lessons , as you sat with your backtoward the schoolroom-door at the central table,near old Spencer's chair of hearing, at Winkfieldschool. It is now near half a century since the periodto which I would fain recall your thoughts for someidle moments of listless reverie, and lowly respitefrom the excursions of genius. The memory ofA Challenge and Response. 45early days has an unutterable power over me, as overyourself, and the greater as I decline; and so,having some years ago paid a half-day's visit to thewell-remembered scene just before the death ofSpencer's son Tom, his successor in the rectory, Ipenned a few plain verses, which I will here transcribe, as just equivalent with so much truthfulprose:-"What deep, sad yearnings in my bosom swelledAs-thrice ten years elapsed-I once beheld,WINKFIELD, thy homely scene, so early known,The schoolroom, playground, silent now and lone!Myself how changed! a pensive pilgrim grey,Where oft the schoolboy rushed from task to play!"Twas there, DE QUINCEY (not obscure the name,Linked with bright COLERIDGE, and with opium's fame),You kindly solved each question I might askIn VIRGIL'S, OVID's loved though painful task.So fine your genius, and so bland your mood,Amidst a horde of savages so rude,A being of superior mould you seemed,And, like an angel, mixed with mortals, beamed.Tutored by your Homeric mind's command,We marched a Grecian and a Trojan band;Achilles, Ajax, Diomede, arrayedWith spear and shield by Farmer Hillman made.Ulysses marked yourself, the master-mind;While in your beauteous brother Paris shined..Old SPENCER'S self approved the classic wile,And wreathed his solemn visage to a smile.When AMES's school had challenged SPENCER's boys,Still rings in memory's ear the applauding noise * That hailed your bold response, rehearsed aloudFrom the school- table to the stripling crowd,"* Yourresponse began-' Since AMES's skinny school has dared tochallenge SPENCER's boys,' &c. Your own favourite stanza began-' Haply you chance to meet our little band so brave.""46DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.Hurling ' retorted scorn' in martial numbers proud.The prize proposed to schools, and well bestowedOn your neat version of Horatian ode, *For little WINKFIELD won unlooked-for fame,And blazoned at fourteen DE QUINCEY'S name.Oh, magic spell upon our latest ageCast by the scene where childhood conned his page!Howhave I felt thee in my waning day,After long, changeful years had passed away,Retracing early haunts at WINKFIELD and PAUL'S CRAY!As though the spirit of my youth once moreHad met me where it left so long before."T. G. February 26th, 1846.Our readers will perhaps pardon the enthusiasticeffusiveness of these lines, as they will suffice toshow the lasting impression De Quincey made onhis school companions-an impression of a gentleand studious, but still a truly boyish and energeticcharacter-not standing coldly apart, but enteringreadily into sports and pastimes, and eager to aidand to do a kindness.At Winkfield, De Quincey remained only a littleover a year. He left it to go to Eton to join his friendLord Westport, son of the Irish Earl of Altamont,and grandson, on the mother's side, to the celebratedLord Howe, for a tour in Ireland. He has himselftold fully all the incidents of that journey-howhe had audience of George III at Frogmore;how he first saw the city- " No, not the city,but the nation "-of London; and then, how for aperiod of months he enjoyed the amenities of highlife among the Irish nobility; and how in Ireland hefirst fell under the spell of the tender passion. The" * ' Integer vitæ, ' &c. You began-' Fuscus, the man whose heartis pure,' &c."Miss Blake.47object of it was Miss Blake, an Irish lady of education and rank, sister to the Dowager-Countess ofErrol, whom he met on a canal- boat, and who by themost delicate use of her powers of conversation savedhim from the vulgar references of some tuft- hunterson board, who were inclined to show deference to LordWestport by an insinuated disrespect for his companion-whom they had discovered by accident tobe a person of no expectations, just as they haddiscovered that he was a nobleman and wealthy.Miss Blake threw her ægis over him; and afterwards,when matters of literary interest were discussed, wecan well believe that she felt De Quincey amply repaid her for the effort she had put forth to shield himfrom taunts,In a series of letters, which exhibit quick observation and capacity to profit by new surroundings,we have a detailed account of his experiences duringthis Irish tour. We shall give a few specimens ofthem, though they are but schoolboy letters. In anote, dated July 2d, 1800, Mr. Grace, Lord Westport's tutor, writes to him in these terms:-"Your acceptance of Westport's invitation givesme the greatest pleasure, and I have little doubt butyou will be gratified by the excursion in whateverobjects you have in view. To a mind anxious forinformation, and capable of receiving it, there arefew things which may not become a source; and Ishould hope on this occasion there will be foundmany occurrences for an inquiring and strong mindto improve upon. I am very happy that you havesuch a desire to visit Ireland; you will travelthrough a great part of it, quite across the kingdom,48DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.•but not the best part of it. I hope your conclusionsin favour of England, when compared with it, maynot be too much to its disadvantage. Every countryhas its peculiar modes and habits, and those thingswhich may at first view appear quite absurd andridiculous, will often, upon more accurate examination, be found the wise results of experience; but I amsure your good sense will teach you to distinguish. "They accordingly set out on the 18th July; andhe thus gives his impression of some of the interesting points in the journey to Holyhead in a note tohis mother:-•Thejourney (as far as relates to the places we passed through)was extremely pleasant. At Stratford-on-Avon I visited thehouse in which Shakespeare was born. I had not time to goand see his grave, which was three-quarters of a mile off. Theroad through Wales was much finer than anything I have everseen, or ever expected to see. From Oswestry to Llangollen wasthe first remarkably beautiful stage. If you went that road anytime when you were in Wales, you will probably remember thatwe travel on the side of a mountain looking down into animmensely deep valley surrounded by"Mountains and rocks which riseIn rugged grandeur to the skies."The sun was then setting, and the effect of his glowing lighton the woods, the winding river, and the cattle below, and onthe distant mountains, and gigantic rocks above, was far morebeautiful in the former, and sublime in the latter, than I amable to describe. The road from Llangollen to Corwen, I amtold, is still more delightful; but, as we travelled that stagebetween nine and twelve o'clock, I saw very little of it. At first,indeed, the dusky hills, seen " through the horizontal misty air,"were mournful, but in a short time the increasing twilightprevented me from having any but a very indistinct view of thefine scenes we were passing through. Of all the stages, however, that we travelled, none, in my opinion, was equal to theA "Rotten Sociable."49one between Aberconway and Bangor. It is seventeen miles inlength (reckoning to the ferry), and nearly the whole way byvast rocks. Part of the road lies over Pen-Man- Mawr, and formore than ten miles I suppose we ride in sight of the sea. ButI am afraid I am " teaching my grandmother (my mother atleast) to suck eggs," in talking of places which I dare say youhave been over many times, and therefore know much betterthan I. On Friday evening, Lord Westport came to me anddesired me to go with him to the play. I tried to escape bysaying that I had letters to write (which in fact I had); however,as he seemed much disappointed at not going on the last evening of his being near a playhouse, and as he declared he wouldnot go without me, I consented at length to accompany him tothe Windsor Theatre. But be assured, my dear mother, Iwould not have done this for all the world if I could havehelped it, had I no other reason for avoiding public amusem*nts than the earnest desire of obliging and obeying you.—Believe me, dear mother, your ever affectionate son,July 22nd, Tuesday Morning, 1800.T. DE QUINCEY.He sketches in a very lively way a drive fromDunleary to Dublin in a jingle, which he defines as a"rotten sociable drawn by one skeleton; vividlydescribes the last sittings of the Irish House ofLords, at which he was present with his friendsand is able to assure his sister, that " notwithstanding the dangerous places through which we are constantly riding, I have never yet been thrown. "following is an account of an installation of theKnights of the Blue Ribbon-made all the moreinteresting to De Quincey and his friends in thatLord Altamont was one of those installed: -TheThe installation was very grand. It was performed in St.Patrick's Cathedral. As the church is very small, there wasnot room for more than 250 spectators. The day was suffocatingly hot, and each of the six knights was arrayed (besidesVOL. I. D50 De Quincey's Life and Writings.their usual clothes) in thirty-seven yards of blue satin linedwith as many of white. Every knight had three esquires, whowere dressed like himself, except that their robes were whitelined with blue. There was another difference between thedresses of the knights and squires, that the hats of the first hadsix fine feathers in them, white, red, and blue, while those ofthe latter had none. The music I thought was very fine, andfar the best part of the exhibition. The organ is larger, Ibelieve, than that at the Abbey, but has exactly the same tone;so much so, that when, at the entrance of the procession, theorganist began the coronation anthem, I was actually startled,and was certain I had heard it before, though I could not exactlytell where. It gave me the same sensation as when one sees aperson whom one formerly knew, but who is now so altered bytime as to leave one in doubtful consideration who he is orwhen or where one saw him. "God save the King " was performed by the band within, accompanied by the soldierswithout, in the finest and most hair-making-to-stand- erectmanner I ever heard. The whole business was concluded byGettingen's Te Deum, which took about an hour in performing.The company were a little disturbed in the middle of theinstallation by the falling of the banners belonging to one ofthe knights; which, however, though they were erected at thealtar, where the people were almost standing on one another'sheads, yet, to the great surprise of every one present, did notthe least injury to any man, any woman, or any child.The crowd to see the procession was immense; and, indeed, itwas very well worth seeing. It was so large, I know, thatwhen it made its entrance into the church, as a lady who stoodnear me said, it visibly increased the heat. In the eveningabout ten o'clock, when I was just going to sleep, I was startledby very loud huzzaings before the door. They kept me awakefor a couple of hours. This morning Lord Altamont tells meit was the mob, who had collected in Sackville Street, andmade bonfires to congratulate him on having been made aKnight of the Most Noble Order of St. Patrick.·Lord Altamont is a very fat man, and so lame that he isobliged to have two servants to support him whenever he stirs.He had formerly, Lord Westport tells me, a paralytic stroke.He is a very sensible man, I think, and one of the most loyalLord Altamont.51persons I know. He abhors the very idea of gaming, and doesnot like to see a pack of cards. He will on no account permitWestport to play for money, and would be very angry if hesaw him playing at all, though it were for nothing. He neverswears, because he thinks it both a blackguard and a foolishpractice. He always goes to church once on a Sunday, makesall the responses, seems very attentive, and loves to talk withme about the sermon as we are coming home from church. Hedoes not conceive there is any harm in a clergyman's going tothe play, and was quite astonished to hear from Westport thatMr. Grace had never seen " Blue Beard. "Lord Altamont's favourite study is " agriculture. " He ismemberof a farming society here, and is continually introducingthe English methods and customs in Mayo, nearly the whole ofwhich he possesses. He has at different times brought overlarge flocks of the finest English breeds, and has persuadedsome Devonshire gentlemen to come and live at Westport, inorder to teach the people there the English manner of farming.He is verygood- natured and polite, but despises fashion, seldomgoes out to dinner anywhere, but has constantly half a dozenor a dozen of his particular friends and relations to dine anddrink tea with him. He is very temperate, and is excessivelycheerful, and sometimes quite gayin the evening. I am nowreading " Park's Travels " and " Mallet du Pan." The former I amjust finishing, but of "Mallet du Pan" I have only read the threefirst numbers, containing the "History of the Destruction of theHelvetic League and Liberty." However, what I have read, I haveread with great attention, and am abridging it, as I do mostbooks with which I am much pleased. Rasselas has been mybosom friend ever since I left Bath. Lord A. lent me anotherbook, which, I dare say, you have read: " History of theCampaigns of 1796 in Germany and Italy." I read it with themaps, and by that means got a pretty accurate knowledge ofthe geography of those countries. As Largeaux is constantlytalking French to us, I am considerably improved, I think, inthat language, and am able to speak it with great ease. I havetwo Greek books here, so that I am advancing in it, and byteaching Lord Westport every day to make verses, I keep upmy Latin.On Friday and Saturday, August 1st and 2d, I went to the52 De Quincey's Life and Writings.House of Lords. On Friday I heard the Union Act passed, andon Saturday the election of the twenty-eight peers who are tobe returned to the English Parliament. Lord Altamont is oneof them.A further letter gives some interesting glimpses,and shows, we think, a remarkable variety of interests for a boy of fifteen.WESTPORT, Wednesday, August 20th, 1800.DEAR AND HONOURED MOTHER, -About five o'clock onWednesday morning (August 13th), we set off in the canal-boatwhich goes from Dublin to Tullamore. This is a very pleasantmode of conveyance, and something like that ca the canal fromManchester to Runcorn. But it is rather slow, as you mayjudge from our not reaching Tullamore ( which is only forty-fiveand a half miles Irish), until eight o'clock in the evening.After waiting nearly an hour in the boat, and not being able toprocure any chaise to carry us on to the next stage, Lord Altamont determined to go to Lord Tullamore's seat, called Charleville, three miles from Tullamore. At length the Dean founda man who agreed to take us that night to Charleville. Thechaise was almost breaking down, full of holes, and so smallthat I was obliged to sit on Lord Altamont's knee. The poor,lean, miserable, famished scarecrows who dragged us along werejust come off a long stage, so that the driver was obliged to walkby their sides to hinder them from falling. This is a sampleof the travelling accommodations on the road from Dublinto Westport. I sawnothing strikingly beautiful at Lord Tullamore's, either in the house or grounds. On Thursday we leftCharleville at six in the morning, and reached Clohans betweennine and ten. Here we found Lord A.'s phaeton, which hadbeen sent on from Dublin the Tuesday before, waiting for uswith four horses. After we had breakfasted, it was agreedthat Lord A., the Dean, and Westport should go in the phaeton,I and Largeaux follow in a post-chaise, and that after we hadgone the first six miles, I and Westport should change places.We had hardly gone three, when the iron coating of one of thephaeton's wheels came off. After we had found a blacksmith'sshop, Lord Altamont and Westport got into the chaise, theAt Westport. 53Dean rode on horseback, and Largeaux staid behind with theother servants to come on with the phaeton. In an hour anda half we reached Ballinasloe. Here there were no horses tobe got. After resting an hour, the same horses who hadbrought us to Ballinasloe (twelve miles Irish) took us on toMilough, which is about sixteen Irish miles; so that the samepair of horses drew us about thirty-six English miles, whichproves that though the Irish horses are not so well kept, theyare capable of bearing as much labour as the English. Herewe dined immediately (for we did not get in till past six),walked about a little, and then went to bed. The phaetonarrived about two hours after us. At Milough the Dean has aliving, so that we left him there, and proceeded to Tuam. Wereached this place at nine, and though we were now only twostages from Westport, yet Lord Altamont, fearing from thebadness of the roads, want of horses, &c. , that we might not getin till late in the evening, drove up to the Archbishop's palace,where we passed the whole day and night. The Archbishop'sname is Beresford. In the evening there were at the Archbishop's a Mr. Murray and a Lord St. Lawrence. Lord Altamont, having read my translation of the Ode in Horace, desiredme to show it to the company. The book, after a great deal ofsearch, could not be found; but as I could say it by heart, Iwrote it out, and Mr. Murray read it. They then desired meto translate for them another Ode at Westport, which I amgoing to do. The next morning Lord A. set off at six o'clockin order to avoid being pressed by the Archbishop to stayanother day. We breakfasted at Ballinasloe, where we founda chariot and horses waiting for us, and reached Westportabout three o'clock in the afternoon (on Saturday, August16th).Westport is a most delightful place. The house is verylarge and handsome. The finest room in it is fifty- seven feetand a half long. The only thing in which I am disappointedis the very one in which I was most certain I should begratified-I mean the library. Even as to quantity it is inferiorto ours in Bath; and as to quality, it is the worst I ever saw.Almost all the books are about farriery and draining, or lawreports and old trials. However, I hear that the French andthe rebels, who have twice been in possession of this house54 De Quincey's Life and Writings.have made off with the best books. There is a fine deer-parkhere, containing nearly 300 acres. Croagh Patrick, the highestmountain I believe in Ireland, is about six miles from us in adirect line; he is shaped like a sugar-loaf, and is generallycloud-capt. Lord Altamont thinks this mountain was formerlya volcano. To-morrowwe go up to the top of it. We generallyride sixteen or seventeen miles a day, by which means we getto see almost everything worth seeing in this most romanticcountry. It was originally fixed that we should leave Westporton the 8th of September, exactly three weeks from Mondaylast; but of this I am not quite certain yet. Westport tellsme that he shall ask his papa for a week more, as some smallcompensation for keeping him a day at the Archbishop ofTuam's, which, in the Eton phrase, he thought a great bore.It depends, however, principally I suppose, on the time whenLady Altamont can come over. Lady Howe, you have, I daresay, heard before this, is dead; and Lady A. is staying withher sister, Lady Viscountess Howe. Lord Altamont wishes togo over with us to fetch her to Westport, and she may probablywant to come over in less or more than three weeks.As to the rebellion in Ireland, the English, I think, use theamplifying, and the Irish the diminishing hyperbole; the formerview it with a magnifying glass, the latter with a microscope.In England, I remember, we heard such horrid accounts ofmurders, and battles, and robberies, and here everybody tellsme the country is in as quiet a state as England, and has beenso for some time past. What makes me suspect the truth ofthese smooth-tongued messengers is that the rebellion, even atit* greatest height, they affect to treat with indifference, andspeak of it as we should of a Birmingham riot. I know, inEngland, I used to hear people talking of it as of a bloody civilwar, and the rebel troops were considered, I thought, a formidable army; whereas here they are termed merely stragglingbanditti, who unroofed a few cabins and took away some cattle.I often hear people making such remarks as these: "Andindeed the rebels were come into the town, and as I thoughtthey might probably be troublesome if I staid, I thereforedetermined to ride off after breakfast; for really many personsof my acquaintance, I do assure ee, had their trunks taken awayon the road,"Croagh Patrick.55Last Sunday (August 18th), I got your letter dated July 26th.I am very much obliged to you for it, my dear mother, and willendeavour to answer everything which requires an answer in it.First, as to bathing, I need only say, that, begging Dr. Mapleton'spardon, much care is not necessary in attending to his rulesfor they contain rather a list of things which I am not to do,than of what I am to do. At any rate, they are such rules asI prescribed to myself, and have always observed since my firstbathe in the Thames. As yet I have felt not the least inconvenience from it; on the contrary, I am always fresher andlivelier after going into the water.Secondly, about Frogmore. I certainly did go there in mytravelling dress, but then my travelling dress was a very goodone (much better than what Lord Westport had on), and myboots were cleaned. Mr. Grace thought I was dressed quitewell enough. Besides, I hardly saw five persons in the gardens, for the ball had begun then, and the ballroom was socrowded that it was impossible for any person to see what Iwas dressed in.Friday morning, August 22nd, 1800.-Yesterday we ascendedthe famous Croagh Patrick. It is about two miles to the top(by the winding road), from which may be seen a great part ofConnaught. When I was at the summit, I thought of Shakespeare looking " abroad from some high cliff, and enjoying theelemental war." Beneath us indeed was a most tremendouswar of the elements, whilst we were as calm and serene aspossible. To our left we saw all Clew Bay and the vastAtlantic. Going up and coming down took us about threehours and a half. All the way up on the side were piled stonesin the form of little graves by the Roman Catholic priests.At the top is a circular wall, very rough and craggy, on which,at St. Patrick's Day, all the Papists, for many miles round, runon their knees (quite bare) till the skin is off.In the canal-boat was a Miss Blake, a sister of the presentCountess Dowager of Errol. She and I formed an acquaintance, and talked about the English poets for the whole afternoon. She said that Mr. Blake (her father) had agreed, at therequest of Lady Errol, who is in raptures with Bath, to take ahouse there. Lady Errol, she said, had hitherto lodged inMilsom Street and Great Pulteney Street, but their house was56De Quincey'sLife and Writings.to be in Queen's Square. She then desired me to call uponher when she came to Bath, which she supposed would besometime in October. Lady Errol I have frequently seenwheeling about Bath. Miss Blake is very like her. I afterwards found from Lord Altamont that she is a friend of his.I have just received your letter of the 12th of August.Much as I wish to hear from you, my dear mother, I am sorryyou should spend that time in writing to me which, I am sure,your health much requires to be spent in rest. I am much concerned to hear that Mrs. Schreiber still continues so ill. Givemy very best love, if you please, to her, and my dear sister,Mary. Mary, I know, is a most superlative hyperexcellentnurse, and I will write to her, if possible, by the next post.My remembrance, or compliments, or something of that sort, ifyou please, to Lord and Lady Carbery. I understood his Lordship was coming over immediately to Ireland.I meant to have written on Monday, but was prevented byvarious circ*mstances. On Wednesday I began this letter ( foron Tuesday there is no post) but not having it finished by halfafter two o'clock, I was compelled to keep it until to-morrow(Saturday), for the post only goes on Mondays, Wednesdays,and Saturdays. Lord Altamont has just told me that he meansto be in Dublin by the 10th of September; so that most probably I shall be at home on the 15th. There is now but littletime, you know, my dear mother, for seeking a school. ToEton I am sure you will not send me. As for any privateschool, if you knew what a dislike I have to them, how miserable I feel at the thought of going to one, you would not, I think,wish me. It is not for any particular inconveniences, whichare generally met with at private schools, that I abhor them somuch—it is for a fault, (at least in my eyes afault) which cannot be remedied, which is essential to the very nature of theschool. I mean its being private. Few private schools, Ishould think, are much superior, even in point of learning, toMr. Spencer's. But the thing which makes me most unhappyat a private school is there being no emulation, no ambition,nothing to contend for-no honours to excite one. This wasexactly the case at Mr. Spencer's. I was at the head of theschool the whole time I was there. No one but myself couldmake verses, and all those kind of things; but then I had noChoice of Schools. 57one to contend with, nor anything higher to aspire to. Theconsequence was that my powers entirely flagged, my mindbecame quite dormant in comparison of what it was at theBath Grammar School. I had no one to praise me, to spur meon, or to help me. Nobody (except the boys) knew I was atthe top of the school. With them it was considered no meritto be the head-boy; and had it, I should have derived butlittle pleasure from the applause of those who, with few exceptions, were nearly approaching to idiots. I was often pesteredwith such questions from the ladies, &c., as, "Are you in thesame class with little Emly " (a little boy of about twelve yearsold, decidedly the greatest blockhead I ever saw). In short, itwas, and always will be, as impossible for me to exert myselfmuch at a private as in a public school, as it would be for aperson running for his own amusem*nt to go as quick as if hewere running a race or flying from his pursuers. At a privateschool I have " little to fear or hope from censure or frompraise." If, then, you let me go to any public school, what canbe better than the Bath one? The plan pursued there everyone allows to be incomparable. It is a very great improvementI think on the Eton method. If I had room, I would comparethem together from what I have heard and observed at bothplaces, and I am sure you would allow it. But of the learningit is useless to speak, since you yourself say it is just as youwould wish it. If it is the morals you object to, are they notas good as at most places? Besides, my dear mother, you willremember that the only reason (as far as I know) for my notbeing now at the Grammar School was on account of the affairwith Mrs. P―. It is now a year and a half since that happened. I do not pretend to defend it; but that was not occasioned, I think, by anything belonging to the Grammar School.It might have happened with equal ease at any other place;and I had not then been near the Grammar School for abovetwo months. Surely one fault, and that, too, committed at atime when my brain was certainly disordered and my headinjured by the blow I had received, will not for ever be urgedas a reason for my not going to the only place where I can behappy, or from which I can derive any solid and lasting advantage. Believe me, my dear mother, if you knew my mind youwould see how resolutely bent I am against anything which58 De Quincey's Life and Writings.could give you uneasiness. Any promises you wish I am readyto make. In short, everything you desire me I will do, andonly ask for that one thing, to go to the Grammar School.—Believe me, my dear, very dear mother, your ever affectionateson, T. DE QUINCEY.For MRS. DE QUINCEY,At MRS. SCHREIBER'S,Tixover,Near Stamford, Lincolnshire,Old England.This is how, in more mature years, De Quinceyestimated the effect on his mind and character ofthe new experience due to his meeting with MissBlake on which delicate point it will have beennoticed that he is silent to his mother:-" Never, until this hour, had I thought of women asobjects of a possible interest, or of a reverential love.I had known them either in their infirmities and theirunamiable aspects, or else in those sterner relationswhich made them objects of ungenial and uncompanionable feelings. Now first it struck me thatlife might owe half its attractions and all its gracesto female companionship. Gazing, perhaps, with tooearnest an admiration at this generous and spiritedyoung daughter of Ireland, and in that way makingher these acknowledgments for her goodness which Icould not properly clothe in words, I was roused toa sense of my indecorum by seeing her suddenlyblush. I believe that Miss Blake interpreted myadmiration rightly; for she was not offended; but,on the contrary, for the rest of the day, when notattending to her sister, conversed almost exclusively,and in a confidential way, with Lord Westport andmyself. The whole, in fact, of this conversationA Revelation.59must have convinced her that I, a mere boy as I was(viz. , about fifteen), could not have presumed todirect my admiration to her, a fine young woman oftwenty, in any other character than that of a generous champion, and a very adroit mistress in thedazzling fence of colloquial skirmish. My admiration had, in reality, been addressed to her moralqualities, her enthusiasm, her spirit, and her generosity. Yet that blush, evanescent as it was-themere possibility that I, so very a child, should havecalled up the most transitory sense of bashfulness orconfusion upon any female cheek, first-and suddenlyas with a flash of lightning penetrating some utterdarkness -illuminated to my own startled consciousness, never again to be obscured, the pure and powerful ideal of womanhood and womanly excellence.This was, in a proper sense, a revelation; it fixeda great era of change in my life; and this new-bornidea, being agreeable to the uniform tendencies ofmy own nature-that is, lofty and aspiring-itgoverned my life with great power, and with mostsalutary effects. Ever after, throughout the periodof youth, I was jealous of my own demeanour, reserved and awestruck in the presence of women;reverencing often, not so much them, as my own idealof woman latent in them. For I carried about withme the idea, to which often I seemed to see anapproximation, of'A perfect woman, nobly planned,To warn, to comfort, and command.'And from this day I was an altered creature, neveragain relapsing into the careless irreflective mind ofchildhood.60 De Quincey's Life and Writings." At the same time, I do not wish, in paying homage to the other sex, and in glorifying its possiblepower over ours, to be confounded with these thoughtless and trivial rhetoricians who flatter woman witha false lip-worship; and, like Lord Byron's buccaneers ,hold out to them a picture of their own empire, builtonly upon sensual or upon shadowy excellencies. Wefind continually a false enthusiasm, a mere bacchanalian inebriation, on behalf of woman, put forth bymodern verse writers , expressly at the expense of theother sex, as though woman could be of porcelain,whilst man was of common earthenware.""The key to the opening of this passage will only befound by a glance at the pervading atmosphere of hishome. His mother was a woman of strong intellect,but her religious prepossessions had led her almostto a gloomy narrowness and austerity. In spite ofgreat discernment and independence of character, sheallowed herself to be influenced by the straitest ofthe sect that regarded Hannah More with feelingsakin to idolatry. She prided herself in allowing noverge to sentiment in her relation with others.little reference to Mrs. P- , in the letter last quoted,would almost lead one to fancy that De Quinceymust have been guilty of some 66 very injudiciousconduct. It was no more than a schoolboy trickplayed on this lady, such a trick as most personswould only have smiled at. Mrs. Baird Smith says:-TheMy father and his elder sister thought, and, Ibelieve, thought justly, that Mrs. P— prejudicedhis mother's mind against them. She had not alittle to do with the arbitrary dropping and takingup of the de ' in the name, as signed in the earlierLady Carbery.61letters, as you must have noticed. She it was whourged on my grandmother that the use of the ' de 'was a worldly vanity which she ought to lay aside.At this the young people were inclined to kick uptheir heels, but to very little purpose. "On returning from the Irish tour, De Quinceyparted from Lord Westport at Birmingham, andwent on to Northamptonshire to pay a visit toLady Carbery at Laxton. She was then passing intomuch the same dogmatic form of religious faithas his mother; but she was friendly to him asbefore, and as much inclined to benefit by hiscompanionship. He was questioned by her aboutinnumerable difficulties in Greek, encouraged tohunt up texts and present their true exegesis,while sometimes he would endeavour to interest herand her friends in the problems he was intentlyengaged on and the poetry he admired. He wasdeclared by Lady Carbery to be her " AdmirableCrichton," a term of distinction, however, withwhich De Quincey was inclined to quarrel (somewhat to her amusem*nt), as he held it significant ofa certain superficiality to which he did not aspire.Amongst other questions, this one presented itselfin the course of their studies:-" Can the presentEnglish version of the Bible be safely accepted as aliteral and unerringguide?" " No, " said De Quincey," not unless it be taken with the Greek version. ”These severer studies , however, did not prevent LadyCarbery from doing all she could to extend the range ofhis accomplishments. She was even anxious to interest him in manly exercises , and provided due tutoragefor him. " As Lady Carbery, " he writes, " did not62 De Quincey's Life and Writings.forego her purpose of causing me to shine under everyangle, it would have been ungrateful in me to refusemy co-operation with her plans, however little theymight wear a face of promise. Accordingly, I surrendered myself for two hours daily to the lessonsin horsemanship of a principal groom who rankedas a first-rate rough-rider; and I gathered manifoldexperiences amongst the horses -so different from thewild, hard- mouthed horses at Westport, that wereoften vicious and sometimes trained to vice. There,though spirited, the horses were pretty, generallygentle, and all had been regularly broke. My education was not entirely neglected even as regards sportsmanship; that great branch of philosophy beingconfided to one of the keepers, who was very attentive to me, in deference to the interest in myselfexpressed by his idolised mistress, but otherwiseregarded me probably as an object of mysteriouscuriosity rather than of sublunary hope. "It was whilst he was still here that he heard ofthe intention of his guardians to insist on his goingto the Manchester Grammar School instead of toOxford, as he desired to do. He had some hope ofenlisting Lady Carbery's interest in favour of hisown proposal; but she, prudently, urged him to submit. He did not, however, cease to raise protestsagainst the arrangements his guardians proposed..CHAPTER IV.MANCHESTER, and wanDERINGS IN WALES.N 1801, De Quincey's guardians finally decidedthat he should go for three years to theManchester Grammar School. This he considered an injustice to him, and a great waste of timebesides. He was now sixteen years of age; and thereport of his previous teachers concerning him hadbeen, not only that he was ripe for the university, butthat he was likely to shine there. His recent experiences had confirmed his precocious dislike of schoolboysociety, and it was therefore with a keen sense of disappointment and chagrin that he now found himselfin his native city. These feelings might have beengradually modified and done away, however, if hehad fallen into proper hands. His former teachershad called forth his respect and affection; now,unfortunately, he found himself under the rule of awell-intentioned man, but a pedant, who tried to makeup for his defects in scholarship-which his pupilscould detect and smile at-by pomposity and an airof authority." When first I entered," he says, " I remember64 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that we read Sophocles; and it was a constantmatter of triumph to us, the learned triumvirate ofthe first form, to see our Archididasculus ' (as heloved to be called) , conning our regular lessonbefore we went up, and laying a regular train, withlexicon and grammar, for blowing up and blasting(as it were), any difficulties he found in the choruses;whilst we never condescended to open our booksuntil the moment of going up, and were generallyemployed in writing epigrams upon his wig or somesuch important matter. "If this was a little rude, it will be admitted thatit was only boy-like; and the profound contempt aclever boy feels for an empty pedantic teacher hasbecome proverbial. For more than a year he boreit; taking advantage as well as he could of allalleviating circ*mstances, and representing at firstmildly, then more urgently, to his guardians, theclaims he had to be at once transferred to the university. Two great alleviations there arose on thehardship of his lot. The first was that Lady Carberycame, as she had intimated to him that she intended,to pass the Christmas and winter in Manchester;and the other was a literary acquaintance which heformed, and which, though he has not celebratedit so fully in the " Autobiographic Sketches " aselsewhere, had a marked influence. It is not improbable that, as the hope of spending a portionof his time congenially in Lady Carbery's societyduring the winter led him to comply with the ungrateful decision of his guardian , so the acquaintancehe made through her sufficed to defer, longer thanA Cheering Influence.65would otherwise have been the case, his flight fromschool and from Manchester.Lady Carbery's visit diffused a brightness roundhis life in spite of the uncongenial school tasks.She, having come under the influence of religiousconvictions, had begun the study of Hebrew, thatshe might the better investigate for herself the mysteries of the Old Testament; and her knowledge inthat tongue she was fain to impart to De Quinceyin return for his labours in teaching her Greek.Clearly, the relief that her presence brought intothe lad's life was cheering and beneficial.Still more so, however, that acquaintance of whichwe spoke, and which well deserves a passing noticehere, both because it will revive the memory of abeautiful and touching figure, and show how early DeQuincey's habit of meditation had induced a gravityand repose of manner, which made companionshipwith the old congenial and fitting. This was the Reverend John Clowes, A. M., for over fifty years Rector ofSt. Mary's, Manchester, a man of wide learning andliberal sympathies, who had become a devotee ofSwedenborg, and spent no little part of his time andhis fortune in the attempt to disseminate Swedenborgian doctrines, especially amongst the clergy of theChurch ofEngland. We have put ourselves in the wayof carefully examining quite a pile of Mr. Clowes'spublications. They are for the most part tracts,very miscellaneous, and generally pretty well consigned to oblivion, though his little book of dialogues-the " Caterpillar and the Gooseberry Bush ".might well be reprinted by Sunday School societiesat this day with every prospect of producing onlyVOL. I. E66 De Quincey's Life and Writings.good results; for the government of the passions (amatter in which there remains much need for goodteaching) is admirably enforced and in a style suchas children would enjoy. He wrote "A Plain Answerto some Objections to Swedenborg's System," whichhad a large circulation; and in a book, which stillsurvives (having been re-issued in a new edition in1873) , called "Outlines of Swedenborg's System,"in the form of dialogues, the curious reader will findas good an idea as could be given in small space ofthe Baron's writings in the answers of Philadelphusto Sophron -the interlocutors. De Quincey soonbecame a trusted visitor at Mr. Clowes's, and enjoyedthe privilege of entrée when few or none else wouldhave been admitted at all; and it is hardly too muchto say, that if it had not been for the attraction Mr.Clowes's house became to him, it is very doubtful ifhe would have stayed in Manchester so long as hedid. But he himself has given in an out-of-the-waycorner so clear and graceful a reminiscence of hisold friend, that this chapter would be most incomplete if we did not quote it." It was in the year 1801 , whilst yet at school, " hewrites, "that I made my first literary acquaintance.This was with a gentleman, now dead, and little, atany time, known in the literary world; indeed, notat all, for his authorship was confined to a department of religious literature as obscure and narrow inits influences as any that can be named-viz. , Swedenborgianism. He was the most spirituallooking, the most saintly in outward aspect, of allhuman beings whom I have known throughout life.He was rather tall, pale, and thin; the most un-•Mr. Clowes.·67fleshly, the most sublimated spirit dwelling alreadymore than half in some purer world that a poet couldhave imagined. Among the pictures in the housewere more than one of St. John, the beloved apostle,by Italian masters; and neither the features nor theexpression were wide of Mr. Clowes's own countenance.He was rector of a large parish, the more active dutiesof which were discharged by curates; but much ofthe duties within the church were still dischargedby himself, and with exemplary zeal. " Theextreme quiet and orderliness of the household seemto have impressed themselves on De Quincey's mind."The venerable old butler," he declares, " put mein mind always, by his noiseless steps, of the Castleof Indolence, where the porter or usher walked aboutin shoes that were shod with felt, lest any rudeechoes might be roused. " The painted windows andthe organ appealed to an order of sensibilities easilyimpressed in De Quincey's case, and the picture hedraws of them is most striking; but the real interest of his sketch lies in the old man himself. " Itshows the upright character of the man, " he proceeds, "that never in one instance did he seek tobias my opinions in the direction of Swedenborgianism. Upon every other subject he treated me, notwithstanding my boyish years (15-16) , as his equal.His regard for me, when thrown by accident in hisway, had arisen upon his notice of my fervent simplicity, and my unusual thoughtfulness. Uponthese merits, I had gained the honourable distinctionof a general invitation to his house, without exceptionas to days or hours, when few others could boast ofanyadmission at all. The common ground on which we68 De Quincey's Life and Writings.met was literature, more especially the Greek andRoman literature, and much he exerted himself inthe spirit of the purest courtesy to meet my animation upon these themes. But the interest on hispart was too evidently a secondary interest in me forwhom he talked, and not in the subject. He spokemuch from memory, as it were, of things that he hadonce felt, and little from immediate sympathy withthe author; and his animation was artificial, thoughhis courtesy, which prompted the effort, was thetruest and most unaffected possible. The connectionbetween us must have been interesting to an observer;for, though I cannot say, as Wordsworth says of oldDaniel and his grandson, that there were ninetygood years of fair and foul weather ' between us,there were sixty, I imagine, at the least; whilst, as abond of connection, there was nothing at all that Iknew of beyond a common tendency to reverie,which is a bad link for social connection. The littleardour, meantime, with which he had for manyyears participated in the interests of this world, orall that it inherits, was now rapidly departing.Daily and consciously he was loosing all ties whichbound him to earlier recollections; and in particularI remember-because the instance was connectedwith my last visit, as it proved-that for some timehe was engaged daily in renouncing with solemnity(though often enough in cheerful words) book afterbook of classical literature, in which he had oncetaken particular delight. Several of these, aftertaking his final glance at a few passages to which apencil-mark on the margin pointed his eye, he delivered to me as memorials in time to come of him-Adieu to the World. 69self. The last of the books given to me, under thesecirc*mstances, was a Greek Odyssey, ' in Clarke'sedition. This ,' said he, is nearly the sole bookremaining to me of my classical library-which, forsome years, I have been dispersing among my friends.Homer I retained to the last, and the " Odyssey " bypreference to the " Iliad, " both in compliance withmy own taste, and because this very copy was mychosen companion for evening amusem*nt during myfreshman's term at Trinity College, Cambridgewhither I went in the spring of 1743. Your ownfavourite Grecian is Euripides; but still you mustvalue-we must all value-Homer. I even, old asI am, could still read him with delight; and as longas any merely human composition ought to occupymy time, I should have made an exception in behalfof this solitary author. But I am a soldier of Christ:the enemy, the last enemy cannot be far off; sarcinascolligere is, at my age, the watchword for everyfaithful sentinel, hourly to keep watch and ward, towait and to be vigilant. This very day, I have takenmy farewell glance at Homer, for I must no more befound seeking my pleasure amongst the works ofman; and, that I may not be tempted to break myresolution, I make over this my last book to you.'The act was in itself a solemn one: something liketaking the veil for a nun-a final abjuration of theworld's giddy agitations. Me it impressed powerfullyin after years; because this act of self- dedication tothe next world, and of parting from the intellectualluxuries of this, was also, in fact, though neither ofus at the time knew it to be such, the scene of hisfinal parting with myself. "70 De Quincey's Life and Writings.But though De Quincey never had the goodfortune to meet his friend again, the old man was notso near to the heavenly city as he had believed. Hisdays prolonged themselves through another generation; and it hardly seems to have been his lot tohave incurred the half-contemptuous feeling of pityand strangeness entertained generally towards thetorpid individual who has outlived his own. Fornearly a quarter of a century after this, owing tohis blindness and infirmity, it was his way to addresstracts to his people periodically, one volume of whichat least was published, full of tender wisdom andcare for them-upholding for the Gospel the character of a " dispensation of universal grace, mercy,and truth to the whole human race, " and mixingwith wise disquisition many shrewd and practicalhints. In the dedication of this volume of tractsto the people of his parish, which was published in1820, he speaks of having been for a long time"forbidden by bodily weakness to address you fromthe pulpit." He died in 1831 in his eighty-ninthyear, and his memory is as likely to be preservedbecause of his kindness to the precocious school-boyas on account of aught that he has written.It was during his schoolboy residence in Manchester, too, that De Quincey, while visiting somefriends in Liverpool, was introduced to what wasthen known as the Liverpool Literary Coterie-theprominent figures of which were Dr. Currie, the biographer of Burns; Mr. Roscoe, who wrote elegantverses and translated a good deal from the Italian;.and Mr. Shepherd of Gateacre, the author of somevolumes on Italian literature. It was flattering toIn Liverpool. 71the young lad's vanity that the intellectual benefitswere not all on one side. In some things he couldbe the teacher. Mr. Clarke, a gentleman of largemeans, with whom De Quincey would appear to haveresided, had travelled largely, possessed a good picturegallery, and at this time amused himself by studying Greek, for which purpose he and De Quinceymet at sunrise every summer morning, readingEschylus together. " These meetings, " says DeQuincey, "at which we sometimes had the companyof any stranger who chanced to be an amateur inGreek, were pleasant enough to my school-boy vanity-placing me in the position of teacher and guide tomen old enough to be my grandfathers. " But thedinner-parties at which the literati sometimes assembled in force were, according to De Quincey,not so relishable, and were " far from being equallyamusing. " It would appear that, whilst De Quinceyappreciated to the full the culture and air of elegancethat surrounded him in this " set," he could nothelp detecting the little foibles and inconsistenciesin their opinions; and was perhaps a little too readyto expose them. Naturally enough, on account ofthe presence of Dr. Currie, and the fact of his "Lifeof Burns " having been lately published, the poetcame in for discussion; and, if we may trust DeQuincey's own report, he was astonished and surprised to find that, while his companions were fraternisers with French republicanism, they regardedit as a point to be censured in Burns, that heshould have been so ungracious to patrons, ungrateful," as De Quincey reports they said, " andwith pride falsely directed. " And he goes on to6672 De Quincey's Life and Writings.justify himself and the part he took in the discussionsthus:" I, in this year 1801 , " he says,66 when in thecompany of Dr. Currie, did not forget, and withsome pride I say that I stood alone in remembering,the very remarkable position of Burns; not merelythat with his genius, and with the intellectual pretensions, generally, of his family, he should have beencalled to a life of early labour and of labour unhappily not prosperous, but also that he, by accidentabout the proudest of human spirits , should have beenby accident summoned, beyond all others, to eternalrecognitions of some mysterious gratitude, which heowed to some mysterious patrons little or great,whilst yet of all men, perhaps, he reaped the leastobvious known benefit from any patronage that hasever been put on record. Most men, if they reaplittle from patronage, are liberated from the claimsof patronage; or, if they are summoned to a gallingdependency, have at least the fruits of their dependency. But it was this unhappy man's fate—withan early and previous irritability on this very point-to find himself saddled, by his literary correspondents, with all that was odious in dependency, whilsthe had every hardship to face that is most painfulin unbefriended poverty."On this view of the case I talked, then, being aschool-boy, with and against the first editor of Burns:I did not, and I do not, profess to admire the letters(that is, the prose) , all or any of Burns. I felt thatthey were liable to the charges of Lord Jeffrey, andto others besides; that they do not even express thenatural vigour of Burns' mind, but are at onceDe Quincey's Defence ofBurns.73vulgar, tawdry, coarse, and commonplace; neitherwas I a person to affect any profound sympathy withthe general character and temperament of Burns,which has often been described as ' of the earth,earthy,' -unspiritual, -animal, -beyond those ofmost men equally intellectual. But still I comprehended his situation. I had for ever ringing in myears, during that summer of 1801 , those groanswhich ascended to heaven from his overburdenedheart,—those harrowing words, ' to give him leave totoil,' which record almost a reproach to the ordinancesof God, and I felt that upon him, amongst all thechildren of labour, the primeval curse had fallenheaviest and sunk deepest. Feelings such as theseI had the courage to express: a personal complimentor so I might now and then hear; but all wereagainst me on the matter. Dr. Currie said-' PoorBurns! such notions had been his ruin; ' Mr.Shepherd continued to draw from the subject somescoff or growl at Mr. Pitt and the Excise; the laughing tailor told us a good story of some proud beggar;Mr. Clarke proposed that I should write a Greekinscription for a Cenotaph which he was to erect inhis garden to the memory of Burns: and so passedaway the solitary protestation on behalf of Burns'Jacobinism, together with the wine and the roses,and the sea- breezes of that same Everton, in thatsame summer of 1801."Mr. Roscoe is dead; Dr. Currie, the physician,has been found unable to heal himself; ' Mr. Shepherd of Gateacre is a name and a shadow; Mr. Clarkeis a shadow without a name; the tailor who set thetable in a roar is dust and ashes; and three men74 De Quincey's Life and Writings.at the most remain [ i.e. , in the year 1837] of allwho, in their convivial meetings, held it right tolook down upon Burns as upon one whose spiritwas rebellious overmuch against the institutions ofman, and Jacobinical in a sense which ' men ofproperty,' master manufacturers, will never brook,albeit democrats by profession. "It is very piteous to read his appeals to be deliveredfrom the penance of Mr. Lawson's school. In a longletter to his mother, he exhaustively meets her arguments one by one, and then winds up thus:-I ask whether a person can be happy, or even simply easy,who is in a situation which deprives him of health, of society,of amusem*nt, of liberty, of congeniality ofpursuits, and which,to complete the precious picture, admits of no variety. I thinkyou will hardly say he can; and yet this description was takenfrom my own case.As to health, I may say very fairly that I have not passedone quarter of the time I have been at this school in health.I have not, it is true, been seriously ill; but I have been-whatto me is worse-weary, and torpid, and languid; and no wonder,for there are three things at Mr. Lawson's which murder health.The first is want of exercise, which the whole plan of the schoolseems purposely directed to deny one; in winter there is, for aconsiderable length of time, not one hour in the day for walkingout. The second is the badness of the air, which every daygrows worse and worse from the increasing numbers of thesediabolical factories. The third is the short time one has to eatone's dinner in; I have barely time to push it down, and, as tochewing it, that is out of the question. This last circ*mstanceis, on me at least, less gradual in its effects than the two former,though they are all three (I should think) enough to ruin anyperson's health. This loss of health, however, though principally, is not wholly, produced by external circ*mstances; for,as want of health leaves the mind but ill at ease, so the miseryof the mind, by alternate reaction, affects the health of thebody; they are mutually cause and effect.Causes of Misery. 75On the next point, you know almost as much of my situationas I know myself. Except Mr. Kelsall's, there is no house inthe town where I can go and come away at all hours; and eventhere I sometimes feel an intruder. Besides, Mr. K. and I havenot one idea in common; and Mrs. K. is often out, and oftenerengaged. But, if it were otherwise, that can hardly be calledsociety, which one can find at home. Do not think that bysociety I mean a whole host of intimates and acquaintances. Ishould dislike such society almost as much as my present loneliness. Naturally, I am fond of solitude; but every one hastimes when he wishes for company; at these times I know butone place where I can turn to for it; and there it is not alwaysto be found.Amusem*nts, it is evident, without a sharer in them, I canhave none; and yet, who does not occasionally require somerelaxation?You will be surprised, after what I have said in answer toyour third negative argument, that I put the want of libertyamong the grounds of my misery; but there is nothing inconsistent in this, for, in the first place, I was speaking of freedomwith respect to things on which-if on any-school-disciplineshould lay restraint, -here I am speaking of that liberty whichought to be allowed at schools as much as at any other placethe liberty of taking walks; and this liberty is by no means tobe enjoyed here; for even at those hours when the schooldoes not interfere with it, our time is so unaccountably andso unnecessarily parcelled out into shreds and scraps bymeals and callings-over, that at every turn of the day there issomething lying in wait to prevent one from taking continuedexercise.The fifth cause of my misery contains in itself a world ofargument. To give you some idea of my meaning, I must begyou to consider that I am living in a town where the sole anduniversal object of pursuit is precisely that which I hold most inabhorrence. In this place trade is the religion, and money is thegod. Every object I see reminds me of those occupationswhich run counter to the bent of my nature, every sentiment Ihear sounds a discord to my own. I cannot stir out of doorsbut I am nosed by a factory, a cotton-bag, a cotton- dealer, orsomething else allied to that most detestable commerce. Such-76 De Quincey's Life and Writings.an object dissipates the whole train of romantic visions I hadconjured up, and frequently gives the colouring to all myassociations of ideas during the remainder of the day.These five evils are, in themselves, sufficiently great; but mysixth cause of complaint that they admit of no variety—servesto aggravate them all. Every day, and every day, with scarcelya moment's variation, returns the same dull routine of stupidemployments. If even a happy situation, when chequered byno "sweet interchange " of light and shade, becomes tiresomeand disgusting,-what must that situation be which, in itselfmiserable, superadds this also to complete its misery, that itexperiences no change, that it is uniformity of misery. Perpetual light is bad; but far worse is that situation where noray ever enters,"But cloud instead and ever-during dark. "All these arguments are enough to prove that I have reason tobe miserable; but, if I could bring no such arguments, is notmy earnestness a sufficient proof that I am so? Should I havetaken all this trouble, and given both you and myself so muchuneasiness, to gratify a mere temporary caprice? This consideration ought to have some weight; but, even though it andall my arguments fail to convince you that I am unhappy, thefact is no less certainly so. In short, so habitually miserable doI feel, as sometimes hardly to care about myself, and often tothink"That I would set my life on any chance,To mend it or be rid on't.""But, allowing " (you will say), " that you are miserable to thefull extent, and from the causes that you say you are, still, supposing my arguments for your remaining at the school unanswerable, are not they sufficient in their future consequencesto overbalance a year's present misery? " I feel that they arenot; but, granting that they were, then I should bring forwardthose six facts which I have advanced to show what reason Ihave for being miserable as additional arguments for myleavingthe school, even supposing them not sufficient causes to producemisery. At present, however, I think I have no occasion touse them in this double capacity.Before I conclude, I must just ask you, my dear mother,whether you know that what I am now requesting is not out ofHis Resolution. 77the common course? Iam sure, from the general tenor and fromparticular passages of your letters, that you do not know this,which makes a very material difference. In short, this circ*mstance alone, exclusive of all arguments, makes it reasonable,and my arguments, if solid, make it necessary for me to beremoved from school.The Mr. Kelsall referred to above was the successor of his father in the business in Manchester.Some portion of De Quincey's patrimony was stillinvested in that business: hence the request forremittances to be found in later letters. Of thisMr. Kelsall, after failure in business and desolatingdomestic bereavements, De Quincey gives a touchingpicture in the final edition of the " Confessions. "While in shelter from a shower in the streets ofManchester, he saw a bent but yet familiar figurecreeping along the streets. He says that he shrunkfrom presenting himself for fear of causing pain inthe too vivid recollection of happier days he mightthus recall to the stricken man.All De Quincey's reasonings, representations , andappeals failed of effect. He must either at oncechoose a profession or stay where he was. As thismeant drudgery in a lawyer's office for years insteadof the delights of literary study, he declined tocomply, and decided to take the matter into his ownhands. It was summer; his seventeenth birthdaywas drawing near, after which he had resolved thathe should no longer be numbered among school- boys.He wrote to Lady Carbery for a loan of £5. Instead, after some delay, through absence, she senthim £10, saying that though it should never berepaid she would not be ruined; and with this and£2 which he had of his own he resolved to run away.78DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.He frankly confesses, however, that there was muchto be said on prudential grounds for the view hismother and guardians took.His whole income was£150-a sum too small to maintain him at Oxford.The main reason for sending him to Manchester hadbeen that, after he had remained there for three years,he should become entitled to £50 a year for a certain number of years-an addition which would havemade residence at the university easy. Of the thirtysix months, he had already completed the better half,nineteen; and though, it was true, that, partlyowing to a wrong-headed course of medical treatment,and partly owing to the strife and fever of contention with his guardian, he had lost his gaietyand peace of mind; on the other hand, as a boypassionately fond of books, and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, he could not fail to have enjoyedmany happy hours in the midst of general dejection.Yet he exclaims, " O reader, urge not the cryingarguments that spoke so tumultuously against me!Too sorrowfully I feel them. But my sufferings werealmost insupportable; and, but for the blind unconscious conspiracy of two persons, these sufferingswould either never have existed, or would have beeneasily relieved. ” And in a writing which has -notbeen published, he says of that crisis , and of thetemper of mind which it aroused in him, spurringhim, as he has expressed it, by blind impulse, as ofthe locust or the lemming in their journeyings, toone grand effort for freedom: " Sudden resolution ,that uttered itself as an irreversible fiat, was toescape. But in all common sense, the counterimpulse to that, and practically one might think theA Solemn Farewell.79restraining impulse, would be found instantaneouslyin the necessity of seeking some provision, such ascould be counted on for daily support. A child , youwill say, could not overlook this. No; but an adult,under certain circ*mstances, might. '99In spite of what he had suffered at the hands ofhis teacher, it is touching to read the characteristicrecord of the boy's tender relentings on the lastevening he was to be in the house. How he tooksolemn farewell of each familiar room and wept;how he sought occasion to pass close by the master,and thus to bid him a silent farewell by bowing, ashe thought to himself, " He is old and infirm, and inthis world I shall not see him again; " adding, “ Icould not reverence him intellectually; but he hadbeen kind to me, and I grieved at the thought ofthe mortification I should inflict upon him. "It is worth noting, too, that, under a sense of dutytowards servants, which had been impressed uponhim by his mother, he intrusted to the care ofone of his fellow-scholars who was in his secret,£3, as gratuities to be given to the servants, againreducing the amount in his hand to £9. Havingthus, so far as he could, arranged everything, heretired to snatch a few hours' broken sleep, andfeverishly to welcome that morning which was tolaunch him into the world-" that morning," he" from which and from its consequences, mywhole succeeding life has in many important pointstaken its colouring. 'says,In the early morning he got out of the house;and having, after considerable difficulty and risk,got his trunk conveyed to a carrier's, he set off to80 De Quincey's Life and Writings.walk to Chester, carrying a small parcel with somearticles of dress under his arm; a small Englishpoet in one pocket, and a small duodecimo containing some of the plays of Euripides his favouriteGreek poet-in the other. It had been his intention to proceed to Westmoreland; but two considerations caused him to shape his course differently:one was that he was ashamed to present himself tohis friends there in the guise of a fugitive school- boy,the other concern lest his mother should suffer fromthis rash step. She had, after spending some yearsin Bath and later in Somersetshire, settled at thePriory, Chester; and he went there in the hope ofmanaging to get a secret interview with his sister.After committing to her his plans, he meant to contrive, if possible, through her, some means of communication with his guardians, without the risk ofbeing pounced upon, and sent back to school.Someunknown servants of Colonel Penson, a maternaluncle of his-then home from India on furloughhad eyed the lad hovering about the house withsome suspicion. They communicated the fact to theirmaster, by whom De Quincey was confronted insteadof by his sister. He was taken in, and his wholeaffairs discussed. "My dear excellent mother, " hesays, " from the eternal quiet of her decorous household, looked upon every violent or irregular movement, and, therefore, upon mine at present, much asshe would have done upon the opening of theseventh seal in the Book of Revelation. " Hisuncle—who, though a good officer, was not a student had a sneaking sympathy with a young ladpreferring a ramble among breezy hills to mopingDe Quincey's Portable Tent. 81over dusty books. He dissuaded his sister fromany interference with the lad's main plans, but suggested the propriety of a small allowance, agreeing with her that it would never do to encourage theyounger brothers to mutiny by putting a premiumon rebellion in the case of the elder one. And soDe Quincey was allowed to go forth, to make hisway to Wales, where he wandered about in a mosterratic fashion.As long as he kept up any negotiation with hisguardians, in the way we have suggested, he receiveda regular allowance of a guinea a week. Commenting on this fact, in a rather inaccessible page, hesays:-" Upon this sum, not, however (as may besupposed), without great difficulty, I continued toobtain a bed, and some apology for supper, in the shapeof coffee or tea, at the inns scattered about the Welshvalleys for the sake of the tourist. The old villageinns had, till lately, charged the most primitive prices-sixpence, for example, had been the usual rate fora dinner, and so on; but all this had very nearlydisappeared under the great revolution of the times.War prices had arisen in the great markets; a greatinflux of tourists and artists had begun to set in tothe Welsh valleys; elegant hotels arose on everyside; and the prices were pretty much as on theBath Road. Finding, therefore, that my threeshillings a-day did but little at these showy inns,more than the better half being exhausted upona bed and the perquisites to the ' waiter,' ' chambermaid,' and ' boots, ' I came to the resolution of carrying a tent with me and sleeping out of doors. Thistent, as may be imagined, was miserably small;VOL. I. F82 De Quincey's Life and Writings.both to make it more portable, and also on accountof the tent pole, which to avoid notice and troublewas no more than a common walking-cane. Ipitched my tent always on the leeside of a hill;and, in a land so solitary, and free from highviced ' towns, I apprehended but little from anyenemies, except the wild mountain cattle: thesesometimes used to take umbrage at my intrusion,and advance upon my encampment in the darkness ,with what intentions I could not discover, nor perhapsdid they know; but I lay in constant anxiety lestsome lumbering cow or other should break into mypreserve, and poach her heavy foot into my face.This, however, was not the worst evil. I soon foundthe truth of Napoleon's criticism at St. Helena, oua proposal made for improving the art of war, byportable tents, treble-barrelled guns, &c.-that thepractice of bivouacking which offended so deeply thehumanity of some philanthropic people, was in factmost favourable to the health of the troops; andthat, at most, a screen hung up to windwards wasthe utmost protection from open air (or properlyfrom the weather, rather than the air), which isconsistent with health. The loftier tents of theofficers may be an exception; but mine, whichresembled more the humbler and crowded tentsof the privates, confirmed strikingly the medicalobjection of Napoleon. I soon found it necessaryto resign it in that form; using it rather as ascreen against the wind, or, on a calm night, asa pillow. Selecting the ground well on such occasions, I found the advantage of this sub dio sleepingin improved health; but summer air and dry ground•Wandering in Wales. 83disappearing, I was at length obliged to seek othermodes of lodging. "By and by he felt it advisable to drop allcorrespondence with his guardians. At one timehe lodged for weeks at a solitary farmhouse, atanother time he subsisted on blackberries, hipsand haws, or on the casual hospitalities which henow and then received in return for such littleservices as he had an opportunity of rendering.Sometimes he wrote letters of business for cottagers, who happened to have relatives in Liverpoolor London; more often he wrote love-letters to theirsweethearts for young women who had lived as servants in Shrewsbury, or other towns on the Englishborder. We can easily imagine howthe simpleyoung rustics would wonder at the manner in whichtheir thoughts and sentiments were translated intodeliciously-sounding sentences; and how surprisedthe old folks would be at the clearness with whichtheir little business affairs were set forth for them inblack and white. That this was so De Quincey hasestablished by an instance which he has given us." Once in particular, near the village of Llan-ystyndw (or some such name), in a sequestered partof Merionethshire, I was entertained for upwards ofthree days by a family of young people, with anaffectionate and fraternal kindness that left animpression upon my heart not yet impaired. Thefamily consisted, at that time, of four sisters andthree brothers, all grown up, and all remarkable forelegance and delicacy of manners. So much beautyand so much native good breeding and refinement Ido not remember to have seen before or since in any84 De Quincey's Life and Writings.cottage, except once or twice in Westmoreland andDevonshire. They spoke English-an accomplishment not often met with in so many members of onefamily, especially in villages remote from the highroad. Here I wrote, on my first introduction, a letterabout prize money for one of the brothers, who hadserved on board an English man-of-war; and moreprivately, two love-letters for two of the sisters.They were both interesting-looking girls , and one ofuncommon loveliness. In the midst of their confusion and blushes, whilst dictating, or rather givingme general instructions, it did not require any greatpenetration to discover that what they wished was,that their letters should be as kind as was consistentwith proper maidenly pride. I contrived so to tempermy expressions as to reconcile the gratification of bothfeelings; and they were as much pleased with theway in which I had expressed their thoughts, as ( intheir simplicity) they were astonished at my havingso readily discovered them. The reception one meetswith from the women of a family generally determines the tenor of one's whole entertainment. Inthis case I had discharged my confidential dutiesas secretary so much to the general satisfaction,perhaps also amusing them with my conversation, that I was pressed to stay with a cordialityI had little inclination to resist. I slept withthe brothers, the only unoccupied bed standingin the apartment of the young women; but inall other points they treated me with a respect notusually paid to purses as light as mine; as if myscholarship were sufficient evidence that I was of' gentle blood. ' There I lived with them for threeTo London! 85days, and great part of a fourth; and from the undiminished kindness they continued to show me, Ibelieve that I might have stayed with them up to thistime, if their power had corresponded with theirwishes. "We can easily understand how the experiences ofthese months of wandering in Wales, bringing DeQuincey as they did into such direct contact withprimitive human feelings in solitary villages , musthave developed in other directions the precocitywhich had marked his intellectual powers from thefirst. There was much of novelty and excitement inthe life which he must have thoroughly enjoyed, andhe might have been tempted to prolong this ramblingbeyond the point where it was not injurious; butnecessity, like an ' armed man, ' came in with its sterndecree. He found himself actually without moneyto go on with, beyond a very limited time, and nohope of further supplies-besides the pressure of anever-growing fear that his guardians might be on histrack. He therefore contrived to transfer himself toLondon, where, in his complete ignorance of theworld, he was fain to think that he might get anadvance of money on the security of his " expectations. " To raise £200 was his purpose; and this,doled out in four yearly instalments of £50, would,in his idea, suffice till he had reached his majority.CHAPTER V.IN LONDON.E himself has told the story of the sad episodeof his London life, with such picturesqueforce and pathos, that few readers can beunacquainted with it. It forms a part of the firstsection of the " Confessions of an English OpiumEater. " To the pains then endured, and to the weakness induced in the system by want, De Quinceyalways attributed the sufferings which prompted hisescape into opium. It has such an important bearingon his after life that we must give a general outlineof it.•When taken in connection with the sum of hisliterary effort, certain facts in his life becomeinvested with deep significance. From the outward changes in his lot De Quincey did not fail tolearn much: the feelings each of them awakened, thememories they revived, became a new and inalienable part of himself. The dreaming faculty in suchmen as De Quincey is, after all, a realistic and restoring faculty, paradoxical as the statement may appear.The over-pressure of the social instincts, as he hasDr. Dolliver's Age.87well said, does much to weaken or to wipe out thesense of the infinite; the undefinable instincts andemotions by which we maintain a hold on the idealsand the mystic truths which enwrap all life, areday by day blunted and rendered torpid through lackof exercise by extreme pre-occupation in practicalconcerns, and are best awakened anew in hard andworldly hearts by the grace and beauty of childhood.And where the actual contact with childhood maynot be present, to stimulate and to revive, a certainorder of literature-the literature, that is, of simplefancy, may secure by symbol what was missed inthe relation of fact. Tragedy, romance, fairy- tale,all alike restore to men's minds the ideals of justice,hope, truth, mercy, retribution, which else (left tothe support of daily life in its realities) would languish for want of sufficient illustration. " A recentwriter in the " Cornhill Magazine, " after a mostcareful analysis of the " Psychology of Dreams, "as it would appear, half unconsciously supports thisidea when, in summing up, he writes:-"It seems almost as if during sleep we returnedto the undeveloped mental condition of infancy, withthe single difference that our emotions are more variousand our images are furnished by a larger field ofexperience. It has been urged by more than onewriter, with a good deal of plausibility, that dreamsare representations of a primordial state of intelligence and mental development, as we see it now inchildren. "And Nathaniel Hawthorne, in one of the mostsubtle passages which he penned in his later days,confirms this view, when he unfolds to us the secret88 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of old Dr. Dolliver's aged serenity and hopefuljoy:-"Youth, however eclipsed for a season, is undoubtedly the proper, permanent, and genuine condition of man; and if we look closely into thisdreary delusion of growing old, we shall find it neverabsolutely succeeds in laying hold of our innermostconvictions. A sombre garment, woven of life'sunrealities, has muffled us from our true self, butwithin it smiles the youth whom we knew; theashes of many perishable things have fallen uponour youthful fire, but beneath them lurk the seedsof inextinguishable flame. So powerful is this instinctive faith, that men of simple modes of characterare prone to antedate its consummation. And thusit happened with poor Grandsir Dolliver, who oftenawoke from an old man's fitful sleep with a sensethat his senile predicament was but a dream of thepast night; and hobbling hastily across the coldfloor to the looking- glass, he would be grievouslydisappointed at beholding the white hair, the wrinklesand furrows, the ashen visage and bent form, themelancholy mask of age, in which, as he now remembered, some strange and sad enchantment hadinvolved him for years gone by."We thus discover in each man, much though itmay have been dulled and darkened by rough contactwith the world, a perpetual reminder of infancy andyouth. If the " child is father to the man," theman is, by the very laws of his nature, the inseparable companion of his childhood, through whichaccess may often be found to his "better self, " whenall more direct appeals to intellect or conscience maySuccess in Dreaming.89have failed. With this thought before us, we can themore clearly see the special mission of such mindsas De Quincey's. It is simply to revive those rarerinstincts and emotions as real and pervading forcesin human life, without the sense of which a manis lop-sided, imperfect, void of sympathy, a creatureof narrow and limited view. If he personally suffered by the emergence of phantasy and the dreaming power, his clear and penetrating intellect, whichrested in kindly union with them, enabled him oftento draw from his adverse circ*mstances the mostimpressive pictures whereby to deepen the colours,and, as it were, to heighten the architecture of hisdreams, and we are the gainers by his loss, and mustfollow him with some sympathy in his more matterof-fact narratives, if we would faithfully estimate thetruth that underlies them.Some critics do not seem to have seized this point,and have even suggested that his " Confessions " wouldhave been more interesting if he had had more toconfess, i.e. , if, after the manner of Rousseau, he hadindulged in certain vices. But it may well be assertedthat such an expression betrays an utter lack of insightinto the value of that section of De Quincey's writingswhich is being dealt with. The essential conditionof success in the kind of dreaming to which DeQuincey lays claim is an underlying purity and detachment from the ordinary desires and appetites, ifwe must admit that it needs to be stimulated by theindulgence of appetites special to itself. The peculiarity of De Quincey's dreams is, that while theybetray all the longing for solitude on which thephantasy or dreaming faculty so much depends, they90 De Quincey's Life and Writings.indicate also an unusual width of sympathy,readiness to accept the poor and forlorn and repulsivefor their own sakes, and to find redeeming and beautiful elements in them. This accounts for the placewhich Ann of Oxford Street holds in the opiumdreams; for the abiding impression made on DeQuincey's mind by the two deaf idiot girls-" Strulbrugs "-who were held to menial offices by the wifeof one of his early teachers; and for the reappearanceso persistently in his opium-dreams at one stage ofthe poor Malay, to whom in pity for his miserableplight he had given some opium. It is the almostunique infusion of kindly dramatic human elements into these dreams-belonging as such usuallydo to a class which yield themselves to pure revelment among shadows of the fancy —that givesthem their transcendent power to move us; and thiselement could hardly have consisted with the senseof abandoned self-enjoyment or prurient vice in theexperience of the dreamer. We shall hereafterhave more to say on this subject; but we havedeemed it right to interject this much by way ofpreparing the reader to sympathise the more perfectlywith the facts we are now to recall, and also to pointout again how the inner and the outer life of DeQuincey aided each other, to render possible the gifthe has made to literature.The very capacity to carry out the resolution hehad formed to leave school, and to pass the time inwandering in remote solitudes, till his guardiansmight be brought to yield to his views, shows moreself-dependence than might be expected from a youthwho had heretofore offended so often by his dreamyMr. Brunell. 91and unpractical ways. And the persistency withwhich he carried out his project, unflinchingly to thebitter end, indicates the possibility of greater moralstrength than he might be credited with. At allevents, now that he found himself in London, misfortune soon brought him among strange companions.He found a kind of lodging in a house in Greek Street,Soho, which might practically be called unoccupied,though it was really tenanted by aman-an attorney-who carried on a low and disreputable businessin it.His name was Brown or Brunell. He was akind of agent for the Jews with whom De Quinceyhad opened negotiations for an advance of money,and this it was that brought them into contact."From the expression of his face, but much morefrom the contradictory and self- counteracting playof his features, you gathered in a moment that hewas a man who had much to conceal, and muchperhaps that he would gladly forget.His eyeexpressed wariness against surprise, and passed ina moment into irrepressible glances of suspicionand alarm. No smile that ever his face naturallyassumed but was pulled short up by some freezingcounteraction, or was chased by some close followingexpression of sadness. One feature there was ofrelenting goodness and nobleness in Mr. Brunell'scharacter, to which it was that subsequently I myself was most profoundly indebted for an asylumthat saved my life. He had the deepest, the mostliberal, and unaffected love of knowledge, but aboveall, of that specific knowledge which we call literature. "92 De Quincey's Life and Writings.He seems to have been drawn to the starvingscholar with a genuine kindly interest; and when,with great reluctance, a request was proffered tohim for a nightly corner in the large rat- hauntedhouse, it was readily accorded. De Quincey sawinto much of the ongoings there, that might havebeen presumed to escape, in its deeper shades ofsuggestion, the nature of one so young; but hegenerously records: " My situation, at that time,gave me little experience, in my own person, of anyqualities in Mr. Brunell's character but such asdid him honour; and of his whole strange composition, I ought to forget everything, but that towardsme he was obliging, and, to the extent of his power,generous. " He cannot, however, forego the chanceof casting a jet of gentle humour over the grimgrotesquerie of the situation."Hunger-bitten as the house and the householdgenius seemed, wearing the legend of famine uponevery mantlepiece or ' coigne of vantage,' andvehemently protesting, as it must have done,through all its echoes, against the introduction ofsupernumerary mouths, there was (and, I suppose, ofnecessity) a clerk, who bore the name of Pyment,or Pyemont. Mr. Pyment had no alias-or not tomy knowledge-except, indeed, in the vituperativevocabulary of Mr. Brunell, in which most variegatednomenclature he bore many scores of opprobriousnames, having no reference whatever to any realhabits of the man, good or bad. At two rooms'distance, Mr. Brunell always assumed a minute andcirc*mstantial knowledge of what Pyment wasdoing then, and what he was going to do next. AllStrange Companions. 93which Pyment gave himself little trouble to answer,unless it happened (as now and then it did) that hecould do so with ludicrous effect. What made thenecessity for Pyment was the continual call for anappearance ' to be put in at some of the subordinatecourts in Westminster-courts of conscience, sheriffcourts, &c. But it happens often that he who ismost indispensable, and gets through most work atone hour, becomes a useless burden at another; asthe harvester seems, in the eyes of an ignoramus, ona wet, wintry day, to be a luxurious idler. Of theseups and downs in Pyment's working life, Mr.Brunell made a most cynical use; making out thatPyment not only did nothing, but also that hecreated much work for the afflicted Brunell. However, it happened occasionally that the truth vindicated itself, by making a call on Pyment's physics-aggressive or defensive-that needed an instantattention. Pyment, I say; this way, Pyment--you're wanted, Pyment. ' In fact, both were big,hulking men, and had need be so; for sometimes,whether with good reason or none, clients at theend of a losing suit, or of a suit nominally gained,but unexpectedly laden with heavy expenses, becamerefractory, showed fight, and gave Pyment reasonfor saying that at least on this day he had earnedhis salary by serving an ejectment on a client whom*on any other plan it might have been hard to settlewith. "The only other nightly inhabitant of the largehouse was a little girl, a poor, forlorn child, apparentlyten years old, hunger-bitten and wretched. " Greatjoy the poor creature expressed when she found that94 De Quincey's Life and Writings.I was in future to be her companion through thehours of darkness. From the want of furniture inthe large house, the noise of the rats made a prodigious echoing on the spacious staircase and hall,and amid many real bodily ills, the forsaken childhad suffered much from the self-created one ofghosts. " They slept on the floor, with bundles oflaw-papers for a pillow, and with no other coveringthan a tattered rug and an old horseman's cloak;creeping close together for warmth. De Quinceyfor a long time subsisted on scraps picked up hereand there. ' During Brunell's breakfast," he says," I generally contrived a reason for lounging in;and, with an air of as much indifference as I couldtook up assume, such fragments as might chance toremain. Sometimes, indeed, there were none remaining. As to the poor child, she was neveradmitted into his study (if I may give that name tohis chief depository of parchments, law-writings,&c. ); that room was to her the Bluebeard-room ofthe house, being regularly locked on his departureto dinner, about six o'clock, which usually was hisfinal departure for the night. Whether this childwere an illegitimate daughter of Mr. Brunell, or only aservant, I could not ascertain; she did not herselfknow; but certainly she was treated altogether as amenial servant. No sooner did Mr. Brunell make hisappearance, than she went below-stairs, brushed hisshoes, coat, &c.; and except when she was summonedto run upon some errand, she never emerged from thedismal Tartarus of the kitchens to the upper air, untilmy welcome knock at night called up the littletrembling footsteps to the front door. Of her lifeFear of Discovery. 95during the daytime, however, I knew little but whatI gathered from her own account at night; for, assoon as the hours of business commenced I saw thatmy absence would be acceptable; and, in general,therefore, I went off and sat in the Parks or elsewhere until nightfall. " He tells us that though inafter years he made efforts to trace this child, henever succeeded. She was uninteresting, neitherpretty, nor quick in understanding, nor pleasing inmanners; "but I loved the child, " he says, "becauseshe was my partner in wretchedness. "By way of explaining how it was that, with somany friends able to aid him in London, DeQuincey should have shrunk from applying to anyof them, and have allowed himself to sink into suchabsolute starvation, he tells us he was afraid that byso doing he might run the risk of being discoveredto his guardians, and compelled to return to theschool-a humiliation he could not have brooked;and that, unpractical and inexperienced as he was,it never struck him that he might have managedto earn his subsistence as a classical Reader in aprinting-office.66As was inevitable, being himself a peripatetic, he soon became acquainted with other peripatetics. Many of these women had occasionally taken my part against watchmen, who wishedto drive me off the steps of houses where I wassitting. . . . I feel no shame, nor have any reasonto feel it, in avowing that I was then on familiarand friendly terms with many women in that unfortunate condition. The reader needs neither smileat this nor frown. For, not to remind my classical96DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.readers of the old Latin proverb, ' Sine Cerere etBaccho,' &c. , it may well be supposed that in theexisting state of my purse my relation with suchwomen could not have been an impure one. " Here,as in so many other cases, De Quincey found finequalities in unexpected places, like fair flowers in thecrevices of volcanic rocks, and the revelation almostrepaid him for the misery he had borne. To one ofthese poor women he has given a permanent place inliterature for the episode of her kindness to him inhis worst strait is one of the most touching thingson record, and she reappears in the opium-dreams.So familiar is the history of Ann-the young girlof sixteen who had been so cruelly wronged-to allreaders of English literature, that it is unnecessaryto detail it here. But her most memorable act ofkindness to him must be glanced at: how, whenhe had fainted from exhaustion on a doorstepwhere they were sitting in Soho Square, she ranand spent her last sixpence for wine and spicesto revive him, at a moment when she could havehad no hope of repayment; how, soon afterwards, having accidentally been met by a friendof the family, he was enabled to procure somearticles of dress, and to go to Eton to try and arrange for Lord Westport becoming collateral securityfor a small loan that he had been promised by a Jew;how he parted with Ann, and how, through insufficient precautions, he was never afterwards able totrace her and to reward her for her ungrudgingsacrifice on his behalf; all this he has told withsuch graphic power and pathos as can hardly fail totouch the heart.Ann of Oxford Street. 97Though he had put in operation all the machineryhe could command, " to this hour, " he writes in1821 , " I have never heard a syllable about her.This, amongst such troubles as most men meet within this life, has been my heaviest affliction. If shelived, doubtless we must have been sometimes insearch of each other, at the very same moment,through the mighty labyrinths of London; perhapseven within a few feet of each other-a barrier nowider, in a London street, often amounting in theend to a separation for eternity! During someyears, I hoped that she did live; and I suppose thatin the literal and unrhetorical use of the word myriad,I may say that, on my different visits to London, Ihave looked into many, many myriads of femalefaces, in the hope of meeting her. I should knowher again amongst a thousand, if I saw her for amoment; for, though not handsome, she had asweet expression of countenance, and a peculiar andgraceful carriage of the head. I sought her, I havesaid, in hope. So it was for years; but now Ishould fear to see her; and her cough which grievedme when I parted from her, is now my consolation.I now wish to see her no longer; but think of hermore gladly as one long since laid in the grave of aMagdalen; taken away, before injuries and crueltyhad blotted out and transfigured her ingenuous nature,or the brutalities of ruffians had completed the ruinthey had begun. "His journey to Eton was fruitless, as he found thatLord Westport had left for Oxford; and though LordDesert, whom he had met before, treated him hospitably, and promised to do what he could to aid him, heVOL. I. G98DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.had to return to London, dejected, to resume his oldmanner of life. By accident, however, very soon afterthis, and in the most unexpected manner, the wayopened for reconciliation with his friends; and heproceeded to Chester, to find his uncle still an inmateof the Priory, with its " deep monastic tranquillity. "This uncle had been for a lifetime in India, and entertained odd views of many things. As may be presumed, there was no lack of topics for talk. Sometimes the nephew, if compelled to defend himself ona subject on which they chanced to take differentsides , too clearly had the advantage in point of logic,in spite of his shortsightedness in all matters ofworldly experience." It must not be supposed, " says De Quincey," that I regarded my own particular points of superiority; or that I used them with any vanity or viewto present advantages. On the contrary, I sickenedover them, and laboured to defeat them. But invain I sowed error in my premises, or planted absurdities in my assumptions. Vainly I tried suchblunders as putting four terms into a syllogism,which, as all the world knows, ought to run on three,a tripod it ought to be, by all rules known to man,and behold I forced it to become a quadruped. Uponmy uncle's military haste and tumultuous energy inpressing his opinions, all such delicate refinementswere thrown away. With disgust I saw, with disgust he saw, that too apparently the advantage laywith me in the result; and whilst I worked like adragon to place myself in the wrong, some fiendapparently so counterworked me, that eternally Iwas reminded of the Manx halfpennies , which latelyHe agrees togo to Oxford. 79I had continually seen current in North Wales;bearing for their heraldic distinction three humanlegs in armour, but so placed in relation to eachother, that always one leg is vertical and mountingguard on behalf of the other two, which thereforeare unable to sprawl aloft in the air, —in fact, to beas absurdly negligent as they choose, relying upontheir vigilant brother above, and upon the writtenlegend or motto, STABIT QUO CUNQUE JECERIT ( Standit will upright, though you should fling it in any conceivable direction). What gave another feature ofdistraction and incoherency to my position was thatI still occupied the position of a reputed boy, nay,a child in the estimate of my audience, and ofa child in disgrace. " So, after one of these unsatisfactory discussions, under the taunt of his unclethat he was wasting his time, he agreed to proceedto Worcester College, Oxford, with the allowance of£100 per annum, which his guardians had offered ,and under the unskilled assurance of his uncle that ," with economy, this sum might be made to meetthe necessities of the case. As we shall see hereafter, Colonel Penson's good opinion of his nephewdid not in any way suffer because of that runawayadventure.99CHAPTER VI.OXFORD.E QUINCEY'S life at Oxford was little in conformity with the ordinary traditions of thatancient seat oflearning. Its hoary antiquity,its venerable air, must have at first impressed him; thereminiscences of the famous sons of genius, who havefondly looked back to its lofty halls and its dim cloisters, could not but have stirred his enthusiasm; theinexhaustible treasures of the Bodleian could not buthave sometimes tempted him to " scorn delights andlive laborious days, " as indeed we have the best ofproofthat he did. But he came burdened with experiences,luckily not common to undergraduates; and natural tendency combined with outward circ*mstancesto repress the " genial currents, " which it is as muchthe prerogative of Oxford to awaken and to direct,as it is to instil, or to confirm, love for liberalstudies in themselves-for the Greek and the Latinpoets, and for " divine philosophy. " We have seenthe place which Oxford had in his mind when hequarrelled with his guardians. His one passion wasto be relieved from the irksomeness of schoclboy re-College Life.ΙΟΙstraints , as well as saved from the drudgery of professional training; to be launched into a world oflearning, free to follow his intellectual bent, and toseek knowledge for its own sake. In view of thesmallness of his fortune, and the indifference topractical considerations, of which his guardians mayalready have had some tokens, something might wellbe urged in favour of their policy, looked at from thelevel of common sense; but more is to be said by wayof regret that their treatment of De Quincey was sounsympathetic, and so little tempered by any perception of the real quality of his character, as onlyprecipitated him the sooner into the whirlpool fronwhich they would fain have saved him. Still, hestudied hard, but not in the lines that lead touniversity honours. He could have stood an examination at any time in Greek; perhaps been ableeven to quiz and puzzle his examiners; but the ambition that is necessary to sustain set college studies haddeparted from him. His exceptional life during theyear that had passed, and the sufferings he hadundergone, induced some morbidity and disinclination to associate with others; and he was in no littledanger of subsiding into a helpless, brooding apathy.He thus speaks of his early college life: " I, whosedisease was to meditate too much and to observe toolittle, upon my first entrance on college life, wasnearly falling into a deep melancholy, from broodingtoo much on the sufferings I had witnessed in London." Added to his distress in the perception of allthis, there was the distracting sense of giving thefuture in pledge for the present by borrowing fromJews at heavy interest. " My necessities," he frankly102 De Quincey's Life and Writings.says, " had not arisen from any extravagance oryouthful levities (these my habits and the nature ofmy pleasures raised me far above) , but simply fromthe vindictive malice of my guardian, who, when hefound himselfno longer able to prevent me from goingto the university, had, as a parting token of his goodnature, refused to sign an order granting me ashilling beyond the allowance made to me at school,viz. , £ 100 per annum. Upon this sum it was, inmy time, barely possible to have lived in college;and not possible to a man who, though above thepaltry affectation of ostentatious disregard for money,and without any expensive tastes, confided, nevertheless, rather too much in servants, and did notdelight in the petty details of minute economy. Isoon, therefore, became embarrassed; and at length,after a most voluminous negotiation with the Jew(some parts of which if I had leisure to rehearsethem would greatly amuse my readers), I was put inpossession of the sum I asked for. "In these circ*mstances, it was easy to foresee thepossibility of melancholy finding her seat and empirein his overfine and precocious intellect. He wassaved from this fate by the power which the worksof Wordsworth and Coleridge-as yet little known—exercised over him. He tells us that to the perusalof the " Lyrical Ballads, " more especially to that of" The Ancient Mariner," he attributed the unfoldingof his mind. The continuous study of the earlierworks of those our two greatest modern poets andthinkers kept his sympathies alive-compelled him,as it were, to an interest in Nature and in Man, andopened for him a pathway to the highest appreciativeIntroduction to Opium. 103enjoyment of the masters of English literature-auenjoyment from which too often scholars are shutout by strict devotion to the classics till it is all toolate, the sensibilities for beauty other than thatof dead languages having been nipped, like aplant by early frost. Expert as De Quinceyalready was in all the niceties of Latin and Greek ,he lost less than he gained, by being at this time sofully taken possession of by the dawning splendoursof a new era of English poetry-a circ*mstancewhich, in spite of himself, inspired him with something of the zeal of an apostle, and opened up forhim the hope that in days not far distant, if notnow, he might do something towards making othersthe sharers of his delights.That this was so is proved by the fact that already,in many flying visits to London, he had sought outliterary people, whom he may have presumed notunlikely to bring him into personal relationship withthe writers who had so benefitted him. One of thesewas Charles Lamb; and of De Quincey's intercoursewith him at this time and later we shall make opportunity to speak further on.It was in 1804, his second year at college, too ,that he first tasted opium. He had been sufferingseverely from a neuralgic affection, due it may be insome measure to exposure during his wanderings,or to want of thought in immersing his head whenwarm in cold water. In the streets of London, he hadmet a college friend who, on his explaining his condition, recommended opium-a fact suggesting thathe may possibly have had one friend at Oxford withwhom he could exchange a word on Coleridge. Be104 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that as it may, he speedily discovered a " beatificchemist, " near the " stately Pantheon, " who for somecoppers became the " minister of celestial pleasures. "" Here was a panacea, " he exclaims, " a pápμaкovvýπevées, for all human woes: here was the secret ofhappiness, about which philosophers had disputed forso many ages, at once discovered: happiness mightnow be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket; portable ecstasies might be had corkedup in a pint bottle, and peace of mind could be sentdown in gallons by the mail-coach. But if I talk inthis way," he suddenly pulls up, "the reader willthink I am laughing; and I can assure him, thatnobody will laugh long who deals much in opium:its pleasures even are of a grave and solemn complexion; and in his happiest state, the opium-eatercannot present himself in the character of L'Allegro:even then he speaks and thinks as becomes IlPenseroso. "" heIn his " Suspiria " he informs us that Levana wasoften in his dreams at Oxford: he knew her by herRoman symbols; that already the sense of a Pariahworld, shadowing a mighty abstraction, had takenpossession of his mind and heart, fed by suggestionsof the sufferings he had witnessed in London; thatalready he could say of the Three Sorrows, " One ofwhom [ Mater Lachrimarum] I know, and the otherstoo surely I shall know. ' For already, in my fervent youth, I saw (dimly relieved upon the darkbackground of my dreams) the imperfect lineamentsof the awful sisters. " And ever the agitations ofchildhood re-open in strength and sweep in upon hisbrain with the power and the grandeur of recoveredOxford Dreams. 105life. " Again I am in the chamber with my sister'scorpse, again the pomps of life rise up in silence,the glory of summer, the Syrian sunlights, the frostof death. Dream forms itself mysteriously withindream; within those Oxford dreams remodels itselfcontinually the trance in my sister's chamber-theblue heavens, the everlasting vault, the soaring billows, the throne steeped in the thought (but not thesight) of Who might sit thereon; ' the flight , thepursuit, the irrecoverable steps of my return to earth.Once more the funeral procession gathers; the priestin his white surplice stands waiting with a book bythe side of an open grave; the sacristan is waitingwith his shovel; the coffin has sunk; the dust to dusthas ascended. Again I was in the church on aheavenly Sunday morning. The golden sunlight ofGod slept amongst the heads of His apostles , Hismartyrs, His saints; the fragment from the litany,the fragment from the clouds, awoke again the lawnybeds that went up to scale the heavens-awoke againthe shadowy arms that moved downward to meetthem. Once again rose the swell of the anthem,the burst of the Hallelujah chorus, the storm , thetrampling movement of the choral passion, the agitation of my own trembling sympathy, the tumult ofthe choir, the wrath of the organ. Once more I,that wallowed in the dust, became he that rose upto the clouds. And now all was bound into unity;the first state and the last were melted into eachother as in some sunny glorifying haze.For highin heaven hovered a gleaming host of faces, veiledwith wings, around the pillows of the dying children.And such beings sympathise equally with sorrow106 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that grovels, and with sorrow that soars.Suchbeings pity alike the children that are languishingin death, and the children that live only to languishin tears."At this time, and for several years, however, hewas an occasional rather than a constant devotee;and exercised self-control enough to enable him toextend his curiosities into new fields. In 1805 hehad begun the study of German in earnest, and hadsoon made himself a proficient in it. The desire tounlock for himself the secrets of Herder and Kant, ofwhom he had heard, was the main inducement; buthe soon found that, by a little toil, he had purchasedthe right of entrée into a wide and a fair kingdom; andRichter and the rest were his rich reward. Goethe,too, though De Quincey could never be ranked amonghis English worshippers. He viewed the great modernpagan with surprise that did not disturb calm scrutiny,and has scattered through his writings some incisiveif not always exhaustive criticisms on the sage ofWeimar.During his college residence, his visits to hisfriends the Merritts, the Craggs, and others, atLiverpool, furnished much pleasure, as we learn fromhis papers. During a visit to the former at Evertonin 1805, we find him reviewing his idea of the" Constituents of Human Happiness, " on which hehad at an earlier period made some notes while ona visit at Coniston. These notes are so characteristic, and indicate so much serious thought, that wecannot but think our readers will be glad to possessthem.Meditations on Happiness. 107CONSTITUENTS OF HAPPINESS.CONISTON, Monday Morning, August 18, 1805.1. A capacity of thinking-i.e. , of abstraction and reverie.2. The cultivation of an interest in all that concerns humanlife and human nature.3. A fixed, and not merely temporary, residence in some spotof eminent beauty:-I say not merely temporary, because frequent change of abode is unfavourable to the growth of localattachment, which must of necessity exercise on any, but moreespecially on a contemplative mind, a most beneficial influence;and I say of eminent beauty, both for its own sake as beingintrinsically an abundant source of pleasure and a mostpowerful assistant of fancy, and also as justifying andgiving efficacy to the local attachment spoken of above. Inthis last view, its value is well evidenced by my own case, whoin many instances wherein I have formed an infant attachmentto a place not beautiful from associating with its scenery thepleasure derived from thinking, or reading, or other pleasures,have felt this attachment combated by my perception of itshomeliness.4. Such an interchange of solitude and interesting society asthat each may give to each an intenser glow of pleasure.5. Books, from which are derived a double pleasure—viz. , 1 .That furnished by the matter of the book; 2. That furnishedby the consciousness of intellectual advancement, in which areinvolved the consciousness of extending the scale of meansinstrumental to happiness, and also of extending one's holdon the respect of men both on account of the actual increase ofrespectability, and also on account of the increasing power ofenforcing one's claims by conversation and letters.6. Some great intellectual project, to which all intellectualpursuits may be made tributary, thus giving to employmentsin themselves pleasurable in the highest degree that separatepleasure which even irksome employments borrow from thepleasurableness of the object to which they are pursued asinstrumental.7. Health and vigour.8. The consciousness of a supreme mastery over all unworthy108 De Quincey's Life and Writings.passions (anger, contempt, and fear), and over all appetites;together with a highly cherished benevolence; or, to generalisethis canon, a sense of moral elevation and purity.9. A vast predominance of contempt, varied with only somuch of action as the feelings may prompt by way of reliefand invigoration to the faculty of contempt.10. Both as subsidiary to the last, and also for its ownvalue, a more than ordinary emancipation from worldly cares,anxieties, and connections, and from all that is comprehendedunder the term business; so that no frequent demands may bemade on one's time, and thoughts, and feelings of interest, bysubjects not of value enough to engage them. To this end one'sfortune should be concentrated in one secure depositary, so asthat the interest may be most easily collected; and all familyarrangements should be definite and simple, and therefore notrequiring much superintendence; and, in Ely Bates's phrase,one should "be compact in life. ”11. The education of a child.12. One which, not being within the range of any man'scontrol, I should not mention, only that experience has readme a painful lesson on its value-a personal appearancetolerably respectable. I do not mean to say attractive (forthat is not necessary, and with such a congregation of giftsfrom fortune and nature as must unite to secure the attainment of the eleven preceding constituents of happiness, cannotreasonably be expected), but so far not repulsive, and on a levelwith the persons of men in general, as that though, apart fromthe intellectual superiority of its owner, there should be nothingto excite interest-there should, on that superiority being madeknown, and a consequent interest existed, be nothing in itsgeneral effect to contradict that interest. A mediocrity ofpersonal advantages, accompanied, however, with the pleasingexpression resulting from the union of moral with intellectualworth, is (I am convinced) most favourable to such facilityand familiarity of intercourse with all ranks of men as is thebest avenue to an extensive acquaintance with humanity.Where such moderate advantages as these, however, are wanting, this want may be best compensated-(1 . ) By that temperateand unostentatious dignity of manners and general tranquillityand composure of behaviour which bespeaks a mind at peacewith itself, that, being conscious of no claims to attention onSubstitutes for Mediocrity ofPerson. 109that ground (as far as any claim can be acquired thereby), madenone, and also, rating at only its due price the quality ofsuch attention, had purified itself of all anxiety for it, and hadsought its pleasures and consolations elsewhere and moreworthily, disdaining to hold any material part of its happinessas a trembling pensioner on the smiles of beings for themost part ranking in actual value decidedly below itself. (2.)By acquiring a high literary name, which, with the mass ofmen (ofwhom I am here speaking), has the effect of impressingthem with a consciousness that you, who hold part in the gazeand notice and comments of collective man, are indifferent tothe thoughts of individual man, and also the effect of settingyou apart in their feelings from the ordinary classes ofmen, so as to be no longer a fit subject for comparison withthem, by which comparison it was that you chiefly suffered. These are the best substitutes, I believe, with menof a middle order; men of the highest order are not concernedin this question; and, in the turmoil of worldly intercourse,money supersedes both the reality and the substitutes, apart orjointly.EVERTON, Saturday Morning, August 22, 1805.Concerning happiness, this addition to my speculation atConiston occurred to me.Nature provides to all men a sufficient supply of happiness,during that time when they have not sufficient intellect toapprehend and ascertain, or foresight to secure to themselves,sources of voluntary happiness-an involuntary happiness proceeding from an exuberance of animal joy and spirits: this shewithdraws in regular progression with the advancement of theintellect, and through the instrumentality of that very intellect.On the decay of these self-supporting spirits commences theincumbency (which rests on every man) to provide for himselfa source of permanent stimulus; and at this crisis it is thatwisdom most fails the souls of men; for at this period mostmen begin to resort to liquors and the turbulent bustle of theworld to give a feverish warmth to their else shivering spirits.This is obviously every way a low and ruinous stimulus; but,as some source of excitement is necessary, it remains to inquirewhat? And this I answer, that I am firmly persuaded that thereΙΙΟ De Quincey's Life and Writings.is none but a deep interest in those exhaustless and most loftysubjects of human life and human nature: to these are allied andministerial, all branches of moral science, as well as records ofhuman transactions, and all that part of history from thefoundation of the world, and of voyages and travels, whichrecords the varieties and traces the revolutions of human natureas exhibiting itself in the forms of manners, customs, literature, &c. , and all fine fictions which exercise the same wholesome feelings that are put into a happy and quiet frameby such an acquaintance with humanity as is here spoken of.And hence arises, as I am tutored bymyown experience, a gradualextension of interest to many other classes of books, whichthough in themselves not directly capable of gratifying thispassion, yet are subsidiary to some branches of the philosophywhich nurtures it. This increases: 1. By an increasing perception and a conviction familiarised to the feelings of the intimaterelation such subordinate branches have with the main branchesof this pursuit. 2. By the deepening of the primary interest inthe main branches themselves, from which deepening all thataids them must of necessity borrow depth.As an exemplification of what I have here said, I must recordtwo facts in the history of my own mind. 1. The sudden swell andgrowth of my interest in the origin of association amongst men,and, in general, in a simplified view of political science, inthe spring of this year whilst at Everton. 2. In my desire toread Edwards' " West Indies," " Gibbon, " &c., and various otherworks, which formerly, for their own value intrinsically, andapart from the reference they bear to the subject, I should haveread merely as a task. Yesterday also I perceived the closenessof the connection which Political Economy has, in all that relatesto the division of labour, &c., with the philosophy of society.Even that dreary study of languages borrows from the splendourof the objects to which it is subservient so much of that splendour as to impart to them on the whole, at proper seasons,considerable pleasure.In the education of a child, therefore, the grand object isto lead him to cultivate an interest in humanity, and toavail yourself of the time when such an interest has yet buta weak hold on him to perfect him in all those parts of knowledge (as languages) which are: 1. Assistant to his mainpurpose when he wakens to a full sense of it; and 2. Which,Habit of Self-questioning. IIIbeing so, might interrupt or much impede his career after hehad entered on it."One principal instrument in the generation of such aninterest I believe to be the formation of two or three local anda few personal attachments.From various notes of later dates we cull thefollowing, as illustrating his habit of self- questioningin matters that may be said to lie between the worldof thought and practice, constantly influencing andmodifying each other:-In proof of the non-development of the passion for fameduring childhood, we may observe that children are neveranxious about the opinion of persons at a distance. But concerning this I must think again.Healthy and sound humour must in this, as one of its characteristics, differ from that which is unsound, in that it nevertakes for the ground of its mirth any ludicrous feature in thecharacter, habits, &c. , with which moral deformity is in anydegree associated. Thus the threadbare coat of an author, theelevation of his dwelling, &c. , are all subjects of good-naturedmerriment, because they raise only a merry smile with whichno disgust or contempt is mixed; whereas in the humour ofSwift and R. B. Sheridan there is always malice and sarcasmfelt from the nature of the subjects selected; and it is on thisground principally that I account for my rooted dislike ofSheridan.Q. Whether it be not a sufficient test of a false or meanemotion that we are ashamed of it afterwards?Q. Whether any pursuit can be of the first class in dignityand value in which itself is not the end: thus, in depreciationof war,"In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. " -Coleridge.De Quincey, after passing through all his preliminary stages, successfully underwent the writtenI 12 De Quincey's Life and Writings.examination for his degree. This is fully confirmedby the recollections of Mr. Grinfield, already quotedfrom; for he says: " I had many letters from himduring his tour in Ireland, which unfortunately havebeen lost. I then never heard from him till we metat Oxford. He went to Worcester College, and Ientered Lincoln, but we sometimes met; and I oftenheard of him, and knew he was much admired there.On coming into residence he secured the services ofone Schwartzburg, a German, who taught himHebrew, and whom he made a good deal of a companion for some time. From this Schwartzburg itmay have been that he first derived his passion forthe German literature and philosophy."" It was wellknown that Dr. Cotton, the Provost of Worcester,had formed the very highest opinion of him; and Ihave heard it said that Dr. Goodenough of ChristChurch, who was one of the examiners, declared toa member of Worcester College, " You have sent usthe cleverest man I ever met with; if his viva voceexamination to- morrow correspond with what he hasdone to-day, he will carry everything before him. "In this Mr. Grinfield is so far wrong. Schwartzburg mayhave confirmed him in his love for German, but De Haren, oneofthe friends he made in his wanderings in Wales, first introducedhim to German and interested himin German authors and philosophers. "From him it was," says De Quincey, "that I obtainedmy first lesson in German, and my first acquaintance withGerman literature. Paul Richter I then first heard of, togetherwith Hippel, a humorist admired by Kant, and Haman, alsoclassed as a humorist, but a nondescript writer, singularly obscure,whom I have never since seen in the hand of any Englishman, except once of Mr. William Hamilton. With all thesewriters M. de Haren had the means of making me fully acquaintedin the small portable library which filled one of his trunks."Dr. Cotton's Opinion ofhim.·113" But owing, as it was said, to some offence he tookwith the examiners, he disappeared from Oxford, andnever passed the viva voce. I rather incline to believe that he had some distrust of his own presenceof mind, feeling that his intellect was somewhat impatient of grappling with the smaller points whichis demanded in a university examination. . .I canwell remember a warm discussion with him at collegeon the merits of Southey and Coleridge, in which Irashly charged him with some leaning towardsdeistical principles. He was so much affected thathe burst into tears, took up his cap, and suddenlyleft the room. He was so much hurt by that insinuation, that we ceased to correspond in afterlife."We learn from other sources of Dr. Cotton's highopinion of De Quincey, and here quote his testimonyto personal character as well as to intellectual acquirements:-" During the period of his residence hewas generally known as a quiet and studious man.He did not frequent wine parties, though he did notabstain from wine; and he devoted himself principally to the society of a German named Schwartzburg, who is said to have taught him Hebrew. Hewas remarkable even in those days for his rare conversational powers, and for his extraordinary stockof information upon every subject that was started. "These reports of his Oxford life tend to show thathe was not so absolutely retired and isolated duringhis residence there as a too harsh construction of hisown words, written afterwards, when the memory ofsevere mental struggles was more vivid than therecollection of outward facts, might lead one toVOL. I. H114 De Quincey's Life and Writings.infer. His name remained on the college books tillDecember 1810.One of his contemporaries through all his yearsof residence was John Wilson, who achieved such areputation as amounted almost to notoriety. He wasnot only famous as a student, but as a sportsmau.And it well indicates the retirement, even the isolation, in which De Quincey lived among his owndreams and interests that he never even heard ofthis brilliant figure of Magdalen. De Quincey takesoccasion to remark upon this circ*mstance in one ofhis sketches of Wilson:-" Once launched in this orbit, Mr. Wilson continued to blaze away for the four successive years,1804-5-6-7, I believe without any intermission .Possibly I myself was the one sole gownsman whohad not then found my attention fixed by his mostheterogeneous reputation. In a similar case, Cicerotells a man that ignorance so unaccountable of anotherman's pretensions, argued himself to be a hom*o ignorabilis; or, in the language of the Miltonic Satan,' Not to know me, argues thyself unknown.' Andthat is true: a hom*o ignorabilis most certainly I was.And even with that admission it is still difficult toaccount for the extent and the duration of my ignorance. The fact is, that the case well expresses bothour positions: that he should be so as to challengeknowledge from the most sequestered of anchoritesexpresses his life: that I should have right to absolute ignorance of him who was familiar as daylightto all the rest of Oxford-expresses mine. Never,indeed, before, to judge from what I have since heardupon inquiry, did a man by variety of talents, andProfessor Wilson. 115variety of humours, contrive to place himself as theconnecting-link between orders of men so essentiallyrepulsive of each other as Mr. Wilson in thisinstance. ""Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res."That De Quincey did not fail to carry away fromOxford very clear ideas both of its merits and defects as a place of the higher education, is abundantlytestified by many passages scattered through hiswritings. In after life, he was wont to contrastthe universities of Scotland with those of England,and, much as he loved Scotland, he was quick todiscern, and well able to illustrate, the great loss tothe nation arising from her lack of provision for extending, in contradistinction from cultivating, the fieldof knowledge-scientific, theological, and other; andthe contrasts-sometimes very minute-which hewas able to draw between the Scottish Universitiesand Oxford in this respect, attests how completelyhe had observed and studied the system during thesestudent years, in spite of his confessions of meditative vagary and lack of interest in what surroundedhim.CHAPTER VII.WORDSWORTH AND COLERIDGE.F De Quincey failed to carry from Oxfordthe kind of reputation which tutors andexaminers delight in, he had appropriatedinfluences of another and a yet more prevailingkind. He tells us repeatedly, by way of justifying a tendency to deprecate the excessive deferenceto classical studies, that " all his sensibilitieswere at an early period laid hold of by the greatness of our own literature. " During his residenceat Oxford this distinctive part of his educationwas carried on-systematised. The "LyricalBallads," which had been published in 1798, he hadread in the following year, and had thereafter beencareful to seek for and to study everything that camefrom the same hands. These writings appealed toand awakened another sense than the ancient poetshad ever touched. Phantasy, weird and wildlydreamy, or again still as a pastoral solitude; thesimple sentiment of peasant life; and the revelationof the inner spirit of nature; all seemed here to joinhands, like a band of graces, to produce one uniqueWordsworth. 117impression,-that of a new revelation of beauty andsignificance in ordinary human life, and a concurrentineffable sense of the mystery that everywhere broodsover it. It came to De Quincey, as to one who hadbeen waiting for the sign. He was actually takenpossession of-filled with delight; and, with thatmingled curiosity and generous fervour, which is oneof the noblest traits of ingenuous youth, he wasmoved to seek to come into close personal communionwith the authors of his pleasure. And this , be itnoted, when the name of Wordsworth was still, inthe most influential quarters, but a byword and asign to awaken scorn. He had written to Wordsworth as early as 1803, and had actually goneto Westmoreland later with the purpose of callingupon him; but an overpowering feeling of reverenceand besetting shyness caused him, as he himselfdeclares, to turn back when within a short distanceof Wordsworth's door. The correspondence whichbegan in 1803 went on for many years.In the first letter, which bears date July 29, 1803,Wordsworth wrote that he was just on the point ofleaving on that famous tour in Scotland with Coleridge and his sister, to which he refers by way ofexcusing a hasty letter; but he also adds that he is66 a lazy and impatient letter-writer," and takesoccasion to reflect " how many things there are in aman's character of which his writings, however miscellaneous or voluminous, will give no idea! howmany thousand things which go to making up thevalue of a practical moral man, concerning not oneof which any conclusion can be drawn from what hesays of himself in the world's ear! "118 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The next letter was written after the poet'smemorable visit to Scotland, and is a somewhatsingular one from a man who had absolved himselffrom writing any save " business letters "-clearlyshowing that he regarded his correspondent as anexceptional one. But here, too, he assumes the rôleof mentor, and in the course of many reflections andmoralisings, remarks on the low morals of the universities sometime previously, going on to add hisspecific warnings, and such suggestions as these: —That there is no true dignity but in virtue, temperance, and chastity; and that the best safeguardof all these is the cultivation of pure pleasures—namely, those of the intellect and affections. Andhe adds, that he has much anxiety on this head, froma sincere concern in De Quincey's welfare, and themelancholy retrospect which forces itself upon himof the number of men of genius who have fallen beneath the evils that beset them. " I speak in simplicity and tender apprehension, " he urges, as onelover of nature and of virtue speaking to another. "And then he goes on to tell how " a wretched creature of the name of Peter Basley " has pillaged andplagiarised the " Lyrical Ballads, " especially " TheIdiot Boy; " and, not content with this, in a noteannexed to the same poem, had spoken of him byname as the simplest―i.e. , the most contemptibleof all poets. The complicated baseness of this , hesays (for the plagiarisms were absolutely by wholesale) , had grieved him to the heart for the sake ofpoor human nature; that anybody could combine(as this man in some way or other must havedone) an admiration and love of those poems with66Mr. Poole. 119moral feelings so detestable, hurt him beyondmeasure.In 1805, De Quincey made inquiries respectingColeridge, and finding that he was then in Malta,filling that secretaryship to Sir Alexander Ball, hewas fain to have set out for Malta for the mere purpose of seeing the poet. Circ*mstances of a privatekind arose to prevent his carrying out this purpose;but his feelings may be guessed when he heard inthe beginning of 1807 that Coleridge had returnedhome, and that an introduction to him could withoutdifficulty be obtained.When on a visit in 1807 to a relation at the HotWells, he learnt that Coleridge was staying with afriend not far from Bristol. This friend was Mr.Poole of Nether Stowey. To Mr Poole's house hewent. Coleridge, however, had left it. But Mr.Poole hospitably urged him to remain in hopeof Coleridge's return. De Quincey accordingly spenttwo days with Mr. Poole, and gives, from his ownknowledge, a sketch of Mr. Poole's person and character, which is evidently very descriptive of theoriginal. De Quincey writes:-" He lived in a rustic, old-fashioned house, amplyfurnished with modern luxuries, and a good library.Mr. Poole had travelled extensively, and had so entirely devoted himself to his humble fellow-countrymen who resided in his neighbourhood, that for manymiles round he was the general arbiter of their disputes, the guide and counsellor of their daily life;besides being appointed executor and guardian to hischildren by every third man who died in or aboutthe town of Nether Stowey. "120 De Quincey's Life and Writings.De Quincey having been informed that Coleridgewas at Bridgewater, and likely to stay there longerthan Mr. Poole had fancied, he left Nether Stowey forthat place, in search of the poet.This is the account he gives of his first interview with the authorof " Christabel ":" I had received directions for finding out thehouse where Coleridge was visiting; and in ridingdown a main street of Bridgewater, I noticed a gateway corresponding to the description given me.Under this was standing, and gazing about him, aman whom I shall describe! In height he mightseem to be above five feet eight (he was in realityabout an inch and a half taller, but his figure wasof an order which drowns the height); his personwas broad and full, and tended even to corpulence;his complexion was fair, though not what painterstechnically style fair, because it was associated withblack hair; his eyes were large and soft in theirexpression, and it was from the peculiar appearanceof haze or dreaminess, which mixed with their light,that I recognised my object. This was Coleridge.I examined him steadfastly for a minute or more,and it struck me that he saw neither myself norany other object in the street. He was in a deepreverie, for I had dismounted, made two or threetrifling arrangements at an inn door, and advanced .close to him, before he had apparently become conscious of my presence. The sound of my voice,announcing my own name, first awoke him; hestarted, and for a moment, seemed at a loss tounderstand my purpose or his own situation; for herepeated rapidly a number of words which had noColeridge.121relation to either of us. There was no mauvaise hontein his manner, but simple perplexity, and an apparent difficulty in recovering his position among daylight realities. This little scene over, he received mewith a kindness of manner so marked that it mightbe called gracious." Coleridge led me to a drawing-room and rangthe bell for refreshments, and omitted no point of acourteous reception. He told me that there wouldbe a very large dinner party on that day, which perhaps might be disagreeable to a perfect stranger; but,if not, he could assure me of a most hospitable welcomefrom the family. I was too anxious to see him,under all aspects, to think of declining this invitation. And these little points of business beingsettled, Coleridge, like some great river, the Orellana,or the St. Lawrence, that had been checked andfretted by rocks or thwarting islands, and suddenlyrecovers its volume of waters, and its mighty music,swept at once, as if returning to his natural business ,into a continuous strain of eloquent dissertation, certainly the most novel, the most finely illustrated, andtraversing the most spacious fields of thought, bytransitions the most just and logical, that it waspossible to conceive. •" This hospitable family, " De Quincey adds, " weredistinguished for their amiable manners and enlightened understandings; they were descendantsfrom Chubb, the philosophic writer, and bore thesame name. For Coleridge, they all testified deepaffection and esteem, sentiments which the wholetown of Bridgewater seemed to share, for in theevening, when the heat of the day had declined, I122 De Quincey's Life and Writings.walked out with him; and rarely, perhaps never,have I seen a person so much interrupted in onehour's space as Coleridge on this occasion, by thecourteous attentions of young and old. "His mother being then resident in Somersetshire,De Quincey was frequently in Bristol in those years.His love of roving among the hills and valleys ofthat region can be readily understood, and we canthe more fully appreciate his many references to theQuantock and Mendip hills in the light of theseearlier records. The following is a letter to his sister, who was then visiting at Miss Montier's atClapham, interesting, we think, as containing acharacteristic record of one of his wanderingsthere:-CLIFTON, September 15, 1807.MY DEAR SISTER,-I received your letter on Sunday; but Iwas not able then to get guineas changed into notes; andyesterday a very remarkable aberration in my account of timeduring a walk in Somersetshire threw me nearly five hourswide of the time within which I had planned to limit the extentof my walk. This blunder of memory seems to me even yet somarvellous that I think it as well worthy of record in the diaryof a metaphysician as a natural philosopher would think aparhelion or a lunar rainbow in his. I had crossed the Avou,with the intention of taking a little walk of nine or ten miles;but having turned to the right on the downs leading to Clevedon, I found myself in a valley not very interesting at the partwhich I entered, but closed at the upper end with such a solemnamphitheatre of hills as I could not resolve to leave unvisited.Having reached this upper end, I just wished to cross the valleyto the opposite hills; and, having crossed it, I felt some curiosity to know what might be on the other side of those hills.Mounting, therefore, I found a long range of ferny heathsbounded by the Bristol Channel. Nowthe fern, where it is high,makes an admirable couch; for, wherever you lie down, youfind yourself curtained by a noiseless bower. Here then, the·A Reverie on the Hills. 123revellings of my morning spirits being a little subdued by thegentle fatigue of a long walk and the warmth of the day, I laydown with the sea and South Wales in my view; and first Ibegan to muse on the valley I had just crossed (which, by theway, I took to be one of the unexplored parts of Somersetshire-known only to me and the colonisers). I questioned myselfon what I should do if any of the natives, having seen me fromthe wigwams I had passed in that valley, should come in myrear and invest my bower; giving me first notice of their approach by a specimen of the warwhoop, and perhaps at the sametime should steal round the promontory to the right in theircanoes. I arranged the speech which I should address to theirchief, and whether it would be better to make him a present ofmy waistcoat buttons or my coat. This led me to a speculationon the essential differences of savage and civilised life and theircauses; as, e.g., how much of the virtue and moral elevationfound amongst the Northern Indians is due to the influencesof beautiful natural scenery; how far, among civilised men,the seclusion from such scenery in large towns is compensatedbythe visual representations of it in pictures and the intellectualsuggestions of it (or pictures in vision) in poems, romances,&c.; ofthe want of a theory of manners; howfar such atheorywould be illuminated by, or would illuminate, other questionsof metaphysics; of the hatred which women bear to metaphysics; of the other absurdities of women; but this topic,yielding a very rich harvest of thought, was not reaped in ashort time; and I was just thinking in what degree the iutensity of such absurdities was mitigated or heightened bythe airof Clapham when the bell of a sheep, which had rambled nearmy bower, awoke me from my daydream, or rather my evening-dream; for, before I came in sight of fairyland, it was hightwilight, and long before I reached Ashton Hill I had noother compass by which to steer amongst those downs anddingles than the trees on its summit, which were just dimly distinguishable as a stain upon the clear sky by which they werebacked. About half after seven I reached the ferry-wondering (as I do yet) how it could be more than three o'clock, atwhich time I had proposed to be at home.I sat down with a firm determination not to write more thanthree lines-having letters, &c. , prayers and commands, blessings and curses, to send to the four winds. However, I am not124 De Quincey's Life and Writings.sorry that my desire to account satisfactorily for losing a dayin answering your letter has drawn me on to a very decentlength; therefore I may take my leave. -Believe me ever, mydear sister, your most affectionate brother,THOS. DE QUINCEY.P.S.-Mrs.Coleridge is with her children in Bristol, but Mr.Coleridge still remains at Stowey.Hartley Coleridge dinedwith me a few days ago; and I gained his special favour, Ibelieve, by taking him—at the risk of our respective necksthrough every dell and tangled path of Leighwood.However,Derwent still continues my favourite.Very shortly after the date of this letter DeQuincey returned to the Hot Wells, and metColeridge there. In conversation, he found thatColeridge was in some difficulty owing to his havingengaged to lecture at the Royal Institution in thecoming winter, and was unable to accompany hiswife and children to the North, where they were tovisit Wordsworth and be taken in charge by Southey.De Quincey agreed to unite with Mrs. Coleridge in apostchaise, and they set forwards-Mrs.Coleridge,with her two sons,Hartley, aged nine,Derwent,about seven; her beautiful little daughter, Sara,about five; and himself. He thus records someincidents of their journey:-" Going by the direct route through Gloucester,Bridgenorth, &c. , on the third day we reached Liverpool, where I took up my quarters at a hotel, whilstMrs. Coleridge paid a visit of a few days to avery interesting family, who had become friends ofSouthey during his visit to Portugal. These werethe Misses Koster,daughters of an English goldmerchant of celebrity, who had recently quittedPortugal on the approach of the French army underThe Koster Family. 125Junot. Mr. Koster did me the houour to call at myquarters and invite me to his house; an invitationwhich I very readily accepted; and had thus anopportunity of becoming acquainted with a familythe most accomplished I had ever known. Atdinner there appeared only the family partyseveral daughters, and one son, a fine young manof twenty, but who was consciously dying of asthma.Mr. Koster, the head of the family, was distinguishedfor his good sense and practical information; butin Liverpool, even more so by his eccentric andobstinate denial of certain notorious events, in particular, some two years later, he denied that such abattle as Talavera had ever been fought, and had alarge wager depending upon the decision. His housewas the resort of distinguished foreigners; and, onthe first evening of my dining there, as well asafterwards, I there met that marvel of women—Madame Catalini. I had heard her repeatedly, butnever before been near enough to see her smile andconverse -even to be honoured with a smile myself.She and Lady Hamilton were the most effectivelybrilliant women I ever saw. However, on thisoccasion, the Misses Koster outshone even La Catalini; to her they talked in the most fluent Italian;to some foreign men, in Portuguese; to one inFrench; and to most of the party in English; andeach, by turns, seemed to be their native tongue.Nor did they shrink, even in the presence of themighty enchantress, from exhibiting their musicalskill. "After a week thus spent in Liverpool, the partypursued their journey, reaching Grasmere quite126 De Quincey's Life and Writings.safely in about the usual time demanded for suchstages in these days. The account of the receptionhas more than ordinary interest. De Quincey says,that when at some distance he saw the cottage, andrecognised it as that of which he had previouslygained a glimpse from Hammerscar, on the oppositeside of the lake, he was seized with something ofthe old panic, which did not quite leave him till hewas involved in the bustle of helping Mrs. Coleridgeand the children out of the carriage, and advancingto the door to intimate their arrival. "Never beforeor since," he confesses, " can I reproach myself withhaving trembled at the approaching presence of anycreature that is born of woman, excepting only, foronce or twice in my life, woman herself. " But hegoes on: " Through the little gate, I pressed forward; ten steps beyond it lay the principal door ofthe house. To this, no longer clearly conscious ofmy own feelings, I passed on rapidly; I heard astep, a voice, and, like a flash of lightning, I sawthe figure emerge of a tallish man, who held out hishand, and saluted me with most cordial expressionsof welcome. " And So, Wordsworth passing him toadvance and receive Mrs. Coleridge, he had time toobserve the quaint beauty and simplicity of the cottage, with its one little diamond- paned window, andits shrubberies and profusion of roses , before he wasushered into the family parlour -somewhat darkthrough the luxuriance of the vegetation round thewindow, but not so much as to prevent his seeingtwo ladies who had just apparently entered it. Wemust give his impressions of them in his ownwords:-Mrs. and Dorothy Wordsworth. 127"The foremost, a tall young woman, with themost winning expression upon her features that Ihad ever beheld, made a slight curtsey, and advancedto me, presenting her hand with so frank an air thatall embarrassment must have fled in a moment beforethe native goodness of her manner. This was Mrs.Wordsworth. She was now mother of two children,a son and a daughter; and she furnished a remarkableproof how possible it is for a woman, neither handsome nor even comely, according to the rigour ofcriticism-nay, generally pronounced very plain—to exercise all the practical power and fascination ofbeauty, through the more compensatory charms ofsweetness all but angelic, of simplicity the mostentire, womanly self-respect and purity of heartspeaking through all her looks, acts, and movements.Immediately behind her, moved a lady much shorter,much slighter, and perhaps in all other respectsas different from her in personal characteristics ascould have been wished, for the most effective contrast. ' Her face was of Egyptian brown ' -rarely, ina woman of English birth, had I seen a more determinate gipsy tan. The eyes were not soft, as Mrs.Wordsworth's, nor were they fierce or bold; but theywere wild and startling, and hurried in their nature.Her manner was warm, even ardent; her sensibilityseemed constitutionally deep; and some subtle fireof impassioned intellect apparently burned within her,which, being alternately pushed forward into a conspicuous expression by the irresistible instincts ofher temperament, and then immediately checked, inobedience to the decorum of her sex and age and hermaidenly condition (for she had rejected all offers of128 De Quincey's Life and Writings.·marriage, out of pure sisterly regard to her brotherand his children) , gave to her whole demeanour andto her conversation an air of embarrassment andeven of self-conflict, that was sometimes distressingto witness. This was Miss Wordsworth, the onlysister of the poet-his ' Dorothy ' -who naturallyowed so much to the life-long intercourse with hergreat brother, in his most solitary and sequesteredyears; but, on the other hand, to whomhe has acknowledged obligations of the profoundest nature; and,in particular, this weighty one, through which wealso, the admirers and the worshippers through everyage of this great poet, are become equally herdebtors-that whereas the intellect of Wordsworthwas, by its original tendencies , too stern-too austere-too much enamoured of an ascetic harsh sublimity; she it was-the lady who paced by his sidecontinually through sylvan and mountain-tracks, inHighland glens, and in the dim recesses of Germancharcoal-burners-that first couched his eye to thesense of beauty-humanised him by the gentlercharities, and engrafted, with her delicate femaletouch, those graces upon the ruder growths of hisnature which have since clothed the forest of hisgenius with a foliage corresponding in lovelinessand beauty to the strength of its boughs and themassiveness of its trunks. "On the third morning after their arrival in Grasmere, De Quincey found all the family prepared foran expedition across the mountains. A commonfarmer's cart was brought to the door." Such avehicle I had never seen used for such a purpose,"says De Quincey; "but what was good enough forA Memorable Incident. 129the Wordsworths was good enough for me: and,accordingly, we were all carted to the little town, orlarge village of Ambleside-three and a half milesdistant. Our style of travelling occasioned noastonishment," he says; " on the contrary, we meta smiling salutation wherever we appeared-MissWordsworth being, as I observed, the person mostfamiliarly known of our party, and the one who tookupon herself the whole expenses of the flying colloquies exchanged with stragglers on the road. " FromAmbleside, over the famous ascent of Kirkstone;then down by Brother's Water to the Vale of Patterdale, they proceeded, reaching the inn there bymoonlight; and, taking fresh horses in the morning,they passed by the margin of Ulleswater. LeavingMrs. Coleridge and the children to the sole occupancyof the ' carriage ' at Ewsmere, Wordsworth and DeQuincey walked on in a leisurely way to Penrith,through the woods of Lowther; and on that eveningWordsworth read to De Quincey the " White Doe ofRylstone, "" " an incident ever memorable to me, " ashe says. On the next day De Quincey reachedGreta Hall; Wordsworth, as he had to make aslight diversion to do some business, having lefthim to pursue the last stage of his journey alone." It was about seven o'clock when I reached Southey'sdoor, " says De Quincey; " for I had stopped to dineat a little public-house in Threlkeld, and had walkedslowly for the last two hours in the dark. Thearrival of a stranger occasioned a little sensationin the house; and by the time the front doorcould be opened, I saw Mrs. Coleridge and agentleman of very striking appearance, whom IVOL. I. I130 De Quincey's Life and Writings.could not doubt to be Southey, standing to greetmy entrance. "De Quincey's stay in the Lakes could not at thistime have been prolonged, however, for we find himin the early autumn back at Bristol, where he waspaying a visit to some friends in the neighbourhood.This visit to Bristol is memorable, too, because itwas then that he learned Coleridge was so embarrassed in circ*mstances that his studies were materially impeded, and offered to yield substantial aidby presenting Coleridge with the sum of £500-morethan a tenth part of his whole patrimony. It wasMr. Joseph Cottle, the well- known publisher ofBristol, to whose reminiscences the student ofliterature turns for many facts about the " Lakepoets," who was the recipient of De Quincey's confidences and the medium of his generous gift. Asthe transaction, from first to last, so decisively teɛtifies to the thorough gratitude and devotion felt byDe Quincey towards the poets, to whom he ever acknowledged the deepest obligations, we must give Mr.Cottle's own account of it, -the more that it revealsthe great delicacy of De Quincey's mind, and indirectly may be taken to show that his account ofhis visit to Wordsworth's house, and his shy retreat from it without seeing the master, is quiteworthy of credit, and not by any means so ridiculousand improbable as a certain writer would fain makeit appear. Whatever differences may have afterwards arisen between two of the parties, De Quincey's behaviour at this stage is likely to be viewedby practical men and women as being at least as"A Little John Henderson." 131romantic and improbable as the other. Cottle,writing of the autumn of 1807, says:—" I received a note from a lady, an old friend,begging permission to introduce to me a cleveryoung man of her acquaintance, whom she even sohonoured as to call a little John Henderson,' concerning whom this young man wished to makeinquiries. An invitation immediately followed, andthe lady introduced to me young Mr. de Quincey.Several interviews followed, each exhibiting histalents in a more favourable view, till I was satisfied he would either shine in literature, or, withsteady perseverance, acquire eminence in either ofthe professions." He made inquiries respecting John Henderson,of whose learning and surprising attainments he hadheard much. After conversing long on this subject,Mr. de Quincey asked me if I knew anything of Mr.Coleridge's pecuniary affairs. I replied, ' I amafraid he is a legitimate son of genius. ' He askedif I thought he would accept a hundred or twopounds. I answered, I could not tell, but that Iexpected shortly to see him, when, if he seriouslydesired to learn, I would ascertain what the state ofhis finances was, and let him know. This, he said,was his particular wish."When Mr. Coleridge called on me . . . I askedhim concerning his circ*mstances. He confessedthat he had some present difficulties, which oppressed his mind. He said that all the money hehad received from his office in Malta, as secretary toSir Alexander Ball, had been expended in Italy andon his way home. I then told him that a young132 De Quincey's Life and Writings.man of fortune, who admired his talents, had inquired of me if I thought he would accept a presentof a hundred or two pounds; ' and I now ask you,'said I, ' that question, that I may return an answer.Mr. Coleridge rose from his seat. He appearedmuch oppressed and agitated, and, after a shortsilence, he turned to me and said: ' Cottle, I willwrite to you. We will change the subject.' Thenext day I received from Mr. Coleridge the following letter:-" My dear Cottle, -Independent of letter-writing and a dinner engagement with C. Danvers, Iwas the whole of yesterday till evening in a mostwretched restlessness of body and limbs, havingimprudently discontinued some medicines, which arenow my anchor of hope. This morning I dedicateto certain distant calls on Drs. Beddoes and Colstonat Clifton, -not so much for the calls themselves,as for the necessity of taking brisk exercise." But no unforeseen accident intervening, I shallspend the evening with you from seven o'clock." I will now express my sentiments on the important subject communicated to you. I need notsay it has been the cause of serious meditation.Undoubtedly calamities have so thickened on me forthe last two years, that the pecuniary pressures of themoment are the only serious obstacles at present tomy completion of those works which, if completed,would make me easy. Besides these, I have reasonfor belief that a Tragedy of mine will be brought onthe stage this season, the result of which is, ofcourse, only one of the possibilities of life, on whichI am not fool enough to calculate.The Gift to Coleridge. 133" Finally, therefore, if you know that my unknown benefactor is in such circ*mstances that, indoing what he offers to do, he transgresses no dutyof morals or of prudence, and does not do thatfrom feelings which after-reflection might perhapsdiscountenance, I shall gratefully accept it as anunconditional loan which I trust I shall be able torestore at the close of two years. This, however, Ishall be able to know at the expiration of one year,and shall then beg to know the name of my benefactor, which I should then only feel delight inknowing, when I could present to him some substantial proof that I have employed the tranquillityof mind which his kindness has enabled me to enjoyin sincere desires to benefit my fellow-men. MayGod bless you! S. T. C.'"Soon after the receipt of this letter (on my invitation) Mr. de Quincey called on me. I said, ' I understood from Mr. Coleridge himself that he labouredunder embarrassments. Then, ' said he, ' I will givehim five hundred pounds. ' ' Are you serious? ' I said.He replied, ' I am.' I then inquired, ' Are you ofa*ge? ' He said, ' I am. ' II then asked,, ' Can youafford it?' He answered, ' I can, ' and continued, ' Ishall not feel it. ' I paused. ' Well, ' I said, ' I canknow nothing of your circ*mstances but from yourown statement, and, not doubting its accuracy,I amwilling to become an agent in any way you prescribe. 'Mr. de Quincey then said, ' I authorise you to askMr. Coleridge if he will accept from a gentleman whoadmires his genius the sum of five hundred pounds;' but remember,' he continued, ' I absolutely prohibityou from naming to him the source whence it was de-134 De Quincey's Life and Writings.rived.' I remarked, To the latter part of your injunction, if you require it, I will accede, but althoughI am deeply interested in Mr. Coleridge's welfare, yeta spirit of equity compels me to recommend you inthe first instance to present Mr. Coleridge with asmaller sum, which, if you see right, you can at anytime augment. ' Mr. de Quincey then replied,' Three hundred pounds I will give him, and youwill oblige me by making this offer of mine to Mr.Coleridge. ' I replied, ' I will. ' I then gave himMr. Coleridge's letter, requesting him to put it inhis pocket, and read it at his leisure. Soon after, Ireceived the following communication from Mr. deQuincey--" My dear Sir,-I will write for the three hundredpounds to-morrow. I am not able to say anythingfurther at present, but will endeavour to call on youin a day or two. I am, very sincerely, and with manythanks for your trouble in this affair. -Yours,' THOS. DE QUINCEY. '" In a day or two Mr. de Quincey enclosed me thethree hundred pounds, when I received from Mr.Coleridge the following receipt, which I still retain: —" November 12, 1807.-Received from Mr. JosephCottle the sum of three hundred pounds, presentedto me, through him, by an unknown friend.""Bristol.S. T. COLERIDGE. '"Ihave been thus particular in detailing the wholeof this affair, so honourable to Mr. de Quincey; and,as I was the communicating agent, I thought it right,on this occasion, to give publicity to the transactionon the principle of doing justice to all. Notwithstanding the prohibition, some indirect notices fromJohn Henderson.135myself could have left no doubt with Mr. Coleridgeof the source of this handsome gift. "This, let it be particularly noted, is Cottle's account of the whole transaction; it has become a partof literary history, else it should not have been referred to here, notwithstanding that it indicates sucha generosity and unworldliness as may be taken toexcuse, if not to justify, much to which unsympathetic minds may easily give their own colour. Recklessly to part with money if interesting personsor objects that are deserving present themselves, isnot a course to be recommended in an unqualifiedway in these days of charity organisation and generalsocial reform; but there are so very few who arelikely to follow so bad an example (in a worldlypoint of view) , and to run the risk of exposing themselves erelong to want or privation, that weafford rather to admire so exceptional a type ofcharacter.It is singular to remark, also, that a little beforethis time ( 1807) Mr. Coleridge had written to hisfriend, Mr. Wade, a melancholy letter, detailing hisembarrassed circ*mstances; so that Mr. de Quincey's£300 must have been received at an acceptable time.Another proof of generous interest in all strugglersafter intellectual position is almost incidentallyafforded us in Mr. Cottle's record. The John Henderson referred to was a young man, the son ofa bookseller, who, in face of the greatest hardships, had fought his way to distinction at Oxford,where his remarkable talents soon caused him to besought after even by persons who were not likely tobe much moved by the trials of an ordinary student.136 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Henderson, by a remarkable coincidence, had occupiedthe same rooms at Pembroke College as Dr. SamuelJohnson had done; and in much he gave token ofrepeating that great man's history; but he was earlycalled away, and has left behind him but the shadowyreport of great possibilities. Mr Cottle tells us in alittle sketch, added as an appendix to his volume ofpoems, that Henderson's mind awakened at two yearsof age, that his memory was most remarkable, andthat he was a great linguist. Having met Dr.Tucker, Dean of Gloucester, in a stage-coach, thatdignitary was so struck by Henderson's conversation,that he wrote to his father suggesting that he shouldgo to the university, and supplemented his advice byoffering £200. Henderson was benevolent as wellas gifted. When the epidemic fever raged at Oxfordhe visited the poorest and helped them; and when hismeans were exhausted, he sold his Polyglott Bible toobtain further means of aid. He was visited byJohnson and Burke, who left him surprised, insteadof disappointed-an undoubted prodigy.It wasquite the kind of history to awaken De Quincey'sinterest; and to make inquiries about Hendersonseems to have been the chief purpose of his first visitto Cottle. The term " little John Henderson " usedby Cottle's lady correspondent-not improbably Mrs.Hannah More was certainly not inapt, but it musthave referred to disparity of personal appearancerather than of intellectual power.As establishing what has been indicated onearlier page as to the relations between De Quinceyand his uncle Colonel Penson, the following lettermay be given here: -From the Snowy Mountains. 137SAHARUNPOOR, January 12th, 1808.MY DEAR SIR, -I have received your kind and manly lettertoo many months back to think of without shame. Restassured I shall not invade the independence you desire tomaintain. Indeed, you have better security than my word, formy poverty will keep me from assaulting you unless a strongernecessity than at present exists should occur, and I sincerelyhope no such necessity will ever occur to you. Dr. Johnson, Ithink, says, If I were any man's most bitter enemy, I shouldwish him to be reduced to the necessity of borrowing money.I am much obliged to you for the pamphlets, and for the kindoffer of supplying me with books. My reading is much toodesultory to admit of anything like definition. Indeed, havingfew books of my own, I am glad to read any that I can pickup worth the trouble of reading. If you should be able topick up on any of the stalls of Oxford or London De Foe'saccount of the Plague in 1665 or 1666, I shall be obliged if youwill buy it for me, or even "The Cavalier," which your mothertells me was likewise written by De Foe-though I can hardlythink it-I shall be glad to have. Should you ever meet witha book called either "The Epitome of the Harleian Miscellany,"or " Extracts from the Harleian Miscellany," one vol. very largequarto, not thick, I shall be obliged if you will buy it and makeit a present to your mother from me. For these and any otherpurchases you may make for me I must insist on your indentingon my funds in your mother's hands. Are you acquainted withmy friend Mr. Salmond? If you are not, I wish you would callon him when you have an opportunity. I shall enclose this tohim, that he may have an opportunity of letting you knowwhere he may be found. You will find him a man of strongsense, and a perfect gentleman in his manners, with one of thegentlest and kindest natures I ever met with. I have just gotto the extremity of Hindostan, under the great chain ofsnowy mountains that extend from the Caspian to the confinesof China. They are the most majestic sight I ever looked upon.There are views of them in England by the Daniels, which willgive you a much clearer conception of them than any description I can give from a distant view of them. There was aletter written by the Court of Directors, and approved by allbut one of their number, which was suppressed, or rather keptback, by the Board of Control, which throws great light on138 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Mr. Francis' speeches. It is published in the form of apamphlet, and titled, " Copy of a Proposed Despatch to theBengal Government, approved by twenty-three Directors, dated3d April 1805. R. Wilks, printer, Chancery Lane." And I amtold there is either another suppressed despatch publishedsince, or else a remonstrance of the C. of D. on the suppressionof the first. I have not seen this last, but am told it elucidatesaffairs in this quarter very considerably. There is so muchdanger of letters being intercepted, that few people care to writeupon politics lest their letters should be published; by whichmeans England is much in the dark on Indian affairs. I couclude Administration is very well pleased with the rod Bonaparte held over us in the East. They can by this means tellwhat they like and as they like. Put no more letters amongthe books; yours and Jane's were so much mildewed I hadgreat difficulty in reading them. Remember me most affectionately to your mother, brothers, and sisters. May God bless youin this world, and most especially bya knowledge of Himself inthe world to come. Thisis a knowledge I have only lately comeat, and I find it full of peace. —I am, dear sir, ever affectionately yours, T. P.We can infer from this letter that De Quincey'sinterest in India, which remained keen to the end,was thus early stimulated by his correspondence withhis uncle.De Quincey returned to Oxford for a short time;but spent the earlier part of 1808 in London, wherehe had frequent opportunities of seeing Coleridge,and once more had it in his power to render himservice. Coleridge at that time lived at the office ofthe " Courier " in the Strand; Mr. Daniel Stewartone of the proprietors of that paper, and anintimate friend of Coleridge's-having given up tohim for a time the use of some rooms there. " Insuch a situation, annoyed by the sound of feetpassing his chamber door continually to the printingSir Humphrey Davy. 139rooms ofthis great establishment, and with no gentleministrations of female hands to sustain his cheerfulness, naturally enough his spirits flagged. . . . Icalled upon him daily, " says De Quincey, " andpitied his forlorn condition. " Yet in spite of hiscirc*mstances , and the many deprivations they involved, not a few of the great and the high in rankwere to be found making calls on the distressed.philosopher. " There," says De Quincey, " I metSir Humphrey Davy. Nowhere before or sincehave I seen a man who so felicitously caught thefascinating tone of high-bred urbanity, which distinguishes the better part of the British nobility. "Lamb and Hazlitt and Godwin, too, with others,made their way to Coleridge's rickety chambersat the " Courier " office; so that here " high-thinking " and courtly-breeding were prone to combinethemselves with " plain-living," unless indeed itmight be in the " divine luxury " of opium, whichColeridge surely did not share with many of hisguests.De Quincey at this time had rooms at 82 GreatTitchfield Street, but after resided with a collegecompanion, Mr. Richard Smith, in Mary-le- bone.We find record of his keen concern in public mattersin the following letter to Mr. Kelsall-" the stateof things in Manchester doubtless referring to theriot between the masters and the weavers, on May24 and 25, which was quelled by the military:995 NORTHUMBERLAND STREET, MARY- LE- BONE,June 15, 1808.DEAR SIR,-I must trouble you to send me £30 to thisplace. If you have time to add a few lines on the real state of140 De Quincey's Life and Writings.things in Manchester, in which all here feel great interest fromthe newspaper accounts, I shall be much obliged to you.I beg my kind respects to Mrs. Kelsall, and love to thechildren; and am, dear sir, your affectionate friend,THOS. DE QUINCEY.The following letter to his sister, then at Sidmouth, tells its own tale::-5 NORTHUMBERLAND STREET, Mary-LE-BONE,June 20th, 1808.MY DEAR SISTER,-The Bible, I found, could not be finishedin the time prescribed; but I ordered it, nevertheless, since Ican send it or bring it to Sidmouth, or anywhere else, as MissBrotherton directs. On further examination, it seems to me avery excellent Bible both for use and appearance. It hasmarginal references (as I think your Christmas letter directed).I gave the fullest directions for the binding, as that it shouldhave an open back (which I suppose you forgot to mention),ribbons, &c., and that he must be frugal in his gilding, withwhich the binders absolutely yellow-wash books that theymean to make fine. I summed up or perorated by impressingon his misguided mind that it was to be "simply elegant " or"chastely magnificent," if he could understand those words; andif he could not, he was to take as his analogical model (or brightideal) my coat; i.e., that as my coat was to the ephemeralgenerations of coats, so was the binding to be in relation to alltawdry bindings; for that my coat, having lost its juvenilegraces, had reached that tone of sober majesty, that je ne saisquoi ofinteresting fragility, which carried the mind of the spectator back to past ages, and to the contemplation of permanence amidst the revolutions of human affairs, &c., which wasprecisely the thing sought in a binding for any book that wasto look massive and monumental, and anti-fugitive, and morelike an inheritance than a purchase. The price, I find, will besix guineas, exclusive of the silver clasps, of which the bindercannot tell the price, some other trade or mystery claiming thatpart of the work.Mr. Coleridge was greatly pleased to hear that my mothermeant to be in Devonshire this summer, as he will himself bewithin five miles of Sidmouth in about a week (reckoning fromColeridge's Pocket Picked. 141his own dates); and as he will have the use of his friendStewart's carriage (if Stewart stays), will be able to visit youwithout difficulty. Coleridge left London about six days agowith Mr. Stewart on a visit into Kent. This day week he lectured at the Institution, and had his pocket picked of the mainpart of his lecture as he walked from the Strand; but, havingnotes, he managed to get through very well.My friend Smith having gone down to Oxford for a fortnight, you must direct here, if you please, for the future. I amsolicited to stay in London in order to be present at hismarriage, which takes place on his return; but I suppose it isnecessary to sport some gay things on such occasions (silkcoat, perhaps, and co*cked hat), isn't it? If so, I must abscond;though, as I am intimate with all parties, there will be somedifficulty in that. The lady is a very extraordinary ladynothing less than a female Crichton-painter, harpist, pianist,linguist; and her youngest sister one of the greatest beautiesin Eugland—both unaffected, wild-hearted girls. Pray counselme on this disagreeable joyful occasion.If you or Jane (to whom I desire my love, promising a fullanswer to all her letters in a very short time) want a guinea'sworth of books for a shilling, I'm your agent, at a reasonableper centage.Give my love to my mother, and kind remembrances toMiss Brotherton and Miss Gee.*Believe me, my dear sister, ever your most affectionatebrother,THOS. DE QUINCEY.De Quincey spent the latter portion of the year1808 at Oxford, and towards its close returned toGrasmere. He remained under Wordsworth's roof tillFebruary 1809, having made arrangements for apermanent settlement there by taking a lease ofthe cottage which Wordsworth had quitted a shorttime before. He now spent some months visiting

• A family of Gees were second cousins of De Quincey; the

head of the family, Mr. Gee, a banker at Boston in Lincolnshire,being one of his guardians.142 De Quincey's Life and Writings.1·friends and wandering aimlessly in Somersetshire,went back for a few weeks to Westmoreland, andthen turned his steps to London. It was duringhis stay here that he performed for Wordsworth theservice of seeing his pamphlet " The Conventionof Cintra " —through the press. He agreed withWordsworth in the main on this great question, whichwas then stirring Europe; and instead of devotinghis whole time in London, with wise forecast, to theendeavour to open up avenues for himself to communicate to the world some of his many ideas, as morepractical and less devotedly friendly spirits mighthave done, he patiently revised and edited Wordsworth's pamphlet, adding an appendix, which theauthor declared was " done in a most masterlymanner," as well he might. And in the preface to thelast collected edition of Wordsworth's prose workswhich so eminently bear this record, De Quincey isrecognised by the editor, the Rev. Mr. Grosart, in oneof the most sympathetic and delicately-appreciativepassages which we believe literature can show inrecent times.In a budget of Wordsworth's letters we find acomparatively large number bearing on this " Convention of Cintra " pamphlet, attesting the care withwhich De Quincey had done his work. Wordsworthis surprised at the felicity of some of the emendations; all, he says, are improvements. Miss Wordsworth writes: -" Soon you must have rest, and weshall all be thankful. You have indeed been atreasure to us while you have been in London,having spared my brother so much anxiety and care.We are very grateful to you. " And Wordsworth him-<< Keeping Terms. ” 143self hopes that De Quincey may soon be at Grasmere,where he may think of the pamphlet labours inquiet, ' as a traveller thinks of a disagreeablejourney which he has performed, and will not haveto repeat. "De Quincey's visits to London in these years,1808-9, and afterwards, had for their chief object his"keeping terms " with a view to being called to thebar. It was not at all likely that he would find legalstudies much to his taste, notwithstanding that hehad keen dialectic faculties that might have been educated in this direction. Writing of his visits to Lambin 1804-5, he says, " Lamb lived in the Temple then;and I, who was not then, as I afterwards became,a student and member of the Honourable Society ofthe Middle Temple, did not know much of thelocalities. 'Meanwhile Miss Wordsworth was active in settingthe cottage in order, as she had undertaken to do.We have many records in the letters before us ofher zeal and untiring interest in discussion of themost desirable colours in carpets and curtains, andof the best styles of furniture. She finds a goodreason for preferring mahogany to deal for bookshelves in the consideration " that native woods aredear; and that in case De Quincey should leave thecountry, and have a sale, no sort of wood sells sowell at second- hand as mahogany." Thoughtful,careful, discreet Dorothy!Returning to Westmoreland in November of 1809,"At last," De Quincey says, " I, the long-expected ,made my appearance. Some little sensation did reallyand naturally attend my coming, for most of the144 De Quincey's Life and Writings.draperies belonging to beds, curtains, &c. , hadbeen sewed by the young women of that orthe adjoining vales; and this had caused meto be talked of. "And so he entered on the occupation of the littlecottage, which henceforth for a quarter of a centurywas to be closely identified with his name, after having" been hallowed, to my mind, by the seven years'occupation of that illustrious tenant [ Wordsworth],during perhaps the happiest period of his life-theearly years of his marriage and of the first acquaintance with parental affections. ""Cottage immortal in my remembrance! " he exclaims; "as well it might be, for this cottage Iretained through just seven-and-twenty years: thiswas the scene of struggles the most tempestuous andbitter within my own mind: this the scene of mydespondency and unhappiness: this the scene of myhappiness, a happiness which justified the faith ofman's earthly lot as upon the whole a dowry fromheaven! It was, in its exterior, not so much a picturesque cottage-for its outlines and proportions,its windows and its chimneys, were not sufficientlymarked and effective for the picturesque-as it waslovely one gable-end was, indeed, most gorgeouslyappareled in ivy, and so far picturesque; but theprincipal side, or what might be called the front, asit presented itself to the road and was most illuminated by windows, was embossed-nay, it may besaid , smothered-in roses ofdifferent species, amongstwhich the moss and the damask prevailed. These,together with as much jasmine and honeysuckle ascould find room to flourish, were not only in them-"The Cottage at Grasmere. 145selves a most interesting garniture for a humblecottage wall, but they also performed the acceptableservice of breaking the unpleasant glare that wouldelse have wounded the eye, from the whitewash,—aglare which, having been renewed amongst thegeneral preparations against my coming to inhabitthe house, could not be sufficiently subdued in tonefor the artist's eye until the storms of several wintershad weather-stained and tamed down its brilliancy... My cottage, wanting this primary feature ofelegance in the constituents of Westmoreland architecture the peculiar chimney—and wanting alsoanother very interesting feature of the older architecture, annually becoming more and more rare, viz. ,the outside gallery (which is sometimes merely ofwood, but is much more striking when provided forin the original construction of the house, and completely enfoncé in the masonry) , could not rank highamong the picturesque houses of the country, -those,at least, which are such by virtue of their architectural form. It was, however, very irregular inits outline to the rear, by the aid of one little projecting room, and also of a stable and little barn inimmediate contact with the dwelling-house. It had,besides, the great advantage of a varying height, twosides being about fifteen or sixteen feet high from theexposure of both stories; whereas the other two, beingswathed about by a little orchard that rose rapidlyand unequally towards the vast mountain range inthe rear, exposed only the upper story; and, consequently, on those sides the elevation rarely rosebeyond seven or eight feet. All these accidents ofirregular form and outline gave to the house someVOL. I. K146 De Quincey's Life and Writings.little pretension to a picturesque character; and whilstit* ' separable accidents ' (as the logicians say) , itsbowery roses and jasmine, clothed it in lovelinessits associations with Wordsworth crowned it, to mymind, with historical dignity; and, finally, my owntwenty-seven years' off-and-on connection with ithave, by ties personal and indestructible, endearedit to my heart so unspeakably beyond all otherhouses, that even now I rarely dream through fournights running that I do not find myself (and othersbeside) in some one of those rooms; and, most probably, the last cloudy delirium of approaching deathwill re-instate me in some chamber of that samehumble cottage. What a tale,' says Foster, theeloquent essayist-' what a tale could be told bymany a room, were the walls endowed with memoryor speech! ' Or, in the more impassioned expressions of Wordsworth-' Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man,Could field, or grove, or any spot of earth,Show to his eye an image of the pangWhich it hath witnessed; render back an echoOf the sad steps by which it hath been trod!'And equally affecting it would be if such a field orsuch a house could render up the echoes of joy, offestal music, of jubilant laughter the innocentmirth of infants, or the gaiety, not less innocent,of youthful mothers -equally affecting would besuch a reverberation of forgotten household happiness, with the re-echoing records of sighs andgroans. And few indeed are the houses that, withina period no longer than from the beginning of thecentury to 1835 (so long was it either mine orThe Nab. 147Wordsworth's) , have crowded such ample materialsfor these echoes, whether sorrowful or joyous. "And so we see De Quincey settled in Grasmerewith friends scattered round him not far off; all therepose of home seems to be about him-to be perfected perhaps ere long.In his English Note-books, we find NathanielHawthorne saying, in a description of a tour inWestmoreland:-"We passed The Nab, in which De Quinceyformerly lived, and where Hartley Coleridge livedand died. It is a small, buff-tinted, plastered stonecottage, I should think of a very humble classoriginally; but it now looks as if persons of tastemight sometime or other have sat down in it, andcaused flowers to spring up about it. It is veryagreeably situated under the great precipitous hill,and with Rydal Water close at hand, on the otherside of the road. "This, however, refers to the house possessed byMr. Simpson, who afterwards became De Quincey'sfather-in-law. De Quincey only occupied it for-sometime in later years, when the increase of thefamily and the vast increase of books renderednecessary greater accommodation than was to befound in the cottage at Townend, which remainedthe real headquarters so long as he was in Grasmere.We mention this here to explain references to theNab which will soon occur.CHAPTER VIII.SETTLEMENT AT GRasmere.HE influences which had drawn De Quinceyto Grasmere soon widened out, showinga far-reaching horizon. For not onlydid he find the valley conducive to meditation,fed as this meditation was by daily society withWordsworth, but he became the friend and confidant of Wordsworth's children, whose attractionsfinally outdid those even of their father's philosophy.Nay, he soon realised, in his own experience, thetruth of Wordsworth's suggestive lines:-"Love had hefound in huts where poor men lie;His daily teachers were the woods and rills,The silence that is in the starry sky,The sleep that is among the lonely hills;And his interest in the familiar cares and difficultiesof his humbler neighbours and friends furnished anunceasing source of relief and ministration. Notthat he devoted himself to helping in any set andordered way; only that his sympathies were healthilyappealed to and kept active as they could never haveSociety in Grasmere. 149been in a great city, or in any district where thedream-side of his being was not also appealed to bysights and scenes in which the pathetic glory ofnature answered so far to his own yearning. This,in De Quincey, was the condition of his retainingany hold on ordinary human affections beyond thoseof family, and as yet he was alone. So that hisearlier residence in Grasmere may be said to havedone much to maintain that balance which might soeasily have been disturbed by the seclusion to whichhe would have been tempted or driven in circ*mstances that surrounded him with repressing squalor.This is what he means when in one place he declaresan absolute need for poetic refinement in his surroundings. And it afforded the most immediateoutlet for the faculties that were most in dangerfrom the opium habit that soon began to grow uponhim.Over and above the happy conditions due to naturalinfluences, he was thrown amidst a society singularlyfitted to furnish the qualifying effects he most required in social intercourse. It was here that hefirst met Professor Wilson; here that he seemed togain back a part of himself in Charles Lloyd; herethat he got to know Southey and many others; onwhom, if we must regretfully say it, he was thrownmore and more as he was gradually repelled fromWordsworth. That repulsion, gradually passinginto something approaching to alienation , it is inevitable we should refer to; but it shall be touchedas delicately as is consistent with the truth of ournarrative, out of deference to the dead, whom we allso deeply reverence. But it needs to be said gene-150 De Quincey's Life and Writings.rally here, that the very value that arises to us fromthe teachings of Wordsworth, could not have been sogreat, ifhe had been gifted with more of humour anddramatic sympathy, which might have had the effectof loosening, so to say, the strings of his instrument,so that the lonely winds could not have so effectivelyplayed upon them. To be true they must be kept intension at once to resist and receive and transmuteto music. And so he, more easily than most poetscould set aside, we can well believe, with a certainaspect of arrogance, what seemed to conflict, or eventhreatened momentarily to conflict, with his ownmoods, opinions, receptivities. Discursiveness, thehabit of yielding to simple impulse, and this in manydirections, was not likely long to remain congenialto him. His own genius was alien to it, and henever felt the need of cultivating sympathy in thisdirection. It was well for his poetry—his invaluablegift to us that he never did become consciouslyalive to his own defects in this respect, for else itwould certainly have lost the simple, elevated unityit bears; but, at the same time, it may often havebeen hard for those in daily association with him,unless, indeed, they surrendered readily their ownimpulses in favour of his powerful if lofty will.De Quincey, at all events, states that never afterthe first year or so of introduction, had he felt itpossible to draw the bonds of friendship closer.Coleridge, who had said that femineity was themental constitution of true genius, after longexperience, declared of Wordsworth: " Of all menI ever knew Wordsworth has the least femineityin his mind "-a confession which, coming fromWordsworth's Character.151such a source, may be held conclusive as to certainsolitary unassimilative elements in Wordsworth'scharacter.In contemporary memoirs, and in other recordsconnected with Wordsworth, we can catch clearlyenough the note of extreme, almost austere, selfdependence, rendering him in one way truly admirable,but in another all too indifferent to the less impalpableshades offeeling or of sensitiveness in other men. Insuch types success, though it seldom develops anythingakin to weak vanity, invariably confirms a certainseverity and cold repose far from favourable to genialcompanionship. Wordsworth's companions, indeed ,were the rills, the mountains, and the wild creaturesthat dwell there; the clouds, the trees, the littleflowers, the holy winds blowing their trumpets fromthe steeps; and the quickness of his ear for theirsecret voices might have been spoiled had he beeninclined to listen more anxiously for the voices of hisfellows. But his self-dependence and severity calledto their aid an impetuosity not always so beautiful.The following incident illustrates this trait, and showshow Southey might well have found cause for coldness -lover of fine books as he was, and punctiliouslyneat and orderly in everything-person, and house,and library alike:-"Wordsworth [in Southey's library] took down avolume of ' Burke. ' Fortunately, and by a specialprovidence for him, tea was proceeding at the time.Dry toast requires butter; butter requires knives;and knives then lay on the table; but sad it was forthe virgin purity of Mr. Burke's as yet unturnedpages, that every knife bore upon its blade testi-152 De Quincey's Life and Writings.monies of the service it had rendered. But Wordsworth' Looked at the knife that caused his pain,And looked and sighed, and looked and sighed again; 'and then, after this momentary tribute to regret, hetore his way into the heart of the volume with thisknife that left its greasy honours behind it upon everypage. This personal experience first brought meacquainted with Wordsworth's intense impatiencefor one moment's delay that would have brought aremedy; and yet the reader may believe that it isno affectation in me to say that fifty such cases couldhave given me but little pain, when I explain thatwhatever could be made good with money at thattime I did not regard. "It must not be supposed, however, that any realrupture took place between Wordsworth and DeQuincey. A lengthened correspondence shows that,in spite of a certain lack of social sympathy inWordsworth, realised by De Quincey at an earlyperiod, they remained for many years on such termsof friendship as was consistent with the exchange ofmutual good offices , and various letters, which shallbe referred to at the proper places, will suffice toattest this.For a time De Quincey had been a guest ofWordsworth at Allan Bank. He appears to have beena favourite with the whole family, entering so readilyinto all their projects and joys and sorrows, that hewas more like a brother than aught else. For nearlya couple of years, at all events, after his settlementin Grasmere, he was almost a daily visitant atWordsworth's. During the latter part of the yearOn Borrowing Books. 1531809, and the greater part of 1810, Coleridge wasa guest there; and it could hardly be but that hispresence operated as a mutually attractive medium.We have this note of one of Coleridge's propensitiesat that time, proceeding out of his habit of accumulating volumes whether at home, with friends, orwith strangers: —"The next opportunity I had of seeing Coleridgewas at the Lakes, in the winter of 1809, and up tothe autumn of the following year. During thisperiod it was that he carried on the original publication of ' The Friend; ' and for much the greater partof the time I saw him daily. He lived as a visitorin the house occupied by Mr. Wordsworth [AllanBank], barely one mile from my own cottage, whereI had a considerable library. Many of the booksbeing German, Coleridge borrowed them in greatnumbers. Having a general licence from me to usethem as he would, he was in the habit of accumulating them so largely at Allan Bank, that sometimesas many as five hundred were absent at once: whichI mention, in order to notice a practice of Coleridge's,indicating his very scrupulous honour in what regardedthe rights of ownership. Literary people are notalways so strict in respecting property of this description; and I knowmore than one celebrated man,who professes, as a maxim, that he holds it no dutyof honour to restore a borrowed book; not to speakof many less celebrated persons, who without openlyprofessing such a principle do, however, in fact, exhibita lax morality in such cases. The more honourableit is to Coleridge, who had means so trifling of buying books for himself that, to prevent my flocks from154 De Quincey's Life and Writings.mixing and being confounded with the flocks alreadyfolded at Allan Bank (his own and Wordsworth's) , orrather that they might mix without danger, he duly inscribed my name in the blank leaves of every volume;a fact which became rather painfully known to me;for, as he had chosen to dub me Esquire, many yearsafter this, it cost myself and a female friend someweeks of labour to hunt out these multitudinousmemorials, and to erase this heraldic addition; whichelse had the appearance to a stranger of having beenconferred by myself. "99As Wordsworth's attraction for De Quincey gradually waned, that of the children at Allan Bankgrew; and many are the bright suggestive pictures ofthem we have met with. They were always in histhoughts. Every one of Miss Wordsworth's lettersshows the hold he had on their hearts. WhenJohnny comes from school she tells how hismother said to him, " Here is a letter from" From Mr. de Quincey," he replied; and how,with his own ingenuous blush and smile, he cameforward to the fireside with a quicker pace, andasked her to read the letter; how, when all was over,he said, " But when will he come? Maybe he'll tellus in his next letter; " and how, when he has finishedhis prayers, in which he makes a petition for his goodfriends, he says " Mr. de Quincey is one of myfriends." Little " Tom," too, she tells, often lispsout his name, and will rejoice with the happiest athis return, when he comes with the black hat he hasbought for Johnny, as promised, and the carriage hehas got for Johnny and Sissy, though that proposalbrings a protest from Miss Wordsworth, who seriouslyHis Love ofChildren. 155grieves that so much money should be expended for acarriage for them when they are completely happyand satisfied with their own, which answers everypurpose of the other, though it is hard to pull uphill, but that, thinks Miss Wordsworth, makes it" the better exercise for them. "Of the little Catherine Wordsworth, whose touching death added another to the mystic persons of DeQuincey's dream-world, he is able to tell us that,"while yet a mere infant, she noticed me more thanany other person, excepting, of course, her mother. "De Quincey's love of children was intense, and hispower of pleasing and amusing them something astonishing in a man, in many respects, so secluded andself-involved. And there were other children, ofwhom he was passionately fond, those of CharlesLloyd, for example, whose house in later years becamefor him a centre of sad and joyous memories. It wasat Lloyd's house that De Quincey first saw ProfessorWilson, and this is how he speaks of that circ*mstance, which needs fullest celebration in any memoirof the English opium-eater; their friendship notonly yielding much to literature, but remaining tothe end unbroken, more tender and brotherlike,indeed, at the end than at its opening:" When I first knew them, Low Brathay [theresidence of Lloyd] was distinguished above everyother house at the head of Windermere, or withinten miles of that neighbourhood, by the judiciousassortment of its dinner-parties, and the gaiety of itssoirées dansantes. These parties were never crowded;poor Lloyd rarely danced himself; but it gladdenedhis benevolent heart to see the young and blooming156 De Quincey's Life and Writings.floating through the mazes of the dances then fashionable, whilst he sat by looking on, at times withpleasure, from his sympathy with the pleasure ofothers; at times. pursuing some animated discussionwith a literary friend; at times lapsing into profound reverie. At some of these dances it was thatI first saw Wilson of Elleray ( Professor Wilson) , incirc*mstances of animation and buoyant with youthful spirits, under the excitement of lights, wine, andabove all, of female company. He, by the way, wasthe best male dancer (not professional) I have everseen; and this advantage he owed entirely to theextraordinary strength of his foot in all its parts, toits peculiarly happy conformation, and to the accuracyof his ear; for as to instruction, I have often understood from his family that he never had any. Herealso danced the future wife of Professor Wilson,Miss Jane Penny, at that time the leading belle ofthe Lake country. "The two, however, did not get acquainted then—as indeed, there might have been some incongruityin the idea of two philosophers becking and bowingto each other in the pauses of a quadrille-thatwas, perhaps fitly, reserved for Wordsworth andWordsworth's house; and this is the account of it,given with all De Quincey's circ*mstantial precisionand subdued naïveté:·"My introduction to him-setting apart the introducee himself-was memorable from one circ*mstance-viz. , the person of the introducer. WilliamWordsworth it was, who in the vale of Grasmere, ifit can interest you to know the place, and in thelatter end of 1808, if you can be supposed to careIntroduction to Wilson.157about the time, did me the favour of making meknown to John Wilson, or as I might say (upon theScottish fashion of designating men from their territorial pretensions) to Elleray. I remember the wholescene as circ*mstantially as if it had been yesterday.In the Vale of Grasmere that peerless little vale,which you and Gray the poet and so many othershave joined in admiring as the very Eden of Englishbeauty, peace, and pastoral solitude-you may possibly recall, even from that flying glimpse you had ofit, a modern house called Allan Bank, standing undera low screen ofwoody rocks which descend from thehill of Silver How, on the western side of the lake.This house had been recently built by a worthymerchant of Liverpool; but for some reason of noimportance to you or me, not being immediatelywanted for the family of the owner, had been let fora term of three years to Mr. Wordsworth. At thetime I speak of, both Mr. Coleridge and myself wereon a visit to Mr. Wordsworth; and one room on theground-floor, designed for a breakfasting-room, whichcommands a sublime view of the three mountainsFairfield, Arthur's Chair, and Seat Sandal (the firstof them within about 400 feet of the highest mountains in Great Britain)-was then occupied by Mr.Coleridge as a study. On this particular day, thesun having only just set, it naturally happened thatMr. Coleridge-whose nightly vigils were long-hadnot yet come down to breakfast; meantime, anduntil the epoch of the Coleridgean breakfast shouldarrive, his study was lawfully disposable to profaneruses. Here, therefore, it was, that, opening thedoor hastily in quest of a book, I found seated, and158 De Quincey's Life and Writings.in earnest conversation; two gentlemen: one of themmy host, Mr. Wordsworth, at that time about thirtyeight years old; the other was a younger man bygood sixteen or seventeen years, in a sailor's dress,manifestly in robust health, fervidus juventa, andwearing upon his countenance a powerful expressionof ardour and animated intelligence, mixed withmuch good nature. ' Mr. Wilson of Elleray '.delivered as the formula of introduction, in the deeptones of Mr. Wordsworth-at once banished themomentary surprise I felt on finding a strangerwhere I had expected nobody, and substituted asurprise of another kind: I now well understoodwho it was that I saw; and there was no wonderin his being at Allan Bank, Elleray standing withinnine miles; but (as usually happens in such cases),I felt a shock of surprise on seeing a person so littlecorresponding to the one I had at first half-consciouslyprefigured. . . . Figure to yourselfa tall man about sixfeet high, within half an inch or so, built with tolerable appearance of strength; but at the date of mydescription (that is, in the very spring-tide and bloomof youth) , wearing, for the predominant character ofhis person, lightness and agility or (in our Westmoreland phrase) lishness, he seemed framed with anexpress view to gymnastic exercises of every sort.Askin one ofyour public libraries for that littlequarto edition of the ' Rhetorical Works of Cicero, 'edited by Schutz (the same who edited ' Eschylus ') ,and you will there see (as a frontispiece to the firstvolume) a reduced whole-length of Cicero from theantique, which in the mouth and chin, and indeedgenerally, if I do not greatly forget, will give you aAn Unbroken Friendship.•159lively representation of the contour and expression ofProfessor Wilson's face. Of all this array ofpersonal features, however, I then saw nothing atall, my attention being altogether occupied with Mr.Wilson's conversation and demeanour, which werein the highest degree agreeable; the points whichchiefly struck me being the humility and gravitywith which he spoke of himself, his large expansionof heart, and a certain air of noble frankness whichoverspread everything he said; he seemed to havean intense enjoyment of life; indeed, being young,rich, healthy, and full of intellectual activity, it couldnot be very wonderful that he should feel happy andpleased with himself and others; but it was somewhat unusual to find that so rare an assemblage ofendowments had communicated no tinge of arroganceto his manner, or at all disturbed the general temperance of his mind.".Elsewhere, and with some indescribable savour ofhumorous reserve, De Quincey refers to those earlyescapades ofWilson's amongst gypsies and Bohemiansof the lower order:-" And, although a man of prudence cannot altogether approve of his throwing himself into theconvivial society of gypsies, tinkers, potters (i.e. ,earthenware sellers) , strolling players , &c. , nevertheless it tells altogether in favour of Professor Wilson'sgenerosity of mind, that he was ever ready to foregohis advantages of station and birth, and to throwhimself fearlessly upon his own native powers as manopposed to man. '99Mrs. Gordon, in her admirable memoir ofher father,thus refers to the origin of the friendship so begun160 De Quincey's Life and Writings.between Wilson and De Quincey and its genuine unbroken character:-" Strange to say, they had when at Oxford remainedunknown to each other; but here, attracted by thesame influence, a mutual friendship was not long inbeing formed, which endured-independent of yearsof separation and many caprices of fortune-till deathdivided them. The graces of nature with which DeQuincey was endowed fascinated my father, as theydid every mind that came within the sphere of hisextraordinary power in the days of his mental vigour.· • ·From 1809, when he was his companion inpedestrian rambles and the sharer of his purse, tillthe hour of his death, that friendship remained unbroken, though sometimes in his strange career,months or years would elapse without my fathereither seeing or hearing from him. If this singularman's life were to be written truthfully no one wouldbelieve it, so strange the tale would seem. He,indeed, knewhowto analyse the human heart throughall its deep windings, but he offered no key of accessto his own. In manner no man was more courteousor naturally dignified; the strange vicissitudes ofhis life had given him a presence of mind whichnever deserted him, even in positions the most trying. It was this quality that gave him, in combination with his remarkable powers of persuasion, command over all minds; the ignorant were silenced byand the refined fascinated as by the spell of aserpent. Wilson loved him to the last, and betterthan any man he understood him. In the expansiveness of his own heart, he made allowances forfaults which experience taught him were the growthawe,· • ·"The Angler's Tent."• ·161of circ*mstance. It may seem strange that men soopposite in character were allied to each other by thebonds of friendship; but I think that all experienceshows that sympathy, not similarity, draws men toone another in that sacred relation. Manywere the pleasant days spent by these friends together; many the joyous excursions among the hillsand valleys of the Lake country. One memorablegathering is still remembered in the lone places ofthe mountains, and spoken of to the stranger wandering there. One lovely summer-day, in the year1809, the solitudes of Eskdale were invaded by whatseemed a little army of anglers. It consisted ofthirty - two persons, ten of whom were servantsbrought to look after the tents and baggage necessary for a week's sojourn in the mountains. Thiscamp, with its furniture, was carried by twelve ponies.Among the gentlemen of the party were Wilson,Wordsworth, De Quincey, Alex. Blair, two Messrs.Astley, Humphries, and some others whose names haveescaped notice. After passing through Eskdale, andthat solemn tract of country which opens upon Wastwater, they there pitched their tent, and roaming farand near from that point, each took his own way tillevening hours assembled themtogether. The beautyof the scenes through which they rambled, the fineweather, and, above all, that geniality of taste anddisposition which had brought them together, madethe occasion one of unforgotten satisfaction. Itformed the theme of one of Wilson's most beautifulminor poems, entitled " The Angler's Tent, " whichwas written soon after at Elleray, where Wordsworthwas then living. "VOL. I. L162 De Quincey's Life and Writings.In the beginning of 1809, Wilson took an excursion into Scotland, and asked De Quincey to accompany him in this letter:-" MY DEAR DE QUINCEY,—I am obliged to leavethis to-morrow for Glasgow. I therefore troubleyou with this note, in case you should think ofcoming over during my absence. I expect to returnto Elleray in a few days; yet there is an uncertaintyattending every motion of mine, and possibly ofyours also. If you are ready for a start, I will gowith you to-morrow on foot through Kentmere andHawesdale to Penrith, and on Monday you caneasily return by Ulleswater to Grasmere. The fineweather may induce you. If you feel a wish to lookat Glasgow and Edinburgh, would you take a tripwith me on the top of the coach? I will pledgemyself to return with you within eight days. If so,or if you will agree to the first plan only, my ponyor horse is with my servant who carries this, andyou can come here upon it. I hope you will do so.There is no occasion for a wardrobe. I take nothingwith me, and we can get a change of linen. Theexpense will be small to us. -Yours ever affectionately,JOHN WILSON." ELLERAY, Saturday, 1809."To the proposal that De Quincey should accompany him through Kentmere and Hawesdale toPenrith one of the most delightful of pedestrianjourneys-Mrs. Gordon appends this note:-"The proposal to walk over so much groundproclaims De Quincey to have been no weak pedestrian. Although he was a man considerably underUnperformed Pilgrimages. 163height and slender of form, he was capable of undergoing great fatigue, and took constant exercise. Thevery fact of his being a walking companion ofWilson speaks well for his strength, which wasnot unfrequently taxed when such a tryst was kept.Perhaps, in later years, of the two men he preservedhis activity more entire. "De Quincey, however, was unable to go to Scotland at this time, owing to his having arranged tospend a part of the summer in Somersetshire. Butthe two friends had already begun to project bolderenterprises, in which, perhaps, they found as deep apleasure as if they had been able actually to carrythem into practice the more that the thought ofthem remained unsullied by the shadows of suchdrawbacks as are so apt to mix themselves with thememories of pilgrimages really performed. DeQuincey tells us that Professor Wilson had evenplanned a journey into Central Africa, the objectsof which should be to visit the city of Timbuctoo,and solve (if possible) the great outstanding problemof the source of the Niger. This enterprise beingfound more than impracticable, it had to yield toother adventurous projects (for it was more the loveof adventure than interest in geographical discoveryby which Wilson was impelled), and in one ofthese De Quincey was associated. On September 12,1809, we find Wilson thus writing to De Quincey atBristol from Elleray:--MY DEAR DE QUINCEY,-I write you a fewlines, to make aproposal which I hope you will not think unwarranted by theshort acquaintance we have had with each other. I intendgoing to Spain in a few weeks, to traverse as great a part of it164 De Quincey's Life and Writings.as circ*mstances may allow; and knowing the deep interest youtake in the destiny of the Spaniards, I have thought of communicating to you my design. Mr. Wordsworth, who, with hiswife, is now staying at Elleray, has strongly recommended tome to write you on this subject. My plan is to go by packet toLisbon early in October. My stay in the Peninsula will on noaccount exceed six months . An immediate answer will gratifyme. Should you enter into this scheme, I will either meet youin London at the time you mention or remain here till youcome down. In hopes that you will determine to go, believeme most sincerely and respectfully yours,JOHN WILSON.Recalling these projected journeys of Wilson,De Quincey in one place takes occasion to associatethem with a characteristic trait of Wilson:"Yet, as the stimulus to danger, in one shape oranother, was at that time of life perhaps essential toWilson's comfort, he soon substituted another scheme,which at this day might be accomplished with easeand safety enough, but in the year 1809 (under therancorous system of Napoleon) was full of hazard.In this scheme he was so good as to associate myselfas one of his travelling companions, together withan earlier friend of his own-an Englishman, of aphilosophical turn of mind-with whom he had beena fellow-student at Glasgow; and we were certainlyall three of an age and character to have enjoyed theexpedition in the very highest degree, had the eventsof the war allowed us to realise our plan. The planwas as follows: from Falmouth, by one of theregular packets, we were to have sailed to the Tagus,and, landing wherever accident should allow us, topurchase mules, hire Spanish servants, and travelextensively in Spain and Portugal for eight or ninemonths; thence, by such of the islands in the Medi-First Visit to Edinburgh. 165terranean as particularly interested us, we weregradually to have passed into Greece, and thence toConstantinople. Finally, we were to have visitedthe Troad, Syria, Egypt, and perhaps Nubia. I feelit almost ludicrous to sketch the outline of so extensive a tour, no part of which was ever executed:such a Barmecide feast is laughable in the rehearsal.Yet it is bare justice to ourselves to say, that on ourpart there was no slackness or make-believe; whatput an extinguisher upon our project was the entrance of Napoleon into Spain, his immediate advance upon Madrid, and the wretched catastrophe ofthe expedition so miserably misconducted under SirJohn Moore. It was no joke, as it had been inpast times, for an Englishman to be found wandering in Continental regions; the pretence that he was,or might be, a spy-a charge so easy to make, soimpossible to throw off-at once sufficed for thehanging of the unhappy traveller. . . . These atrocities had interrupted our Continental schemes, andwe were thus led the more to roam amongst homescenes. How it happened I know not-for we hadwandered together often in England-but, by someaccident, it was not until 1814 that we visited Edinburgh together. Then it was that I first sawScotland. "· • •This leads us, not unnaturally, to remark on a characteristic hinted at in the introductory chapter. DeQuincey, in spite of his dreaminess and devotion tostudy, loved long walks, and had a keen interest incertain kinds of sport, which his residence in Grasmereput it in his power fully to gratify, without his doingdespite to the other demands of his temperament. He166 De Quincey's Life and Writings.even took to long wanderings with Ritson, a genuineold Laker, referred to by Christopher North as a famouswrestler, who had won many a county belt. ThisRitson had once thrown Wilson twice out of threefalls, confessing, however, that he found his opponent"a varra bad un to lick, " as well he might, seeingthat in running he was beaten by Wilson, who couldjump twelve yards in three jumps, with a heavy stonein each hand, while Ritson could only manage elevenand three-quarters.In all these matters Wilson found in De Quinceyan interested friend, who, if he was not himself ofsufficient physique to become a competitor, had aplace in his memory for curious facts bearing uponthem, and could bring these forward fresh and apropos,making his classical studies occasionally yield themost original and surprising commentaries. But thepeculiar vein of meditative self-seclusion, erraticsympathy, and dreamy overcharged sentiment, demanded its own peculiar stimulant. Therefore wehear of other rambles, taken under other circ*mstances, with contrasted accompaniment:-" I took the very greatest delight in nocturnalwalks through the silent valleys of Cumberland andWestmoreland. What I liked in this solitary rambling was, to trace the course of the evening throughits household hieroglyphics from the windows whichI passed or saw; to see the blazing fires shiningthrough the windows of the houses, lurking in nooksfar apart from neighbours; sometimes in solitudesthat seemed abandoned to the owl, to catch the soundsof household mirth; then, some miles further, toperceive the time of going to bed; then the gradualLittle Kate Wordsworth. 167sinking to silence of the house; then the drowsyreign of the cricket; at intervals to hear churchclocks or a little solitary chapel bell, under the browof mighty hills , proclaiming the hours of the night,and flinging out their sullen knells over the graveswhere the ' rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep 'where the strength and the loveliness of Elizabeth'stime, or Cromwell's, and through so many fleetinggenerations that have succeeded, had long ago sunkto rest. Such was the sort of pleasure which I reapedin my nightly walks-of which, however, consideringthe suspicions of lunacy which it sometimes awoke,the less I say, perhaps, the better. "Of a kindred character, but striking a still deeperchord of sensibilities, leaving a more distinct impresson the phantasy as suggesting far more of the patheticwonder and mystery of life—is the record we haveof his sorrow at the death of Catherine Wordsworth,and his unique experiences arising out of it. MissWordsworth, in her letter intimating to De Quinceythe death of his favourite, tells him that littleCatherine " never forgot Quincey."This letter was immediately answered by arequest for further particulars; and we find DeQuincey writing again to Miss Wordsworth on June21st as follows-his mind concentrated on little Kateand all things associated with her:-Sunday Evening, June 21st.MY DEAR FRIEND,-I thank you much for your long andmost affecting letter. One passage troubled me greatly; I meanwhen you speak of our dear child's bodily sufferings. Herfather and I trusted that she had been insensible to pain—thatbeing generally the case, as I believe, in convulsions. Butthank God! whatever were her sufferings, they were short in168 De Quincey's Life and Writings.comparison of what she would have had in most other complaints; and now at least, sweet love! she is at rest and in peace.It being God's pleasure to recall His innocent creature to Himself, perhaps in no other way could it have been done moremercifully to her, though to the bystanders for the time fewcould be more terrible to behold. How much more sufferingwould she have had in a common fever from cold; and whatanguish to us all if she had called upon our names in delirium,and fancied that we would not come to her relief! This I remember witnessing at my father's bedside on the morning whenhe died. I was but a child, and had seen too little of my fatherto have much love for him; but I remember being greatlyaffected at hearing him moan out to my mother a few minutesbefore he died, " O Eliza, Eliza! why will you never come andhelp me to raise this great weight? "I was truly glad to find from your account of her funeral,that those who attended were in general such as would more orless unaffectedly partake in your sorrow. It has been an awfulemployment to me the recollecting where I was and how occupied when this solemn scene was going on. At that time Imust have been in the streets of London; tired, I remember,for I had just recovered from sickness-but cheerful, and filledwith pleasant thoughts. Ah! what a mortal revulsion of heartif any sudden revelation should have laid open to my sightwhat scene was passing in Grasmere Vale! Onthe night June3d-4th, I remember, from a particular circ*mstance which happened in the room below me, that I lay awake all night longin serious thought, but yet as cheerful as if not a dreamwere troubling any one that I loved. As well as I recollect,I must have been closing my eyes in sleep just about thetime that my blessed Kate was closing hers for ever! Oh,that I might have died for her or with her! Willingly, mydear friend, I would have done this. I do not say it from anysudden burst of anguish, but as a feeling that I have ejacul*ted in truth and sincerity a thousand times since I heard ofher death. If I had seen her in pain I could have done anything for her; and reason it was that I should, for she was ablessing to me, and gave me many and many an hour of happythoughts that I can never have again.You tell me to think of her with tender cheerfulness; but, farfrom that, dear friend, my heart grows heavier and heavier every""Kinsey! Kinsey!169day. More and more of her words, and looks, and actions keepcoming up before me; and there is nobody to whom I can speakabout her. I have struggled with this dejection as much as Ican; twice I have passed the evening with Mr. Coleridge, and Ihave every day attempted to study. But after all I find it moretolerable to me to let my thoughts take their natural course,than to put such constraint upon them. But let me not troubleyou with complaints, who have sorrow enough to bear of yourown, and to witness in others.Yesterday I heard from Mr. Wordsworth, and was grieved tohear of Mrs. Wordsworth's state of mind; but I knew that itcould not be otherwise. She would have borne her loss better,I doubt not, if she had been on the spot. As it is, this greataffliction would come upon her just when her mind would bebusiest about thoughts of returning to her children. I think ofher often with the greatest love and compassion.This afternoon I was putting my clothing and books into thetrunk. Whilst I was about it, I remembered that it was the 21stof June, and must therefore be exactly a quarter of a year sinceI left Grasmere; for I left it on Sunday, March 22d, this daythirteen weeks; therefore I saw Kate for the last time. The lastwords which she said to me (except that perhaps she might callout some words of farewell in company with the rest who werepresent) I think were these:-The children were speaking to mealtogether, and I was saying one thing to one and another toanother, and she, who could not speak loud enoughto overpowerthe other voices, had got up on a chair, and putting her handupon my mouth, she said, with her sweet importunateness ofaction and voice, " Kinsey! Kinsey! what a bring Katy fromLondon? " I believe she said it twice; and I remember thather mother noticed the earnestness and intelligence of her manner, and looked at me and smiled. This was the last time thatI heard her sweet voice distinctly, and I shall never hear onelike it again! God bless you, my dear friend. -Ever yours,T. DE QUINCEY.N.B.-Mary Dawson would surely suppose that, as a mark ofrespect to your family, I should wish her to get mourning atmy expense. If she has not done this, pray tell her that I

• Mary Dawson was the servant in charge of his cottage.

170 De Quincey's Life and Writings.particularly desire it may be done. I forgot to mention itbefore.I shall leave London not earlier than Tuesday, nor later thanWednesday. I have been detained in a way that I could notprevent. Howsoon I get to Grasmere will depend on the accidents of meeting conveyances, &c. I trust I shall find you allwell.I wrote a second letter to you last Monday, June 15th.De Quincey's grief and helpless prostration are described by him in his most characteristic manner byway of giving full effect to his dream-delusions." It was the radiant spirit of joyousness makingsolitude for her blithe society, and filling from morning till night the air ' with gladness and involuntarysong ' -this it was which so fascinated my heart,that I became blindly, doatingly, in a servile degree,devoted to this one affection. In the spring of 1812,I went up to London; and early in June, by a letterfrom Miss Wordsworth, her aunt, I learned theterrific news (for such to me it was) , that she haddied suddenly. She had gone to bed in good healthabout sunset on June 4; was found speechless alittle before midnight; and died in the early dawn,just as the first gleams of morning began to appearover Seat Sandal and Fairfield, the mightiest of theGrasmere barriers, about an hour perhaps beforesunrise. Never, perhaps, from the foundations ofthose mighty hills, was there so fierce a convulsionof grief as mastered my faculties on receiving thatheart-shattering news. Over and above myexcess oflove for her, I had always viewed her as an impersonation of the dawn and the spirit of infancy; andthis abstraction seated in her person, together withthe visionary sort of connection, which even in herVisual Illusions.171Iparting hours she assumed with the summer sun, byturning her immersion into the cloud of death withthe rising and the setting of that fountain of life—these combined impressions recoiled so violently intoa contrast or polar antithesis to the image of death,that each exalted and heightened the other.returned hastily to Grasmere. " He tells us that henow abandoned himself to his grief, and often spentthe night on her grave, " not as may readily besupposed," he says, " in any parade of grief; on thecontrary, in that quiet valley of simple shepherds , Iwas secure enough from observation, until morninglight began to return; but in mere intensity ofsick, frantic yearning after neighbourhood to thedarling of my heart. Many readers will have seenin Sir Walter Scott's ' Demonology, ' and in Dr.Abercrombie's ' Inquiries concerning the IntellectualPowers,' some remarkable illustrations of the creativefaculties awakened in the eye or other organs bypeculiar states of passion; and it is worthy of aplace amongst cases of the kind, that in many solitary fields, at a considerable elevation above the levelof the valleys -fields, which in the local dialect arecalled ' intacks '-my eye was haunted at times, inbroad noonday (oftener, however, in the afternoon)with a facility, but at times with a necessity, forweaving out of a few simple elements a perfectpicture of little Kate in the attitude and onwardmotion of walking. I resorted constantly to these' intacks,' as places where I was little liable to disturbance; and usually I saw her at the opposite sideof the field, which might sometimes be at a distanceof a quarter of a mile, generally not so much.172 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Almost always she carried a basket on her head;and usually the first hint upon which the figurearose commenced in wild plants, such as tall fernsor the purple flowers of the foxglove; but whatevermight be the colours of the forms, uniformly thesame little full- formed figure arose, uniformly dressedin the little blue bedgown and black skirt of Westmoreland, and uniformly with the air of advancingmotion. Throughout part of June, July, and part ofAugust, in fact, throughout the summer, this frenzyof grief continued. " It passed from him suddenly,with a nervous sensation of sickness.Not long afterwards, he received in a letter fromWordsworth the news of another bereavementthe close of the letter being most tender and touching in its simplicity of pathos.The following letter addressed by De Quincey tohis sister shows the friendly terms on which at thistime he stood with Southey, and is quoted herechiefly because of the reference to the death ofThomas Wordsworth:-GRASMERE, Sunday Night, January 3d, 1813.MY DEAR SISTER,-Your letter having lain some days at thepost, and James having come round by London, they did notreach me so soon as you may have calculated. I wrote toColeridge by last Friday morning's post, begging him to forward, under cover to Westhay, whatever letters he could furnishfor Sicily and Malta. By the time this reaches you, therefore,you will possibly have heard from him. Southey, in a notewhich I had from him last night, says, " It was in the year1801 that I last left Lisbon; and time and revolution havecut down and broken up and scattered the society in which Ilived and with which I was connected. I can, however, procureletters for Mr. Leeves, which shall be franked to him fromLondon as soon as you let me know where they are to be ad-Little Thomas Wordsworth. 173dressed. I should fear that he may wait long at the ' stormvexed Bermudas ' before he finds a passage to Lisbon. Thevoyage, however, is his best chance." Of course I shall writeto Southey this night desiring him to have them sent to you.Through the family at Gale House I have applied also to Mr.Koster of Liverpool; he was one of the best English residentsof Lisbon. Whatever letters he may send are expected atAmbleside to-night or to-morrow night. By the first postafter their arrival (we have only four in a week) I will forwardthem to Southey. At all events, I will write again by nextMonday morning's post (the first after the one I now write by),and enclose a letter to the ambassador at Constantinoplewhich will be very useful, if he should go so far; and as hemeans to sail about from place to place, most probably he will.I felt great concern on hearing of his illness, and hope heartilythat he may find benefit from his voyages. Kindly assurehim of my most friendly remembrance and best wishes for hisspeedy re-establishment.I have now, with sadness of heart, to inform you that dear,little Thomas Wordsworth died of the measles on Tuesdaythe 1st of last month. He was seized with them the Thursdaybefore, and had none but favourable symptoms until about 11o'clock on the Tuesday morning; after which he grew rapidlyworse, and died about five in the evening. I was met at Liverpool, on my road home, by a letter from Wordsworth writtenthe same night to inform me of this event, in which hewrites:-"His sufferings were short, and I think not severe. Praycome to us as soon as you can. My sister is not at home.Mrs. W. bears her loss with striking fortitude, and MissHutchison is as well as can be expected. My sister will behere to-morrow.Most tenderly and lovingly, with heavy sorrow for you, mydear friend, I remain yours, W. WORDSWORTH."Unfortunately I did not receive this letter till the verynight of his funeral, which (though I loved him tenderly,dear child! ) I was thus unable to attend.The Mr. Leeves referred above to was a clergyman,chaplain to the embassy at Constantinople, a son174 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of the Rector of Wrington in the Mendip Hills,well-known as the composer of the modern air to" Auld Robin Gray. "In Charles Lloyd, as has been said, De Quinceyfound, perhaps, more of an answering quality in thedeeper veins of sentiment than in any other of hisGrasmere friends. Indeed, the impression gatheredfrom De Quincey's picture of Lloyd gives a far higheridea of him than we had gathered from his poems,though that, we need not say, was high. De Quinceyhimself expressly says, " Lloyd had other and higheraccomplishments of intellect than he showed in hisverses. Lloyd had been reared a Quaker, after astrict fashion even for a Quaker; and the repressionin youth of the natural gaiety and fervour of hisnature had reacted injuriously, and had precipitateda tendency to lunacy, intensified by specific disease.It was a painful contest, a daily anxious watchingand terror of certain tokens; but that the clouded lifewas beautiful and silver-streaked De Quincey bearsgood witness.99"On his own account," says De Quincey, " andfor his personal qualities, he was worthy of a separatenotice in any biography, however sparing in itsdigressions; but, viewed in reference to his fortunes,among the most interesting men I have known.Never do I reflect upon his hard fate, and the bitterthough mysterious persecution of body which pursued him, dogged him, and thickened as life advanced,but I feel gratitude to Heaven for my own exemptionfrom suffering in that particular form; and in themidst of afflictions, of which two or three have beenmost hard to bear, because not unmingled with pangsCharles Lloyd. 175of remorse for the share which I myself had in causing them—still, by comparison with the lot of CharlesLloyd, I acknowledge my own to have been happyand serene.9966 "The splendour of his talk," he proceeds, wasquite hidden from himself, and unperceived amidstthe effort of mind, and oftentime severe struggles, inattempting to do himself justice, both as respectedthe thoughts and the difficult task of clothing themin adequate words; he was as free from vanity, oreven from complacency in reviewing what he hadeffected, as it is possible for a human creature to be.He thought, indeed, slightly of his own powers, and,which was even a stronger barrier against vanity, hisdisplays in this kind were always in proportion tohis own unhappiness; for unhappiness it was, andthe restlessness of internal irritation, that chieflydrovehim to exertion of his intellect; else, and when freefrom this sort of excitement, he tended to thequiescent state of a listener, for he thought everybodybetter than himself. And so he walked on with anever-present sense of the anguish that might at anymoment overwhelm him." He at last fell under thestroke; and one of the most melting passages wehave ever read is the account we have of his rushinginto De Quincey's cottage, when he had escaped fromhis confinement. De Quincey's casuistic discussion with himself as to his duty in the matter raisesa smile whilst the eyes are yet moist.In August 1813, we find him writing to the Wordsworths:-On Sunday last one of my sisters received a letter from mybrother Richard, dated London. I believe you know that he is as176 De Quincey's Life and Writings.restless as the sea; so you may guess our astonishment on learning that he had only just left Westmoreland. . . In the way ofnews from Grasmere or its neighbourhood, his letter communicated nothing, except a very short and indistinct mention ofMr. Lloyd's illness in July: this gave us all great concern; butwe collect, from the wording of it, that he had recovered beforemy brother left the North. If Grasmere can be considered achange of scene to Mr. Lloyd, I trust that you will not scrupleto make use of my house; even if I come as early as I talk of,there is room (you know) for us all.The other night Mrs. Hannah More returned from a progressamong her people in Cambridge, Huntingdonshire, and differentparts of England, and (if you think that any honour), made veryminute inquiry respecting Mr. Lloyd's pursuits, habits, andtastes. She told me that she had met the senior Mr. and Mrs.Lloyd at Mr. Galton's, I think, and had had a good deal of conversation with them.I have been twice in London since I saw you. On my lastvisit I saw a little of Coleridge; but during the latter part ofmy stay he would see nobody, not even Mrs. Morgan or hersister. He fancied that he had a fit of the gout coming on;and one day Mrs. Morgan told me that he had flung a notefrom the top of the stairs, to this effect, that the gout hadalready mounted to his stomach, and, if he were at all disturbedor agitated, would speedily attack the brain. It happened,however, on a night after this, when I had staid till past oneo'clock with the two ladies, that they perceived a body of smoketurning the corner from Oxford Street into Berners Street,accompanied with a strong smell of burning. Coleridge wasdressed and reading in his room; and on Mrs. Morgan knocking at his door, he instantly came out and tripped downstairswith her as lightly as ever.Charles Lloyd died some years later in Paris, hismental faculties under a cloud. *The following is the last we hear from De Quinceyof a bright genius, a noble character, sacrificed so far toharsh traditions working hand in hand with morbid in-

• See Macready's " Reminiscences," vol. i. pp. 164–66.

Old Brathay. 177heritance, and issuing in permanent gloom, depression, and final bewilderment and confusion of theintellectual faculties:-" Charles Lloyd never returned to Brathay, after hehad once been removed from it, and the removal ofhis familysoon followed. Mrs. Lloyd, indeed, returnedat intervals from France to England, upon businessconnected with the interests of her family; and duringone of these fugitive visits she came to the Lakes,where she selected Grasmere for her residence; sothat I had opportunities of seeing her every day forthe space of several weeks. Otherwise, I never againsaw any of the family, except one son, an interesting young man, who sought most meritoriously, bybursting asunder the heavy yoke of constitutionalinactivity, to extract a balm for his own besettingmelancholy, from a constant series of exertions inwhich he had forced himself to engage, for promoting education or religious knowledge among his poorerneighbours. But often and often, in years after allwas gone, I have passed old Brathay, or have goneover purposely after dark, about the time when, formany a year, I used to go over to spend the evening;and, seating myself on a stone by the side of themountain river Brathay, have stayed for hours listening to the same sound, to which so often CharlesLloyd and I used to hearken together with profoundemotion and awe, -the sound of pealing anthems, asif streaming from the open portals of some illimitable cathedral; for such a sound does actually arise,in many states of the weather, from the peculiaraction of the river Brathay upon its rocky bed; andmany times I have heard it, of a quiet night, whenVOL. I. M178 De Quincey's Life and Writings.no stranger could have been persuaded to believe itother than the sound of choral chanting-distant,solemn, saintly. Its meaning and expression were,in these earlier years, uncertain and general; notmore pointed or determinate in the direction whichit impressed upon one's feelings than the light ofsetting suns; and sweeping, in fact, the whole harpof pensive sensibilities rather than striking the chordof any one specific sentiment. But since the ruin ordispersion of that household, after the smoke hadceased to ascend from their hearth, or the gardenwalks to re-echo their voices, oftentimes, when lyingby the river side, I have listened to the same aerial,saintly sound, whilst looking back to that night, longhidden in the forest of receding years, when Charlesand Sophia Lloyd, now lying in foreign graves, firstdawned upon me, coming suddenly out of rain anddarkness; then young, rich, happy, full of hope,belted with young children (of whom also most arelong dead) , and standing apparently on the verge ofa labyrinth of golden hours. Musing on the night inNovember 1807, and then upon the wreck that hadbeen wrought by a space of fifteen years, I would sayto myself sometimes, and seem to hear it in the songsof this watery cathedral:-Put not your trust in anyfabric of happiness that has its root in man or thechildren of men. Sometimes even I was tempted todiscover, in the same music, a sound such as this:-Love nothing, love nobody, for thereby comes a killing curse in the rear. But sometimes, also, very earlyon a summer morning, when the dawn was barelybeginning to break, all things locked in sleep, andonly some uneasy murmur or co*ck-crow in the faintSouthey. 179distance, giving a hint of resurrection for earth andher generations, I have heard, in that same chantingof the little mountain river, a more solemn if a lessagitated admonition-a requiem over departed happiness, and a protestation against the thought that somany excellent creatures, but a little lower than theangels, whom I have seen only to love in this lifeso many of the good, the brave, the beautiful, thewise-can have appeared for no higher purpose orprospect than simply to point a moral, to cause alittle joy and many tears, a few perishing moons ofhappiness and years of vain regret. No! that thedestiny of man is more in correspondence with thegrandeur of his endowments, and that our own mysterious tendencies are written hieroglyphically in thevicissitudes of day and night, of winter and summer,and throughout the great alphabet of Nature.Buton that theme-Beware, reader! Listen to no intellectual argument. One argument there is of philosophic value: an argument drawn from the moralnature of man-an argument of Immanuel Kant'sThe rest are dust and ashes. "With Southey, owing to his excessive devotion towork, his somewhat stiff and uncongenial manners,De Quincey did not form so intimate a friendship aswith these others. Their earliest intercourse wasenough, however, to give Southey a very elevatedidea of De Quincey's powers. In the end of 1810we find him thus writing to Mr. Richman:-" Mathetes is not De Quincey, but a Mr. Wilson, -De Quincey is a singular man, but better informedthan any person almost that I ever met at his age. ”We find De Quincey, many years after this, re-180 De Quincey's Life and Writings.cording his relations with Southey; in writing of hisfirst settlement in the Lakes in 1808-9:-" Though,on various accounts, my intercourse with him was atno time very strict, partly from the very uncongenialconstitution of my own mind, and the different direction of my studies, partly from my reluctance tolevy a tax on time so precious and so fully employed, I was yet on such terms for the next tenor eleven years that I might, in a qualified sense,call myself his friend. "Nature and human society alike had thus castspells over him and linked him by a kind of fascination to the Valleys. He himself at one place proudlyconfesses:-" The very names of the ancient hills-Fairfield,Seat Sandal, Helvellyn, Blencathra, Glaramara; thenames of the sequestered glens, such as-Borrowdale, Martindale, Mardale, Wasdale, and Ennerdale;but, above all, the shy pastoral recesses, not garishlyin the world's eye, like Windermere or Derwentwater, but lurking half unknown to the travellerof that day- Grasmere, for instance, the lovelyabode of the poet himself, solitary, and yet sowed, asit were, with a thin diffusion of humble dwellings—here a scattering, and there a clustering, as in thestarry heavens-sufficient to afford, at every turnand angle, human remembrances and memorials oftime-honoured affections, or of passions (as the' Churchyard amongst the Mountains ' will amplydemonstrate), not wanting even in scenic or tragicinterest- these were so many local spells to me,equally poetic and elevating with the Miltonicnames of Valdarno and Vallombrosa. "A Misfortune. 181Owing to the failure of one of the houses ofbusiness in which a large portion of De Quincey'smoney had been invested, he was suddenly deprivedof one of his sources of income, which accounts forthe tenor of the following letter from his uncle,Colonel Penson, about this time:-MY DEAR SIR,-I have heard that your affairs are not prosperous, though of the nature or extent of your misfortunes I haveno information. Yet as it has pleased God to bless me beyondeither hope or expectation since I left England, I feel that inrequesting your acceptance of the enclosed I am not violatingthe spirit of the command you gave me when last I heard fromyou, either in 1806 or 1807; for I then was in truth as poor asneed be, but the amendment of my affairs makes an entirechange in all the circ*mstances and relations of life. Mr.Crittenden has sent the first of this bill, and I shall send thetriplicate by some other conveyance.All is peace and still life here. Communication is onlyfrom theWest; and our last accounts from Spain are very unpromising.Make my kind affections to all at Westhay, and believe me,my dear sir, yours most affectionately,THOS. PENSON.FUTTYGHUR, NEAR FURRACKABAD, 16th July 1813.In the years 1813-14, Wilson was chiefly in Edinburgh in connection with his profession at the bar;but every available holiday he spent at Elleray,sometimes descending on his neighbours like a surprise. The footing on which he and De Quincey continued to stand was certainly of the most brotherlyand unceremonious kind. For example, on a certainSaturday in the autumn of 1814, we find Wilsondining with William Curwen, and then walking toDe Quincey's, which he reaches at half- past one onthe Sunday morning." and "De Quincey was at the Nab, " he says,182 De Quincey's Life and Writings.when he returned about three o'clock, found measleep in his bed. " And, we can well believe thatDe Quincey did not a whit overstep the fact, when,in some letters written to a young American friend,he said:-" I repeat, that my interest, as I flatter myself,would have opened the gates of Elleray to you evenat midnight; for I am so old a friend of Mr. Wilsonthat I take a pride in supposing myself the oldest;and, barring relations by blood, arrogate the rightsof dean in the chapter of his associates; or at leastI know of but one person whose title can probablydate earlier than mine. About this very monthwhen I am writing, I have known Professor Wilsonfor a cycle of twenty years and more, which is justhalf of his life-and also half of mine; for we arealmost adapicem of the same age, -Wilson being bornin May, and I in August, ofthe same memorable year. "During those earlier years at Grasmere, he paidvisits to friends in Bristol, in Somersetshire, and inLondon. Mrs. Hannah More, who, as we have seen,was an intimate friend of his mother, and had beendrawn into a somewhat close intimacy with her bysimilarity of tastes and dogmatic beliefs, was alwaysvisited by De Quincey when he was staying with hismother at her house, Westhay, or with his mother'sfriends in that district.At Hannah More's, he tells us, he met Mrs.Siddons in 1814, and he thus sets down his impressions of these two famous women:-" Mrs. Siddons obviously thought Mrs. HannahMore a person who differed from the world chiefly byapplying a greater energy, and sincerity, and zeal to aHannah More and Mrs. Siddons. 183system of religious truth equally known to all. Repentance, for instance-all people hold that to be aduty; and Mrs. Hannah More differed from themonly by holding it to be a duty of all hours, a dutyfor youth not less than for age. But how muchwould she have been shocked to hear that Mrs. HannahıMore held all repentance, however indispensable, yetin itself, and though followed by the sincerest effortsat reformation of life, to be utterly unavailing asany operative part of the means by which man gainsacceptance with God. To rely upon repentance, orupon anything that man can do for himself, that Mrs.Hannah More considered as the mortal taint, as theωρωτον Ψευδος in the worldly theories of the Christian scheme; and I have heard the two ladies-Mrs.Hannah More and Mrs. Siddons, I mean-talkingby the hour together, as completely at cross-purposesas it is possible to imagine. Everything, in fact, ofwhat was special in the creed adopted by Mrs. HannahMore, by Wilberforce, and many others known asevangelical Christians, is always capable, in lax conversation, of being translated into a vague generalsense, which completely obscures the true limitationsof the meaning. Mrs. Hannah More, however, wastoo polished a woman to allow of any sectarianmovement being impressed upon the conversation;consequently, she soon directed it to literature, uponwhich Mrs. Siddons was very amusing, from herrecollections of Dr. Johnson, whose fine-turned compliment to herself (so much in the spirit of thoseunique compliments addressed to eminent people byLouis XIV. ) had for ever planted the doctor's memoryin her heart. She spoke also of Garrick and Mrs.184 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Garrick; but not, I think, with so much respect andaffection as Mrs. Hannah More, who had in heryouthful days received the most friendly attentionsfrom both, though coming forward at that time inno higher character than as the author of Percy, themost insipid of tragedies. Mrs. Siddons was prevailed on to read passages from both Shakespeareand Milton. The dramatic readings were delightful;in fact, they were almost stage rehearsals, accompanied with appropriate gesticulation. . . . I shallalways regard my recollections of Mrs. Siddons asthose in which chiefly I have an advantage over thecoming generation; nay, perhaps over all generations;for many centuries may revolve without producingsuch another transcendent creature. "In February 1814, we find Wordsworth writing toDe Quincey during one of his visits to Somersetshire,consulting him about an added stanza in " Laodamia, 'which now appears in the poem, beginning99"While tears were thy best pastime day and night,"and requesting him to be more detailed in the expression of his opinion on certain poems and on thePreface than he had been, —his opinions, as it wouldappear, having been studiously general about the saidPreface, and a request made for copies of the earlierdraft of it. This leads Wordsworth to say, that hewished De Quincey had mentioned why he had desiredthe rough copies of the Preface to be kept, as therequest had led him to apprehend that somethingtherein might have appeared to be better or moreclearly expressed than in the after-draught; adding," I should have been glad to receive suggestionsaccordingly. "!CHAPTER IX.WEDINBURGH.ILSON, owing to the loss of his fortunethrough an uncle, had found it necessary toquit Elleray, and to betake himself seriously tot he practice of his profession at the Scottishbar. He made his mother's house in Edinburgh hishome, and gathered round him, as was the necessityand the delight of his sociable nature, a " band ofchoice spirits. " The literary society of Edinburgh in1815 did not need to seek shelter under the great traditions left by its illustrious predecessors. Hume, LordKames, Fergusson, and Dugald Stewart had passedaway, leaving a kind ofradiant track behind them, outof which Jeffrey and Scott had already emerged, toassert an independent and individual light. But lesserclusters were forming, and that of which John Wilsonnow became the acknowledged centre was destinedto grow broader in importance, and do something tosustain the intellectual credit of the " ModernAthens.' We can well imagine that here the talkwas of the wittiest and most brilliant, passing nowand then into boisterous fun, liveliest repartee, and99186 De Quincey's Life and Writings.catching itself up again with subdued seriousness assome grave problem presented itself, or some newwork of mark was brought upon the tapis. Wilson,genial, overflowing, yielding easily to the demand ofthe moment, would hold his own, as a good hostought. Anecdotes and stories, derived from contactwith gypsies and others during those early escapadesof his, would doubtless bear their part; but widelyread in poetry and belles lettres as he was, and witha retentive, if somewhat inexact memory, he couldmount the most refined pinnacles of criticism. Thenthere was Hamilton, darkly metaphysical, omnivorousof books; R. P. Gillies, rich with the spoils of extensive travel, full of the recent chit-chat of thehigher circles, and proud of his correspondence witheminent persons-a sort of Scottish Crabb Robinson;Lockhart, cynical, reserved, and stately, but here,amongst congenial spirits, gratefully unbending;and William Allan-yet to be Sir William-staid,conciliatory, a grand listener, yet sometimes unostentatiously turning the conversation to the fieldin which he was specially interested. It was intothis society that De Quincey, in the end of 1814,came like a man dropped from the moon. Wilson,writing to Edinburgh under date October 31 , 1814,says: "De Quincey will accompany me to Scotland;but I will write about his rooms in a day or two. "They did not at first know well what to make of thisman with the boyish figure and the gentle voice, who,with quiet, unassuming deliverance, speedily asserteda kind of right to say the final word, and who soonbecame a referee in knotty points of philosophy orscholarship-even Hamilton assenting. He was—atA Literary Lion. 187any rate for a time—a puzzle, a paradox, a source ofbewilderment, and they could not have done talkingabout him. He became a kind of literary lion, andwas persecuted with invitations to dine out here,there, everywhere. All felt that a new influencewas at work in their midst, and they enjoyed it.This new comer, who could cap Hamilton's mostrecondite quotations from Plato and Plotinus, fromKant or Richter, or rectify on the spur ofthe momentthe least lapse in a line cited from Euripides orPindar, was worthy of study and of deference, bothof which were so loyally yielded him that De Quinceyever afterwards felt a love for Edinburgh, as for asecond alma mater. His odd habits, too, had theirown attraction, and surrounded him with somethingof mystic glamour. He was then in that stage ofopium-eating which may be regarded as a swiftadvance to the climax; but as yet, at all events,his constitution and mental faculties seemed to bestrengthened instead of impaired by it. He was stillin the stage of simple, gratified energies; and histalk, on emerging from his slumber, all agree wassui generis. Wilson would invite night-parties, weare told, so that De Quincey, who was at the best inthe early-hours, might be seen and heard to fulladvantage.De Quincey himself thus tells of the company, ofwhich he cherished grateful recollections to theend:-" The original nucleus had been John Wilson (i.e. ,the Wilson) and his brothers, amongst whom thenaturalist (James Wilson) was known to me first,and subsequently Sir William Hamilton. Next,188 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and after the war had finally reached its consummation in Waterloo-a peripetteia as perfect and dramatic as ever was exhibited on the stage of Athens-others at intervals gladdened our festive company,amongst whom, as the most memorable, I ought tomention Colonel Mitchell, the biographer of Wallenstein, so advantageously known by his bold andoriginal views upon strategies, upon the efficacy ofthe bayonet, and upon the critical interpretation ofsome chapters in martial history; Captain ThomasHamilton, the brother of Sir William, an accomplished man, latterly known among us by the nameof Cyril Thornton, from the title of his novel; SirWilliam Allan, the distinguished artist, afterwardsPresident of the Royal Scottish Academy; andlastly, Mr. R. P. Gillies, the advocate, whose nameI repeat with a sigh of inexpressible sadness , such asbelongs of right to some splendid Timon of Athens,so often as, on the one hand, I revivify to my mindhis gay saloons, resonant with music and festivelaughter, the abode for years of a munificent hospitality, which Wordsworth characterises as ' all butprincely,'—and, on the other hand, shudder at themighty shadows of calamity, of sorrow, of malice, ofdetraction, that have for thirty years stalked afterhis retreating splendour, and long since have swallowed up the very memory of his pretensions fromthe children of this generation. "-In his " Reminiscences of a Literary Veteran "-a work of singular interest, alike on account ofits anecdotes of distinguished personages and theglimpses it gives us into an original and penetratingmind—a work which certainly deserves to be raisedMr. Gillies's Estimate. 189out of the forgetfulness into which it has fallen,we find Mr. Gillies thus recording his impressionsof De Quincey:66 During the winter of 1814-15, Mr. de Quinceyaccompanied his friend, the author of the " Isle ofPalms," from Westmoreland to Edinburgh. I hadthen an opportunity of observing the literary character in an entirely new phase, for up to that time,De Quincey, though he had spent long years inassiduous study, and by his friends was regarded asa powerful author, had not, so far as I know, published a single line. He seemed, indeed, to live forthe sake of the labour alone, and to fling overboard allconsiderations either of the palma or pecunia. Hisvarious literary compositions, written in his exemplary hand (the best I ever saw, except Southey's) , onlittle scraps of paper, must have reached to a greatextent, but in his own estimation they were by nomeans ' ready for the press;' like an ever cautiousgeneral, he withheld his fire, and remained ' multa etpulchra menans. ' Not only for this reason, but inother respects, Mr. de Quincey seemed to me tobring out the literary character in a new light.Very decisively he realised my plan of moving in aseparate world (having no doubt realities of its own);moreover, he neither spoke nor acted in the everydayworld like any one else, for which, of course, I greatlyhonoured him. He was then in the habit of takingopium daily as an article of food, and the drug,though used for years, had scarcely begun to tell onhis constitution, by those effects, which, sooner orlater, overtake every one of its persevering votaries;and which, when they will appear, make quick work190 De Quincey's Life and Writings.in demolishing together the man physical and theman intellectual; the latter being reduced to thepitiable plight of a musician who essays to play bymeans of a harp unstrung and broken. But in hiscase, it had not worked any such evils as yet, and inafter years, though not without a long and toughbattle, Mr. de Quincey succeeded in vanquishing thenarcotic devil." His voice was extraordinary: it came as if fromdream-land; but it was the most musical and impressive of voices. In convivial life, what then seemedto me the most remarkable trait of De Quincey's character, was the power he possessed of easily changingthe tone of ordinary thought and conversation intothat of his own dream-land, till his auditors, withwonder, found themselves moving pleasantly alongwith him in a sphere of which they might have heardand read, perhaps, but which had ever appeared tothem inaccessible and far, far away! Seeing that hewas always good- natured and social, he could takepart, at commencement, in any sort of tattle ortwaddle. The talk might be of ' beeves ,' and hecould grapple with them, if expected to do so, buthis musical cadences were not in keeping with suchwork, and in a few minutes (not without somestrictly logical sequence) , he could escape at willfrom the beeves to butterflies, and thence to the soul'simmortality, to Plato, and Kant, and Schelling, andFichte, to Milton's early years and Shakespeare'ssonnets, to Wordsworth and Coleridge, to Homerand Eschylus, to St. Thomas of Aquin, St. Basil,and St. Chrysostom. But he by no means excludedthem from real life, according to his own views ofRecounts Profound Mysteries. 191that life, but would recount profound mysteriesfrom his own experiences-visions that had comeover him in his loneliest walks among the mountains, and passages within his own personal knowledge, illustrating, if not proving, the doctrines ofdreams, of warnings, of second sight, and mesmerism.And whatever the subject might be, every one of hissentences (or of his chapters, I might say) waswoven into the most perfect logical texture, anduttered in a tone of sustained melody." Such power and acquirements could not fail toexcite wonder in Edinburgh. He had indeed studied' all such books as are never read, ' in that enlightenedcapital, and was the first friend I had ever met whocould profess to have a command over the German language, and who consequently was able (ex cathedra) ,to corroborate my notions of the great stores thatwere contained therein. I flatter myself that hefound our house not altogether uncongenial, as hewas kind enough to visit there more frequently thanin any other."This visit to Edinburgh, which lasted for somemonths, can only be reckoned as an interesting interlude, claiming notice here in a special way, becauseno doubt the friendships and associations now formedhad a powerful influence, and, later, determined DeQuincey's course at what may be ranked as a turningpoint in his life.CHAPTER X.grasmere, AND MARRIAGE.""IN April 1816, we find Wordsworth writing toR. P. Gillies: " Mr. de Quincey has takena fit of solitude: I have scarcely seen himsince Mr. Wilson left us.' Taking this in connection with some other significant circ*mstances, wecan infer that the presence of Wilson had becomea kind of necessary uniting medium betweenWordsworth and De Quincey, and that now, hispresence being withdrawn, the two had shown sometendency to fall coldly apart from each other. Wecan easily imagine that the consciousness of thiswould be depressing to De Quincey. But other andmore urgent interests had arisen to modify in somemeasure such painful feelings simply by the powerful pre-occupations of fear and hope. De Quinceyhas himself told us in his " Confessions " howthough he had intermittently used opium during theeight years between 1804 and 1812-he had felt no illeffects from it. "Hitherto," he says, " I have beenonly a dilettante eater of opium; eight years' practice even, with the single precaution of allowingMarriage.193He resufficient intervals between every indulgence, has notbeen sufficient to make opium necessary to me as anarticle of daily diet. " But in 1813 the irritation inthe stomach which had arisen as one of the effects ofthose months of starvation in London, now recurredwith such intensity, that he was led, for mitigation ,greatly to increase the quantity taken. His dosehad risen to 340 grains of opium, or 8000 drops oflaudanum per day—a formidable figure, though welearn that it is only a little more than half whatColeridge was taking about the same time.solved to conquer the habit, and was fortified by anew inducement. He was engaged to be married.Accordingly, as detailed in the " Confessions, " hereduced his daily dose from 340 grains to 40. Instantaneously, and as if by magic, he says, thecloud of profoundest melancholy, which had restedon his brain, drew off: once again he was happy;his brain performed its functions as healthily as ever;he read Kant and understood him; and feelings ofpleasure expanded themselves around him. But hehad been too sanguine; not yet realising fully theinsidious and powerful hold such a drug obtains,nor laying weight enough on the necessity for acarefully graduated reduction, and the strictestattention to exercise, so as to prevent strong reactions, which are more dangerous than aught else.This plan was now more systematically applied,and with such appearance of success as to justifyhim in assuming the responsibilities of marriage inthe end of 1816. Mrs. Baird Smith has kindly supplied the following account of her mother:-"Mrs de Quincey, whose maiden name was MarVOL. I. N194 De Quincey's Life and Writings.garet Simpson, was the daughter of a Westmoreland' statesman,' -that is, if I understand rightly, afarmer whose family had farmed the same land forgenerations; this land, as I believe, being held bysome special service. Her father was a man of areserved, massive, upright character, who in his longdays, and sometimes nights, of solitary work, hadmade his own a good deal of the best literature of thecountry, as some of his grandchildren found longafter, while trying to lighten the sleepless nights ofhis old age, when a chance word would loose hisreserve, and this silent man would find it most easyto express himself by words from the Bible, Milton,Shakespeare, Pope's 'Homer, ' and sometimes awhole 'Spectator,, humorous or grave, as theexciting subject might have been, and all in thehomely, kindly Westmoreland dialect, which in noway spoiled the recitation to our ears. From him,no doubt, my mother inherited intellectual tastes;but she was married so early-when she was onlyeighteen-that my father himself probably helped toguide her to the large interests which make his fewtouching references to her fall so far short of all shewas to him by her sympathy with his many-sidedmind. Delicate health and family cares made herearly withdraw from society, but she seems to havehad a powerful fascination for the few friends sheadmitted to intimacy, from an old charwoman whoused to threaten us, as though it were guilt on ourpart, Ye'll ne'er be the gallant woman ye'remither was,' to a friend who had seen society in allthe principal cities of Europe, and who, with noreason for exaggeration, has told us he had never"The Pains ofOpium." 195seen a more gracious or a more beautiful lady thanour mother. "66 Though De Quincey speaks prior to 1813 of years' set, as it were, and insulated in the gloom andcloudy melancholy of opium, " he can still regardhimself as having been on the whole a happy man tillthe middle of the year 1817. That and the succeeding year 1818 find him overmastered by the enemy,shut as into a cave of Trophonius. The Circeanspell seemed to have been laid upon him moreeffectually than ever. He describes these yearsas unfolding an Iliad of woes in the " Pains ofOpium." His faculties were as though bound up inchains of frost. He shrunk from mathematics andintellectual philosophy with a sense of infantilefeebleness. He could not read what demanded anyeffort and sustained thought. A great philosophicalwork which he had begun, and which was to be calledafter Spinoza's " De Emendatione Humani Intellectûs, was helplessly abandoned. He seldomcould prevail on himself to write a letter; ananswer of a few words to any he received was allthat he could accomplish, and often not that until theletters had lain for weeks or even months on histable. In the midst of this grievous prostrationhis wife read to him poetry and other things, andin the beginning of 1819 a friend sent fromEdinburgh a copy of Ricardo's book on PoliticalEconomy, which acted like a charm. Once morehe found he could read. " Recurring to my ownprophetic anticipation of the advent of some legislatorfor this science, I said, before I had finished the firstchapter, ' Thou art the man! ' Wonder and curiosity99196 De Quincey's Lije and Writings.were emotions that had long been dead in me.YetI wondered once more; I wondered at myself that Icould once more be stimulated to the effort of reading;and much more I wondered at the book. " But itdid more; it roused him to active effort-" to write,or, at least, to dictate what M. wrote for me. Itseemed to me that some important truths had escapedeven ' the inevitable eye ' of Mr. Ricardo; and asthese were for the most part of such a nature that Icould express or illustrate them more briefly andelegantly by algebraic symbols than in the usualclumsy and loitering diction of economists, the wholewould not have filled a pocket-book; and being sobrief, with M. for my amanuensis, even at this time,incapable as I was of all general exertion, I drew upmy 'Prolegomena of all Future Systems of PoliticalEconomy."This exertion, however, was but a temporary flash.Though a part of the work was actually printed, ithad to be laid aside, as once more the old habit prevailed, and the gloomy shadows again gatheredround. Now came the terror and the strife-thesense of sinking as if into unmeasured depths, underthe weight of twenty Atlantics; the darkness beingpainted with a never-ceasing procession of awfulpictures, in which the dreams and the agonies ofyouth were mixed in inextricable confusion withstories woven out of classic or oriental reminiscence." When I lay in bed, vast processions passed alongin mournful pomp; friezes of never-ending stories,that to my feelings were as sad and solemn as ifthey were drawn from the times before Edipus orPriam-before Tyre-before Memphis." Sleep andAfraid to Sleep. 197waking became alike, in the prevailing sense of sunless gloom, and unsounded abysses, out of whichthere seemed no hope of rising; while space andtime alike became boundless, infinite.In an unpublished writing, we read of this period:-" At length I grew afraid to sleep; and I shrunkfrom it as from the most savage tortures. Often Ifought with my own drowsiness, and kept it aloofby sitting up the whole night and following day.Sometimes I lay down only in the daytime, and soughtto charm away the phantoms by requesting myfamily to sit round me and to talk, hoping thus todraw an influence from what externally affected meinto my internal world of shadows; but, far fromthat, I infected and stained, as it were, the whole ofmy waking experience with the feelings derived fromsleep. I seemed indeed to live, and to converse even,when awake, with my visionary companions muchmore than with the realities of life. ' Oh, what doyou see, dear? what is it that you see?' was theconstant exclamation of M. by which I wasawakened as soon as I had fallen asleep (though tome it seemed as if I had slept for years) . Mygroans had, it seems, awakened her; and, from heraccount, they had commenced immediately on myfalling asleep. "Then, as he tells us in the "Confessions,"" I sometimes seemed to have lived for seventy or a hundredyears in one night; nay, sometimes had feelingsrepresentative of a millennium passed in that time.In the earlier stages of my malady, the splendours of my dreams were chiefly architectural; and Ibeheld such pomps of cities and palaces as were never198 De Quincey's Life and Writings.yet beheld by the waking eye, unless in the clouds.To my architecture succeeded dreams of lakesand silvery expanses of water. But by and by thewaters changed their character-from translucentlakes, shining like mirrors, they now became seasand oceans. And now came a tremendous change,which unfolding itself slowly, like a scroll, throughmany months, promised an abiding torment; and, infact, it never left me until the winding up of mycase. Hitherto the human face had mixed oftenin my dreams, but not despotically, nor with anyspecial power of tormenting. But now that which Ihave called the tyranny of the human face, began tounfold itself. Perhaps some part of my London lifemight be answerable for this. Be that as it may,now it was that upon the rocking waters of theocean the human face began to appear: the seaseemed to be paved with innumerable faces, upturnedto the heavens; faces, imploring, wrathful, despairing, surged up by thousands, by myriads, by generations, by centuries: my agitation was infinite, -mymind tossed and surged with the ocean.99Hitherto the terrors had been solely those of themind, but together with deepening oriental extravagance, there came the sense of physical horrors, inexpressible. Ugly birds, snakes, and crocodiles werenow the main figures. "The cursed crocodile becameto me the object of more horror than almost all therest. I was compelled to live with him; and (aswas always the case almost in my dreams) for centuries. I escaped sometimes, and found myself inChinese houses, with cane tables, &c. All the feetof the tables, sofas, &c. , soon became instinct withA Sudden Revulsion. 199life the abominable head of the crocodile, with hisleering eyes, looked out at me, multiplied into athousand repetitions: and I stood loathing andfascinated. And so often did this hideous reptilehaunt my dreams, that many times the very samedream was broken up in the very same way: I heardgentle voices speaking to me ( I hear everythingwhen I am sleeping); and instantly I awoke: itwas broad noon; and my children were standing,hand in hand, at my bedside; come to show me theircoloured shoes , or new frocks, or to let me see themdressed for going out. I protest that so awful wasthe transition from the damned crocodile, and theother unutterable monsters and abortions of mydreams, to the sight of innocent human natures andof infancy, that, in the mighty and sudden revulsionof mind, I wept, and could not forbear it, as I kissedtheir faces.'""The countenances of those with whom he hadbeen brought into terms of fellowship during thesad years of his wanderings-more especially thatof Ann of Oxford Street-were mingled in thegloomy pageant, sometimes sad and sorrowful, sometimes as if patiently beseeching, but always passingaway from him amid sighs and tears, and the senseof everlasting farewells.Such is an indication of De Quincey's opiumdreams, which we forbear to indicate more in detail,as they are so well known, and lie so easily accessible in his " Confessions of an Opium-Eater ” and" The Suspiria de Profundis. " In the " Confessions," too, he tells, with a candour as remarkableas is the literary tact used in conveying it, how200 De Quincey's Life and Writings.he did, by a great effort, free himself from thisutter domination of opium, asserting for himselfsuch comparative freedom as enabled him to undertake and to do some measure of steady work. Inthis it is evident that we owe much to the unwearying devotion of his wife, and the unwavering faithshe had in her husband's powers. She was &"woman of a steady mind, tender and deep inher excess of love," using, day by day, for the duesupport of her affection, patient good sense, admirable management, and uncomplaining readiness ofservice. With what fragrance of satisfied affectionDe Quincey has enshrined her in his records, makingher knit together, like a mystic band of light, thetwo periods of his life marked by most transcendentsufferings, to relieve and soften both:-"My novitiate in London had struck so deeply inmy bodily constitution, that afterwards they shot upand flourished afresh, and grew into a noxious umbrage that has overshadowed and darkened my latteryears. Yet these second assaults of suffering weremet with a fortitude more confirmed, with the resources of a maturer intellect, and with alleviationsfrom sympathising affection-how deep and tender!"Thus, however, with whatsoever alleviations, yearsthat were far asunder were bound together by subtlelinks of suffering derived from a common root. Andherein I notice an instance of the short-sightednessof human desires, that oftentimes on moonlightnights, during my first mournful abode in London,my consolation was (if such it could be thought) togaze from Oxford Street up every avenue in succession which pierces through the heart of Mary- le-bone"My Electra! ” 201to the fields and the woods; and that, said I, travelling with my eyes up the long vistas which lay partin light and part in. shade, that is the road to thenorth, and therefore to —; and if I had thewings of a dove, that way I would fly for comfort. 'Thus I said and thus I wished, in myblindness; yet,even in that very northern region it was, even in thatvery valley, nay, in that very house to which my erroneous wishes pointed, that this second birth of mysufferings began; and that they again threatened tobesiege the citadel of life and hope. There it wasthat for years I was persecuted by visions, as uglyand as ghastly phantoms as ever haunted the couchof an Orestes; and in this unhappier than he, thatsleep, which comes to all as a respite and a restoration, and to him especially as a blessed balm for hiswounded heart and his haunted brain, visited me asmy bitterest scourge. Thus blind was I in mydesires; yet, if a veil interposes between the dimsightedness of man and his future calamities, thesame veil hides from him their alleviations, and agrief which had not been feared is met by consolations which had not been hoped. I, therefore, whoparticipated, as it were, in the troubles of Orestes(excepting only in his agitated conscience) , participated no less in all his supports. My Eumenides,like his, were at my bed-feet, and stared in upon methrough the curtains; but watching by my pillow, ordefrauding herself of sleep to bear me companythrough the heavy watches of the night, sat myElectra for thou, beloved M., dear companion ofmy later years, thou wast my Electra! and neitherin nobility of mind nor in long-suffering affection,202 De Quincey's Life and Writings.wouldst permit that a Grecian sister should excel anEnglish wife. For thou thoughtest not much tostoop to humble offices of kindness, and to servileministrations of tenderest affection, -to wipe awayfor years the unwholesome dews upon the forehead,or to refresh the lips when parched and baked withfever; nor, even when thy own peaceful slumbershad by long sympathy become infected with thespectacle of my dread contest with phantoms andshadowy enemies, that oftentimes bade me ' sleep nomore! '-not even then didst thou utter a complaintor any murmur, nor withdraw thy angelic smiles,nor shrink from thy service of love more thanElectra did of old. For she, too, though she was aGrecian woman, and the daughter of the king ofmen, yet wept sometimes, and hid her face in herrobe. "With the casuistry of love, he finds opportunitiesto celebrate the devotion of his wife in many relations. He acknowledges of the earlier period of hismarried life in Westmoreland:-" Without the aidof M., all records of bills paid, or to be paid, musthave perished; and my whole domestic economy,whatever became of Political Economy, must havegone into irretrievable confusion. " And again, whenhe has been led, by the phantasy of inviting apainter to reproduce the interior of his Grasmerecottage, with all its surroundings in these evil days-ruby opium-decanter and all-to refer to the personal appearance of his wife, he exclaims: -" Butno, dear M., not even in jest let me insinuate thatthy power to illuminate my cottage rests upon atenure so perishable as mere personal beauty; orSudden Revelations- Whence? 203that the witchcraft of angelic smiles lies within theempire of any earthly pencil. "Elsewhere he exclaims:-" Oh! sense of mysterious pre-existence, by which,through years in which as yet a stranger to thesevalleys of Westmoreland, I viewed myself as a phantom-self-a second identity projected from my ownconsciousness, and already lived amongst them!—how was it, and by what prophetic instinct, thatalready I said to myself oftentimes, when chasingday-dreams along the pictures of these wild mountainous labyrinths, which as yet I had not traversed:Here, in some distant year, I shall be shaken withlove, and then with stormiest grief? Whence wasit that sudden revelations came to me, like the drawing up of a curtain, and closing again as rapidly, ofscenes that made the future heaven of mylife? Andhow was it that in thought I was and yet in realitywas not a denizen, already, in 1803-4-5, of lakesand forest-lawns which I never saw till 1807? andthat, by a prophetic instinct of the heart, I rehearsedand lived over, as it were, in vision those chaptersof my life which have carried with them theweightiest burthen of joy and sorrow, and by themargin of those very lakes and hills with which Iprefigured this connection? "And he goes on to say:-"But the years came-for I have lived too long,reader, in relation to many things; and the reportof me would have been better, or more uniform atleast had I died some twenty years ago-the yearscame in which circ*mstances made me an opiumeater years through which a shadow as of sad204 De Quincey's Life and Writings.eclipse sate and rested upon my faculties; yearsthrough which I was careless of all but those wholived within my inner circle, within my heart ofhearts; ' years-ah, heavenly years!-through whichI lived, beloved, with thee, to thee, for thee, by thee!Ah, happy, happy years! in which I was a merefoot-ball of reproach, but in which every wind andsounding hurricane of wrath or contempt flew by,like chasing enemies past some defying gate of adamant, and left me too blessed in thy smiles-angel oflife!-to heed the curses or the mocking which sometimes I heard raving outside of our impregnable Eden.What any man said of me in those days, what hethought, did I ask? did I care? Then it was, ornearly then, that I ceased to see, ceased to hear ofSouthey; as much abstracted from all which concerned the world outside, and from the Southeysand even the Coleridges, as though I had livedwith the darlings of my heart in the centre ofCanadian forests, and all men else in the centre ofHindostan.'99He had ceased to see, had ceased almost to hearof others who had been more closely knit to him bythe claims of common sympathies, and of friendlyand brotherly services.It needs to be borne in mind, however, that,though these recollections are in no way necessarilyor consciously falsified , they are coloured by thefancy and impression through which they areviewed; and it only needs to be said that inreality he was not for any lengthened period thusexiled from companionship or contact with the outerworld.CHAPTER XI.THE WESTMORELAND GAZETTE.T is somewhat inconsistent with our impressions of De Quincey, as gathered from a survey of the later portions of his life, to thinkof him as an active newspaper editor, -writing his"leaders " from week to week, endeavouring to stirup or to maintain an interest in local topics by themanœuvre of a " Letter to the Editor," trying todeepen the thought of his readers by bits of livelydialogue, or combating with polished periods, and anundoubted air of partisanship, the " liberal " ideasthat in those days were thought by many to be radical.So, nevertheless , it was; and his experiences of newspaper editorship furnish by no means unentertainingor insignificant passages in his career. For duringhis connection with a weekly newspaper his interestin the topics of everyday was deepened and directed;his knowledge of history, the stores of fact andreference with which his memory was charged, werenow strengthened by being regularly drawn upon;and a certain ease and readiness of expression cultivated, which no doubt afterwards materially aided206 De Quincey's Life and Writings.him in his struggles in London. We find him thus ,towards the end of 1819, writing to his uncle,Colonel Penson, explanatory of his condition, monetary and otherwise, in view of accepting the allowance or the aid which, as we have seen, had beenfrequently tendered and declined before:--In the course of the ' late contest for this county, thosegentlemen who are friends to the constitution and establishments of this country found it necessary to establish a newspaper at the principal town in the county (Kendal), to opposethe infamous levelling doctrines diffused by Mr. Brougham andthe old newspaper established seven or eight years ago (the"Kendal Chronicle "). An editor was procured from London;but he disgusted them in every way, and the principal gentlemen of the county then addressed an application to me, proposing that I should take the editorship: £160 a year wasoffered, but it was necessary to reside in Kendal. This I wouldhave done, but my wife's illness, and an utter impossibility ofraising the money for removing in the time prescribed (viz.,between the 9th and 16th of July), obliged me at first withgreat pain of mind to decline it; but they then made a secondapplication, offering that a clerk of the press should be hired totake those duties (in relation to advertisem*nts, &c. ) whichmust be performed by some one on the spot, and that I shouldpay him out of the £160, and receive the difference myself.This I accepted. The clerk was hired from a newspaper officein Manchester. He had previously £85 per annum, and hewould not give upa certainty for less than two guineas a week;this deducted £109, 4s. from my £160, and left therefore but£50, 16s. per annum. However, the proprietors made it up toa guinea a week, and I have, therefore, a guinea a week certainfor at least four years to come; and this I can retain at anydistance; for though I now make up the paper and selectand revise all the component articles, yet this labour is no partof my duties, but I have volunteered that part by way of raising the character and extending the sale of the paper; but myproper duty is simply to write a political essay on some subjectof my own choosing, and this I can do at any distance. Bythe way, I have ordered the people in the office to send you theWays and Means. 207paper regularly from about 18th July last, and if it has missedyou in any week, I beg you to mention it. As editor, I cansend it you gratis.2. "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine " allows me to write asmuch as will produce 60 guineas a year. For the late months,I have had my time too much occupied with the newspaperto be at liberty for any labour in that work, and have beentoo ill almost to manage the newspaper. However, I havecompelled myself to work so much, that the circulation of thepaper is now much increased.3. The " Quarterly Review" has allowed me to write whathas yielded 120 guineas a year. Mr. Murray, the publisher,sent me a work for reviewal four months ago (the entire worksof Schiller in 26 vols.), and it is still lying here, I am sorry tosay, untouched; for the same reasons as I assigned in the lastcase, I have not yet been able to touch it.These three sources will produce 232 guineas (or £243, 12s. )per annum. This, added to my warehouse rent, will be £260.If you feel disposed to assist me, it would enable you toassist me much more readily by allowing me to drawabill uponyou at two months after date. This would answer my purpose, and would defer the time by so much at which themoney would need to be raised, in whatever way it is raised.I need not repeat that your security would be amply sufficientto raise £500; say £150 now, and the other £350 in six oreight months hence, when I should be able to remove to Londonand to follow the law.This assistance would re-establish me for life. Idonot doubtyour willingness to assist me, if possible. In 1810, you pressedme to accept an allowance, and have often pressed me since,and this I have declined now for nine years running.De Quincey, we should remark, was connectedwith the " Gazette " from its start in 1818, but onlybegan to edit it in the summer of 1819. He hadfull confidence that the aid asked from ColonelPenson would be readily given, as afterwards it was,and he threw himself into the business of editingwith a dash and enthusiasm which astonish us.208 De Quincey's Life and Writings.His editorial work has a value for us in this also,as bearing on his second comparative escape fromopium. There can be no doubt that the occupationof the mind, and the active interests which called formore exercise and movement than might else havebeen persevered in, were powerful aids. In not afew of his compositions, particularly his " Letters tothe Editor," there was certainly not a little fun andfire. HeHe kept a keen eye on the correspondencesent to the editor, and made it a point to deal withanything of importance that arose. For example,here is a portion of his reply to a " Plain Man, " whoseems to have been inclined to view rather lightlyaccusations made against Brougham for discourtesyand rudeness towards opponents:--We shall request the public to observe what is the way ofmeasuring independence adopted and acknowledged by a "PlainMan" amongst the Blues. Mr. Brougham in the supposed actsof mutiny against the body of Opposition is pronounced tohave conducted himself " independently," &c. What, then,were the demands of Mr. Ponsonby which it is so honourable toMr. Brougham and so characteristic of his "enlightened mind”that he disobeyed? Were they demands that he should sacrificeany principle, that he should forego any right, that he shouldcompromise any duty? No; the speeches which he deliveredand the votes which he gave (all of them servile to the views ofhis party), are so many vouchers that they were not. Whatwere Mr. Ponsonby's demands as represented in the mock trialwhich is theground of the "Plain Man's " complaint? Nothingmore than the customary courtesies which have been immemorially practised towards the leader of the Opposition party, andwhich are indeed indispensable for the purpose of combiningthe efforts of any Parliamentary party inthe pursuit of commonends? Mr. Brougham was to give notice to Mr. Ponsonby ofany motions he desired to bring forward; he was not to insistupon his right of priority in any accidental collision betweenhimself and Mr. P., as he would have done with another mem-"Jonathan " Triumphs. 209ber, &c. , &c. Is it possible to conceive a more thoroughlyignoble and grovelling nature than that which would cloath withthe honourable attributes of independence Mr. Brougham'srefusal of these gentlemanly courtesies? In what class of actionsMr. Brougham's ought upon this occasion to be ranked weshall best express by a short story. In the year 1806 or 1807,several Oxonians were going up from Oxford to London. Afellow-passenger by chance on the same coach was a youngAmerican, nephew to President Adams. In the course of conversation a question arose as to the comparative degrees ofliberty allowed by the English and the American constitutions.This had been discussed with some warmth, and the travellingparty had advanced within eight or nine miles of the capital,when suddenly, at a turn of the road between Hounslow andLondon, some outriders of the royal guard announced that theKing was on the road and not far behind. According to thecustom observed in England, the coach drew up immediatelyto one side of the road, and (as is also the custom in England) ,when His Majesty came in sight a few minutes afterwards, allthe Englishmen about the coach remained bareheaded until hehad passed them. Hereupon ' Jonathan ' triumphed greatly asupon an unlooked-for adjudication in his favour of a disputethat could not otherwise have been determined.It is hardly necessary to say, however, that histendency to the abstract, and his incapacity to realisethe " speculative " powerlessness of the ordinarynewspaper-reader, led him to throw away thoughts,and whole trains of thought, that students and political economists would have pored over with delight,in long and elaborate " leaders, " that were, we fear,unread save by the very few. The unpracticalcharacter of the man reveals itself here, thoughthere is much in the columns of the " WestmorelandGazette " that bespeaks his future eminence both asa thinker and as a writer. His lack of appreciationof the needs of a country newspaper is stronglybrought out by the reasons he gives for persisting inVOL. I. 0210 De Quincey's Life and Writings.his efforts to raise the Westmoreland farmers to theregion of philosophic principle. In reply to acorrespondent who had urged more attention to theunlearned reader, he takes occasion to justify hisposition in endeavouring to win the suffrages of thelearned, and claims vast advantages for any one asan interpreter of public opinion who has mixedfamiliarly with the higher as well as the lowerclasses of society: -The editor will frankly avow that, in his judgment, the rankof a gentleman is for any person who presumes to influencepublic opinion an important qualification on its own account,and independently of its advantages in respect to education.He who is to speak to all classes, and occasionally to speak ofallclasses, ought to know something more of them all than can begathered from books; he ought to have a personal knowledgeof every class from the highest to the lowest, and should havebeen upon the footing of a familiar acquaintance no less in thepalace of the prince than in the cottage of the humblest peasant.On a triple account this may be demanded as necessary to accomplish him for his office-first, as furnishing him with thatgreat body of general knowledge relating to things in perpetualflux and motion, which never finds its way into books, and is tobe had only from extensive intercourse with the world; secondly,for the sake of that particular knowledge by which he is tomeasure with accuracy the peculiar advantages, wants, anddefects of every class, so as to be able profitably to adapt hisaddresses to each; thirdly, for the sake of accrediting himselfwith every class, so as to justify the monitorial tone which hewill sometimes find himself called upon to assume, and for thepurpose of giving weight and effect to his opinions. No classwill ever regard the monitor with much respect who is palpably, and upon the evidence of his own blunders, unacquaintedwith their actual condition. Apart, therefore, from its inestimable advantages as affording the means of regular education(i.e., the pecuniary means and the leisure), the station of agentleman has other and separate advantages of its own for himwho presents himself as an organ of public feeling for givingLearned and Unlearned. 211voice and expression to it where it is right, and as a corrector ofpublic feeling where it goes astray. But what need for insisting upon advantages so obvious? It is not aristocratical toaffirm them; it is not so much Jacobinical as it is irrational todeny them. No doubt Q. and P. Q. themselves, whatsoever theymay assert for the support of an argument, in their actions beara daily testimony to their own belief in these advantages. Nodoubt they seek their legal and medical advice from those whohave had the means of cultivating that kind of knowledge; and,by parity of reason, they ought to seek their political knowledgefrom those whose station has allowed themthe benefit of a goodeducation, rather than from those who bring no previous knowledge (unless they claim to be inspired).And he goes on to inform his readers that he hashopes of making the paper influential throughoutthe kingdom and in the universities—a result which,even though it might have been secured, looks verylike hanging your grapes so high that, as befell thefox in the fable, you can but look at without enjoying them:-The editor can assure his readers that his own personalfriends in most of the universities, especially in the threeweightiest-Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh-are quitecompetent in number and power to float the " Gazette " triumphantly into every section and division of those learned bodies.The paper would thus be put upon its trial. And what wouldbe the issue he cannot permit himself to doubt, when he adds,that each and all of these friends are ready to furnish theirliterary assistance, in addition to that he may calculate upon in Westmoreland. Q. reminds the editor of his "uneducatedreaders" in Westmoreland. The editor does not forget them;but he is persuaded that it is a mere oversight in Q. to haveneglected mentioning his well-educated and his learned readersin the same county, who are very numerous. And from themalso he has reason to hope for powerful aid. He may add that,as respects this corner of the kingdom, he has received assurances of support from two of the most illustrious men in point212 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of intellectual pretensions that have appeared for some ages. *With such assistance there can be no presumption in supposingthat the "Gazette " would have some positive means, as well asall the negative means, for making its way in the universities.The presumption would be in doubting it. The editor will goa step further. He will venture to affirm that, even withoutthe powerful aid here noticed (to which he might have added apromise of co-operation from London, and the four great commercial towns of the second class, many of the third class, andso downwards-as also occasionally from Paris and Vienna,from Canada, and from Hindostan, &c.) —that even without thepowerful aid here noticed, he could singly and unsupported secureto the " Gazette " one feature of originality which would drawupon it a general notice throughout Great Britain; and justly,inasmuch as it would give it a distinction peculiar to itself, andunshared by any other literary or scientific journal whatsoever.This the editor may say without vanity; for his part would beno morethan a ministerial office-to select and to translate. Hisallusion is this-the German literature is at this time beyondall question, for science and for philosophy properly so called, thewealthiest in the world. It is an absolute Potosi; and a Potosinot like the present Potosi in Peru, which has been worked solong that at length it will not pay the workers; but a Potosilike that which was found on its first discovery by the Spaniards-a mine of which the riches are scarcely known by rumourto this country.99 The files of the " Westmoreland Gazette inthose days present such an odd mixture of the reallyclever, piquant, and available, along with so muchthat was literally out of place, and worse thanwasted, that we are compelled to own De Quinceywas not born for a successful newspaper editor, andnever could have been made one.The disadvantage of his position in Kendal whichhe felt the most was his separation from hisfamily. His engagements were so constant and

• Doubtless Wordsworth and Coleridge, or perhaps Southey.

Reviews Lord Castlereagh. 213absorbing, that visits to Grasmere could not befrequent. His letters to his wife are short, full ofaffection. Thus he writes to her shortly after hehad assumed the duties:-COMMERCIAL INN,11 o'clock on Thursday Night.MY DEAR WIFE,-I have this moment received your note.It has put me into a little better spirits; for I have been invery bad spirits ever since I left home. I quitted Grasmerewith a heavy heart, and I was sure I should find nothing inKendal to comfort me. Indeed, I have found nothing here buttrouble of all sorts. I hope, however, that I shall soon get thepaper into a right train; and the proprietors are very willingto allow me my own way. The trouble I find is solely amongthe inferior people about the press. I am truly grieved to hearof little Margaret's illness; I hope that it is not the forerunnerof anything worse. God bless her, poor little lamb! If youcome over to-morrow in a chaise, I shall be very happy to seeyou; or if you prefer next week, I shall be very happy toattend you. God bless you, my sweet wife! and believe memost affectionately yours, THOMAS DE QUINCEY.Whilst he was editor of the " WestmorelandGazette " he also wrote in " Blackwood " and in the" Quarterly Review," as we have seen. The following shows him in his best vein. He is reviewingLord Castlereagh's account of Westmoreland, andcan throw over his theme a ray of that captivatinghumour which is so characteristic:-When I consider what it is that I have undertaken to do,when I consider what it is that I have done, that I have presumed to review and cut up the Foreign Secretary's account ofWestmoreland, and not only so, but that (unlike all otherreviewers) I have undertaken to give a better myself; when Iconsider, further, that I shall thus have drawn upon myself theheavy displeasure of His Majesty's Government, and that mysingle and unworthy person is confronted, as it were, in single214 De Quincey's Life and Writings.duel with the whole of the present Administration (who willall naturally take part with Lord Castlereagh in this matter),I feel so much confounded that I am obliged to pause and totake two glasses of London particular Madeira. What am I,that I should presume to oppose the whole Cabinet, backed, asI fear they will be on this occasion, by the great local power ofthe King's Lieutenant for the two counties of Westmoreland andCumberland? What am I, that I should present myself as thesingle opposition against the combined weight of the Lowtherand Treasury influence? In myself I am nothing; but I havetruth and ichthyology on my side, which Lord Castlereagh hasnot; and it is on those and on Entick's spelling- dictionary thatI build my reliance in this cause; so that I shall proceed fearlessly; and I defy any gentleman of Kendal or Ambleside(however much attached to the present Administration) to contradict one word of what I shall say.When I throw out this defiance, it will naturally be supposedthat what I am going to say must be pretty notorious, and thatI do not bring it forward as any discovery of my own, or as amatter that can be very new to most of my readers. In fact, Ido not; the main proposition on which I build in opposing thepresent Administration is sufficiently familiar to all who knowanything about Westmoreland, and can be no news except perhaps to some few persons in the African kingdom of Ashanteeor in the Oriental one of Nepaul. It is in the development ofthis proposition that I pretend to some merit. I begin, then,with asserting (but rather as a postulate, and for the benefit ofsome people in Ashantee, * than as a theorem that can need anyformal enunciation or proof), that the official account of Westmoreland was painfully superficial, inasmuch as not Lakes andHams, but Char and Poets, are notoriously the two productionswith which the fortunate county of Westmoreland solaces herdefects in all other sorts of wealth. Blest in these riches beyond the rivalry of all other counties, and raised equally aboveThe King of Ashantee, as was mentioned in some formernumber of the magazine, is agreat reader of our miscellany, andhas some knowledge of the Latin poets; but his studies appear to be ill-directed , as he is there stated to confine himself tothe Commercial Report (if our memory does not deceive us).Westmoreland v. Leicestershire. 215detraction and competition, Westmoreland is rather proud thanotherwise of that pleasing sterility in all other points whichshe everywhere exhibits, and I think with some reason. Forlook at her next neighbour to the east-Yorkshire, with hergreat long corpulent person, and her fat greasy pastures thatturn a man's stomach to think of, stretched out basking her"hairy strength " like Milton's lubbar fiend, and, like that lubbar, perfectly content if her " bowl of cream be duly set! " Weneed not ask if she has any poets. But in Westmoreland whata contrast! A fine light gravelly soil, excellently watered, ofwhich almost every square mile you can fix on will keep twocows; then, as to cream, I believe there never was any inWestmoreland. The milk is of a beautiful azure or ceruleancolour as soon as it first sees the light (hence, by the way, agreat saving of labour; for the Westmoreland milk comes intothis world ready skimmed). All this, however, is digression.Yet, if the reader would stretch his indulgence so far as to bearwith me in a little further digression in honour of the Westmoreland sterility (which, after all, is not digression, seeing thatto this very sterility and gravelly soil, I am convinced, that weare indebted for the luxuriance of our admirable poets) , I wouldattempt to illustrate the excellent effects of a hungry diet uponthe wits of either man and beast by drawing the character of aWestmoreland sheep. To do this with any effect, I must contrast him with a sheep from Leicestershire or Lincolnshire.Perhaps some of my readers have seen the two in company together, as I have; if indeed that could be called company inwhich, from total want of sympathy and congeniality oftemper,there could be no sort of conversation-the Westmorelandsheep manifesting a contempt that was almost like compassionfor the comatose, apoplectic stupidity of his unwieldy relative;whilst he of Lincolnshire stared at his mercurial cousin withthat sort of leaden-eyed dulness of astonishment with whicha London police-magistrate might be supposed to survey me ifI were called up before him for writing this article against LordCastlereagh. Cast your eyes over any flock of Westmorelandsheep, and you will observe that there is scarcely one but lookslike a person of some genius; in fact, most of them are so; forthey all live by their wits, since, without a general system ofrobbery, no Westmoreland sheep could get on at all, havingseldom more than a thousand acres apiece of Westmoreland216 De Quincey's Life and Writings.grass; and what is that for one sheep? Now turn to theLincoln or Leicester sheep or " mug" (as they call him, and veryjustly) . What a beast! his tail even presents a physical barrierto all activity. But in fact they are not a bit better when theirtails are cut off, as, by the bye, I believe they generally areabout Christmas; for at that season the Lincolnshire peoplemake sheep-tail pies, which are sent all over the kingdom aspresents, in pie-dishes as big as a kitchen-table; and such is thedisrespectable character of the sheep in that county, that nobody pities them. I have heard it suggested, indeed, that theylook grave, and as if they were thinking; but in fact it is allpretence; they are not thinking about anything-except thegratification of their passions; for a Lincolnshire " mug" isthoroughly unprincipled, and gives himself up deliberately to alicentious course of life. As the subject is rather unpleasant toa well-regulated mind, I shall say no more about it than just tosuggest, as a word of parting counsel to the sheep of Lincoln ingeneral, that pie-dishes, which I had occasion to mention justnow, are surely a most fortunate invention for them, and thatthe sooner they get into them the better; for when they areonce fairly dead and buried in a pie-dish, there's an end of it,and people are shy of reflecting much upon their past conduct.But really this is the only safe course left for their posthumousreputation; for, upon my word, it is distressing to all people offeeling to witness so much stupidity, and so many abortive attempts at running and jumping (to say nothing of their immoralities). But enough of these dull brutes; let us turn onceagain to a more pleasing subject. A Westmoreland sheep, Ihave already admitted, is not very conscientious about therights of property. In this point indeed, as well as his wit andagility, he resembles the god Mercury; but barring that, hismoral character is good. It is, however, in his intellectualcharacter that his merit is most conspicuous; in the presence ofa "mug" he looks like the most acute London swindler beforeadrowsy judge or recorder. In fact, in Westmoreland so muchare most sheep respected that it is considered illiberal toregard them in the light of mutton. I remember being in company with an old wether at Grasmere who had manifestly madesome progress in the Transcendental Philosophy. My friendMr. de Q. lectured him for some time on the categories;he clearly showed the absurdity of Aristotle's ten predicaments,Poetic Supremacy ofthe Lake County. 217with their long dangling tail of supplementary or post- predicaments, like the tail of a Lincolnshire " mug" (this comparisonwas put ad hominem, if I may so express it, and the old wetherenjoyed the joke; in fact, he said Aristotle had got into a cursedpredicament. He concluded with a few words onthe distinctionbetween the analytic and synthetic unity of consciousness). Inever saw anybody pay more attention; not like young ladiesat the Royal Institution, who never look at the lecturer sinceSir H. D. has withdrawn his fine eyes and his beautiful kidgloves. This man, on the contrary-this sheep, I should say—looked at nobody but the lecturer, nodding occasionally whenhe assented, and sometimes striking the ground with one of hisfore- feet, especially at the pathetic passages on the connectionbetween cause and effect, or wherever he wished to express hisemphatical approbation. On the whole, his opinion seemedfavourable to Kant; and I remarked that, just as the lectureclosed, a flock of giddy young sheep and lambs happening tocome past, this respectable Transcendentalist ran after andjoined them-anxious no doubt to communicate the benefits ofphilosophy. But all this is digression, into which my zeal forWestmoreland has betrayed me. It explains, however, the mainsecret of the poetical supremacy of the Lake county; for, whensheer hunger makes the sheep transcendental, it cannot butmake the poets sublime.For the greater part of a year De Quincey remained editor, and resigned only under the necessity of turning his pen to more profitable account.For some years after he remained an occasionalcontributor, and sent a few racy notes on currenttopics.After he had retired from the editorship of the"Westmoreland Gazette," he made an effort tosettle himself in Edinburgh, which, however, did notsucceed. We have records of it in his correspondence,records also of the great kindness of friends there, asin this letter to his wife:-218 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Saturday Morning, December 9, 1820.MY DEAR MARGARET,—It grieves me to think how regularlyI have been thwarted in all attempts to write to you hitherto byconstant interruptions. Even now I have only time for a fewlines; but, remembering that if I were to defer writing untilto-morrow's post the letter would reach Kendal on Tuesday,and Ambleside, therefore, not till Wednesday (from the wantof a post on Tuesday), I snatch one minute to tell you that Iam tolerably well-much better, at least, than when I left home--and that all is going well. All my old friends here are morekind than I can express. Without any trouble on my part, theyhave procured me lodgings, books, and everything that I canwish, or rather ten times more. And invitations crowd so fastupon me that I hardly know how I shall get through all mywriting, &c. In the course of to-morrow I will write a longletter to you; and as I will be careful to put it into the post onMonday morning, you will have it by Wednesday (that is tosay, as soon as if it had been put into the post to-morrow).Write a few lines to me by Wednesday's post to say that allis going on well, no matter how little. Give my best love tothe children, and believe me, with kind remembrances to Mary,yours, my dear Peggy, most faithfully and affectionately,"THOMAS DE QUINCEY.Direct to me at No. 30 Northumberland Street, Edinburgh.P.S.-Southey was kind and polite beyond even anything Iexpected, though he was always as much so as anybody I everknew.CHAPTER XII.IN LONDON AGAIN.F De Quincey's excessive liberalities we havehad occasion to speak. His readiness tobefriend others in those years from 1808to 1820 was pursued even to the point of madnessand self-ruin. Losses did not teach him customaryprudence. Failures of business firms involving greatsacrifices of his capital did not make him slowerto aid his friends. Indeed, it may be said thatat this period, as afterwards, he did not have afriend who was not welcome to his purse; andletters on letters before us bear this out, thoughwe are hardly free to print them. Loans of largesums were given in many instances, some of whichwere honourably repaid, some not. A full list ofhis benefactions during this period, were such attainable, would conclusively attest this; and we ventureto say would atone in most minds for charges preferred against him sometimes in after years of makingtoo free with the knowledge he had gained of greatcontemporaries in private intercourse. We do notthink he often overstepped the legitimate limit; and220 De Quincey's Life and Writings.if in some instances he spoke somewhat too freely,it might well be pleaded that he regarded himself ashaving suffered wrong. In the year 1821 we find thata great part of his patrimony had melted away, andthat he was in difficulties. During his life at Oxford,as we have seen, the narrowilliberality of his guardianshad led him to throw himself into the hands of Jews ,who, though he attests that they honourably fulfilledwhat they promised, needed from him, as from others ,interest commensurate with the risks they ran. Hisnecessities had become imperative by the spring of1821, and it was under a heavy sense of painful workbefore him that he struggled to rid himself whollyof the incubus of opium. It was whilst he was endeavouring to " untwist the last links of the chain "that he made his way to London in the summer ofthat year, to seek engagements as a writer. He himself says of this time:-" I was descending the mighty ladder, stretchingto the clouds as it seemed, by which I had imperceptibly attained my giddy altitude-that point fromwhich it had seemed equally impossible to go forwardor backward. To wean myself from opium, I hadresolved inexorably; and finally I accomplished myVOW. But the transition stage was the worst stateto support. "He thus indicates to us the special features of thesufferings incident to that period:-" I was ill at that time, and for years after, -illfrom the effects of opium upon the liver; and oneprimary indication of any illness felt in that organis peculiar depression of spirits. Hence arose asingular effect of reciprocal action in maintaining aExiled. 221state of dejection. From the original physical depression caused by the derangement of the liver,arose a sympathetic depression of the mind, disposingme to believe that I never could extricate myself;and from this belief arose, by reaction, a thousandfold increase of the physical depression. I began toview my unhappy London life-a life of literary toils ,odious to my heart as a permanent state of exilefrom my Westmoreland home. My three eldestchildren, at that time in the most interesting stagesof childhood and infancy, were in Westmoreland;and so powerful was my feeling (derived merely froma deranged liver) of some long, never-ending separation from my family, that at length, in pure weakness of mind, I was obliged to relinquish my dailywalks in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, fromthe misery of seeing children in multitudes that tooforcibly recalled my own. "This piteous recoil even from the sight of childishfaces that suggested the faces of his own childrenin Westmoreland, debarred him too largely fromdaily exercise, in which lay his one element of hope.We are not therefore greatly surprised to learnthat during the latter portion of his stay in London,that is in 1823-24, he fell for the third time underthe dominion of opium. We can easily understandand sympathise with him in the struggles anddifficulties that would inevitably present themselvesin such circ*mstances.The general difficulties under which a man, whohas hitherto written mostly for his own pleasure,finds himself working, when he must have in his eyethe tastes and demands of a capricious audience, were222 De Quincey's Life and Writings.says,· ·much intensified in De Quincey's case by difficultiesof a special and personal kind. Some of these hetells us he experienced in common with Coleridge,others not. " Coleridge," he " assured methat he never could read anything he had writtenwithout a sense of overpowering disgust. I,like Mr. Coleridge, could not endure what I hadwritten for some time after I had written it. I alsoshrunk from treating any subject which I had muchconsidered; but more, I believe, as recoiling fromthe intricacy and the elaborateness which had beenmade known to me in the course of considering it, andon account of the difficulty or the toilsomeness whichmight be fairly presumed from the mere fact that Ihad long considered it, or could have found it necessary to do so, than from any blind, mechanical feeling inevitably associated (as in Coleridge it was)with a second survey of the same subject. One othereffect there was from the opium, and I believe it hadsome place in Coleridge's list of morbid affectionscaused by opium, and of disturbances extended evento the intellect—which was, that the judgment wasfor a time grievously impaired, sometimes eventotally abolished, as applied to anything I hadrecently written. . . This is mere childish helplessness, or senile paralysis of the judgment, whichdistresses the man in attempting to grasp the upshotand the total effect of the tout ensemble of what hehas himself so recently produced... There was,however, one point in which my case differed fromthat of Mr. Coleridge. It was this-that at times,when I had slept at more regular hours for severalnights consecutively, and had armed myself by a•Lamb a True Friend. 223sudden increase of the opium for a few days running,I recovered at times a remarkable glow of jovialspirits. In some such artificial respites it was, frommy usual state of distress, and purchased at a heavyprice of subsequent suffering, that I wrote the greaterpart of the Opium Confessions, ' in the autumn of1821."In such conditions , it is needless to say that allthe supports that friendship and kindly interestcould furnish were needed and welcomed. Now itwas that De Quincey found in Charles Lamb thetrue friend that he had sought for. Of Lamb'skindly aid, so delicately administered, he neverceased to speak with gratitude and delight. Heacknowledges that, though he had seen Lamb severaltimes on visits to London earlier, till 1821 he didnot thoroughly know him-that, indeed, he hadmisunderstood him, having allowed, as we are led toinfer, an ironical way Lamb had of touching oncertain pet subjects to stand too largely for his realcharacter. We must let De Quincey here tell shortlyof his several meetings with Lamb in former years,that we may the better appreciate the relation of thetwo essayists during the years with which we arenow concerned, and afterwards. It was in 1804that De Quincey first saw Elia. Having got a letterof introduction from a literary friend, he called forhim at the India House, during one of the tripstaken to London whilst he was at Oxford. This isthe picture De Quincey has given us of that meeting:-" I walked into one of the two open doorways ofthe railing, and stood close by the high stool of224 De Quincey's Life and Writings.him who occupied the first place within the littleaisle. I touched his arm by way of recalling himfrom his lofty Leadenhall speculations to this sublunary world; and presenting my letter, asked ifthat gentleman (pointing to the address) was reallya citizen of the present room; for I had been repeatedly misled by the directions given me into wrongrooms. The gentleman smiled; it was a smile notto be forgotten. This was Lamb. And here occurreda very, very little incident-one of those which passso fugitively that they are gone whizzing away intoLethe almost before your attention can have arrestedthem; but it was an incident which, to me whohappened to notice it, served to express the courtesyand delicate consideration of Lamb's manners. Theseat upon which he sat was a very high one; soabsurdly high, by the way, that I can imagine nopossible use or sense in such an altitude, unless itwere to restrain the occupant from playing truant atthe fire, by opposing Alpine difficulties to his descent.Whatever might be the original purpose of this aspiring seat, one serious dilemma arose from it, andthis it was which gave the occasion to Lamb's act ofcourtesy. . . Between two extremes Lamb had tochoose-between appearing ridiculous for a momentby going through a ridiculous evolution, steppingdown by steps and stages analogous to dismountingfrom horseback-an evolution which no man couldexecute with grace; or, on the other hand, appearinglofty and assuming in a degree which his truly humblenature (for he was the humblest of men in the pretensions which he put forward for himself) must haveshrunk from with horror. Nobodywho knew Lamb canAvery Little Incident. 225doubt how the problem was solved; he began to dismount instantly; and, as it happened that the veryfirst round of his descent obliged him to turn his backupon me as if for a sudden purpose of flight, he hadan excuse for laughing, which he did heartily, sayingat the same time something to this effect, that I mustnot judge from first appearances; that he shouldrevolve upon me; that he was not going to fly; andother facetiæ, which challenged a general laugh fromthe clerical brotherhood. When he had reached thebasis of terra firma on which I was standing, naturally, as a mode of thanking him for his courtesy, Ipresented my hand, which in a general case I shouldcertainly not have done; for I cherished in an ultraEnglish degree the English custom (a wise custom)of bowing in frigid silence on a first introduction toa stranger; but to a man of literary talent, and onewho had just practised so much kindness in my favour,at so probable a hazard to himself of being laughedat for his pains, I could not maintain that frostyreserve. Lamb took my hand; did not absolutelyreject it; but rather repelled my advance by hismanner. This, however, long afterwards, I foundwas only a habit derived from his too great sensitiveness to the variety of people's feelings, which runthrough a gamut so infinite of degrees and modes asto make it unsafe for any man who respects himselfto be too hasty in his allowances of familiarity. "On being invited, he went to tea at the Lambs,in the Temple where they were then living; but thatelement ofuncongeniality then arose from the pleasureLamb apparently took in throwing ridicule on thesubjects to which De Quincey was devoted withVOL. I. Р226 De Quincey's Life and Writings.""enthusiasm utterly beyond words. " My admirationfor Coleridge," confesses De Quincey (as in a perhapsstill greater degree for Wordsworth), was literallyin no respect short of a religious feeling; it hadindeed all the sanctity of religion, and all thetenderness of a human veneration. " But Lambdid not seem to share it. " Like Diogenes, hethrew upon us a scoffing air, as of one who standsupon a pedestal of eternity, looking down upon thosewho share in the transitory feelings of their ownage. "In 1808 and succeeding years, during visits toLondon, when De Quincey never failed to call onColeridge, he repeatedly met Lamb there, and beganto correct his earlier impressions of him; the peculiarliking that had arisen between Lamb and De Quincey'ssailor-brother, Pink, over pictures and other things,serving no doubt as a link. But it was reservedfor the years 1821-25 to perfect the sympathy be-

• All readers of De Quincey's works will remember with what

affectionate tenderness he tells the romantic story of this Pinkhow, like his elder brother, he ran away from school where hewas under a cruel pedant, and went to sea; how he fell amongpirates, and was saved from being murdered simply by his likeableness, which amounted almost to personal fascination; howhe was taken prisoner by the Danes; and gaining his freedomdistinguished himself in the Royal Navy; and how, finally, hemournfully perished just when bright prospects seemed to beopening for him. As long as he kept up correspondence withThomas, he never failed to send kind messages to Lamb. "Pinkliked Lamb greatly; and used in all his letters to request thatI would present his best regards to that Charles Lamb, whowould not be humbugged by the old rascal in Bond Street;i.e., a picture-dealer who was high in praise of a certain workof art.·"After Dinner. 227tween them. We have from De Quincey's pen thisglimpse of the Lambs:-" The Lambs had heard of my being in solitarylodgings, and insisted on my coming to diue withthem, which more than once I did in the winterof 1821-22. The mere reception by the Lambs wasso full of goodness and hospitable feeling, that itkindled animation in the most cheerless or torpid ofinvalids. I cannot imagine that any memorabiliaoccurred during the visit. There were no strangers;Charles Lamb, his sister, and myself made up theparty. Even this was done in kindness. They knewthat I should have been oppressed by an effortsuch as must be made in the society of strangers;and they placed me by their own fireside whereI could say as little or as much as I pleased. Wedined about five o'clock, and it was one of the hospitalities inevitable to the Lambs, that any game whichthey might receive from rural friends in the courseof the week, was reserved for the day of a friend'sdining with them."In regard to wine, Lamb and myself had thesame habit-perhaps it rose to the dignity of a principle-viz. , to take a good deal during dinner-noneafter it. Consequently, as Miss Lamb (who drankonly water) retired almost with the dinner itself,nothing remained for men of our principles, therigour of which we had illustrated by taking rathertoo much of old port before the cloth was drawn,except talking amoeboean colloquy, or, in Dr. Johnson's phrase, a dialogue of brisk reciprocation. Butthis was impossible; even Lamb, at this period of hislife, then passed regularly, after taking wine, under a228 De Quincey's Life and Writings.brief eclipse of sleep. It descended upon him assoftly as a shadow. In a gross person laden withsuperfluous flesh, and sleeping heavily, this wouldhave been disagreeable; but in Lamb, thin even tomeagreness, spare and wiry as an Arab of the desert,or as Thomas Aquinas, wasted by scholastic vigils,the affection of sleep seemed rather a network ofaerial gossamer than of earthly cobweb-more likea golden haze falling upon him gently from theheavens than a cloud exhaling upwards from theflesh. Motionless in his chair as a bust, breathingso gently as scarcely to seem entirely alive, he presented the image of repose midway between life anddeath like the repose of sculpture; and to one whoknew his history, a repose contrasting with the calamities and internal storms of his life. I have heardmore persons than I can now distinctly recall, observeof Lamb when sleeping, that his countenance in thatstate assumed an expression almost seraphic, from itsintellectual beauty of outline, its childlike simplicity,and its benignity. It could not be called a transfiguration that sleep worked in his face; for thefeatures wore essentially the same expression whenwaking; but sleep spiritualised that expression, exalted it, and also harmonised it. Much ofthe changelay in that last process. The eyes it was that disturbed the unity of effect in Lamb's waking face.They gave a restlessness to the character of his intellect, shifting, like northern lights, through everymode of combination with fantastic playfulness, andsometimes by fiery gleams, obliterating for themoment that pure light of benignity which was thepredominant reading on his features. "Lamb's Horror ofAffectation. 229With a subdued enthusiasm he thus sets forth hisconception of Lamb's character:-"The very basis of Lamb's character was laid inhorror of affectation. If he found himself by accident using a rather fine word, notwithstanding thatit might be the most forcible in that place (the wordarrest, suppose; in certain situations for the wordcatch) , he would, if it were allowed to stand, makemerry with his own grandiloquence at the moment;and, in after-moments, he would continually ridiculethat class of words, by others carried to an extremeof pedantry-the word arride, for instance, used inthe sense of pleasing or winning the approbation--just as Charles Fox, another patron of simplicity, orat least of humility of style, was accustomed to usethe word vilipend, as a standing way of sarcasticallyrecalling to the reader's mind the Latinising writers ofEnglish. Hence—that is, from this intense sincerityand truth of character-Lamb would allow himselfto say things that shocked the feelings of the company-shocked sometimes in the sense of startlingor electrifying, as by something that was odd; butalso sometimes shocked with the sense of whatwas revolting, as by a swift laying bare of naked,shivering human nature. In miscellaneousgatherings Lamb said little unless an opening arosefor a pun. And how effectual that sort of smallshot was from him, I need not say to anybody whor*members his infirmity of stammering, and hisdexterous management of it for purposes of light andshade. He was often able to train the roll of stammers into settling upon the words immediately preceding the effective one, by which means the keynote•230 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of the jest or sarcasm, benefitting by the suddenliberation of his embargoed voice, was delivered withthe force of a pistol-shot. That stammer was worthan annuity to him as an ally of his wit. Firingunder cover of that advantage, he did triple execution; for, in the first place, the distressing sympathyof the hearers with his distress of utterance won forhim unavoidably the silence of deep attention; andthen, whilst he had us all hoaxed into attitude ofmute suspense by an appearance of distress that heperhaps did not really feel, down came a plungingshot into the very thick of us, with ten times theeffect it would else have had. "Seldom, indeed, in his later days does De Quinceyallow himselfto pass into enthusiasm over individuals,but this he does in the case of Lamb, duly celebrating the unaffected generosity and goodness, of whichthat satirical manner had been but a kind of veil." I knew Lamb, " he exclaims; "and I know certain cases in which he was concerned-cases whichit is difficult to publish with any regard to the feelings of persons now living, but which (if publishedin all their circ*mstances) would show him to be thevery noblest of human beings. He was a man in asense more eminent than would be conceivable bymany people, princely-nothing short of that-inhis beneficence. Many liberal people I have knownin this world-many who were charitable in thewidest sense-many munificent people; but neverany one upon whom, for bounty, for indulgence andforgiveness, for charitable construction of doubtfulor mixed actions, and for regal munificence, youmight have thrown yourself with so absolute aThe "London Magazine." 231reliance as upon this comparatively poor CharlesLamb. '""To Lamb, De Quincey was now indebted for hisintroduction to Messrs. Taylor & Hessey, into whosehands the " London Magazine " had just come.Mr.Taylor, who had written some books, was editor, buthe had wisely surrounded himself by a group of distinguished men; and, ready to receive new contingents , gave admiring welcome to Mr. de Quincey." After the good old fashion of the GREAT TRADE,these genial booksellers used to assemble their contributors round their hospitable table in Fleet Street,where Mr. de Quincey was introduced to his newallies."99With Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd at this time, too ,he enjoyed intercourse. With him De Quincey tellsus he had become acquainted in 1808, " in the beautiful hall of the Middle Temple, whence (after diningtogether in the agreeable style inherited from olderdays) we sometimes adjourned to our coffee at thechambers of the future author of Ion, and enjoyedthe luxury of conversation with the élite of the youngTemplars. ' Talfourd, in one of his Memoirs, thussketches the better-known notables of these gatherings at Taylor & Hessey's:-" There was Lamb, withhumanity ripened among town-bred experiences, andpathos matured by sorrow, at his wisest, sagest, indiscreetest best; Barry Cornwall, in the first bloomof his modest and enduring fame, streaking thedarkest passion with beauty; John Hamilton Reynolds, lighting up the wildest eccentricities andmost striking features of many- coloured life withvivid fancy; and, with others of less note, Hazlitt,232 De Quincey's Life and Writings.whose pen, unloosed from the chain which earnestthought and metaphysical dreamings had woven,gave radiant expression to the results of the solitarymusings of many years.99Thomas Hood, too, was one of the " London Magazine " brotherhood. He had lost his health as anengraver, and found himself at twenty-one with literaryinstincts eager for exercise and development. He wasfortunate in being introduced to Messrs. Taylor andHessey; and was engaged as a sort of sub-editor forthe magazine, shortly before De Quincey's advent.Many a delicious little essay-forecasting, but no more,by the naïvest vein of fun, his future pre- eminence asa wit-did he throw into its pages between 1820 and1824; and he also made friends and gained many pleasant recollections, which he has set forth with all hischaracteristic drollery in his " Literary Reminiscences. "We can easily fancy how, as sub-editor, it would oftenfall to his lot to stir up the memories of contributorsabout times and seasons-especially one contributor, towhom, nevertheless, he refers in a vein of love andrespect, such as even his bantering and punning mannerdoes in no way suffice to conceal. Much in De Quinceycalled forth Hood's sympathies, it is clear; and thusthe Opium-Eater figures in his " Reminiscences ":-"When it was my frequent and agreeable duty tocall on Mr. de Quincey (being an uncommon name toremember, the servant associated it, on the memoriatechnica principle, with a sore throat, and always pronounced it Quinsy) , and I have found him at home,quite at home, in the midst of a German Ocean ofLiterature, in a storm-flooding all the floor, the tableA German Ocean ofBooks. 233and the chairs-billows of books tossing, tumbling,surging open, on such occasions I have willingly listened by the hour, whilst the Philosopher, standing,with his eyes fixed on one side of the room, seemed tobe less speaking than reading from a handwriting onthe wall.' Now and then he would diverge, for a Scotchmile or two, to the right or left, till I was tempted toinquire, with Peregrine in " John Bull " (Coleman's,not Hook's) , ' Do you never deviate? '-but he alwayscame safely back to the point where he had left, notlost the scent, and thence hunted his topic to the end.But look!-we are in the small hours, and a changecomes o'er the spirit of that old familiar face.' A fainthectic tint leaves the cheek, the eyes are a degree dimmer, and each is surrounded by a growing shadowsigns of the waning influence of that Potent Drug whosestupendous Pleasures and enormous Pains have beenso eloquently described by the English Opium-Eater.Marry, I have one of his Confessions with his own nameand mark to it: an apology for a certain stain on hisMS. , the said stain being a large purplish ring. Withinthat circle none durst drink but he,'-in fact, the impression, coloured, of a tumbler of laudanum negus,warm, without sugar."·6Not less characteristic perhaps is a footnote whichHood gives to this passage:-"On a visit to Norfolk, I was much surprised to findthat opium or opic, as it was vulgarly called, was quitein common use in the form of pills among the lowerclasses, in the vicinity ofthe Fens. It is not probablethat persons in such a rank of life had read the " Confessions," or, might not one suspect that as Denis Brul-234 De Quincey's Life and Writings.gruddery was driven to drink by the stale, flat, and unprofitable prospects of Muckslush Heath, so the FenPeople in the dreary, foggy, cloggy, boggy wastes ofCambridge and Lincolnshire, had flown to the drugfor the sake of the magnificent scenery that filled thesplendid visions of the historian."But the genial Thomas Hood kept other and lesstangible memorials of the Opium- Eater than that wehavejust presented. Doubtless he often met De Quinceyat these dinners at Taylor & Hessey's, or at CharlesLamb's; and many years afterwards reminiscences ofDe Quincey's talk formed the text of one of the mosthumorous and touching passages in the whole range ofHood's writings—a passage in which he gently playedwith the idea of death, and made it yield him tribute.It is to be found at the close of the preface to " Hood'sOwn ":-"Between ourselves, as I once heard the OpiumEater declare, it would have been ' extremely inconvenient to pay the debt of nature at that particularjuncture; ' nor, to be candid, do I quite know," he goes onto illustrate the Opium-Eater's remark, " when it wouldaltogether suit me to settle it, so, like other persons innarrow circ*mstances, I laughed, and gossipped, andplayed the agreeable with all my might; and as suchpleasant behaviour sometimes obtains a respite from ahuman creditor, who knows but that it may prove successful with the Universal mortgagee? At all events,here I am, humming ' Jack's Alive! ' and my own dearskilful native physician gives me hopes for a longer leasethan appeared from the foreign reading of the Covenants. He declares, indeed, that, anatomically, myThe " Confessions " Written. 235heart is lower hung than usual-but what of that?The more need to keep it up!"At the time when Thomas Hood was in way of making sub-editorial calls, there can be but little doubt thatDe Quincey, after having occupied apartments in Sohofor a short period, had betaken himself to what proved amore permanent abode at York Street, Covent Garden,where we find him domiciled, save, indeed, occasionallyduring a few months' absence at a time in Westmoreland, up to the beginning of 1824. We find Mr. H. G.Bohn, in Lowndes' " Bibliographer's Manual," making anote bearing on this point:-"Those ' Confessions ' were written in a little room atthe back of what later became Mr. H. G. Bohn's premises, No. 4 York Street, Covent Garden, where Mr. deQuincey resided, in comparative seclusion, for severalyears. He had previously lived in the neighbourhood ofSoho Square, and for some years was a frequent visitorto the shop of Mr. Bohn's father, then the principaldealer in German books. The writer remembers thathe always seemed to speak in a kind of whisper. "A biographer who affects to know a great dealabout such matters at that time, says that De Quinceydid not often appear at the gatherings at Taylor andHessey's; adding, that " the expression of his facewas intelligent, but cramped and somewhat peevish;and that he was self-involved, and did not add to thecheerfulness of the meeting. " But of a certain orderof biographies one soon gets doubtful, more especiallywhen one comes on such a sentence as this:-" Clareafterwards saw him [ Lamb] with the ' London 'writers, and noticed his dislike to the tro Scotchmen236 De Quincey's Life and Writings.-De Quincey and Cunningham, ”—a statement asgroundless as well could be. Of course we knowthat Charles Lamb, in his " Imperfect Sympathies "and elsewhere, has spoken with somewhat of hostilityof Scotchmen; but expressions like these in a genialessay, traversing an erratic circle of sentiment, oughtnot to be taken with such harsh construction as tomake him assert that he could not abide a Scotchman. But then De Quincey was not a Scotchman;and his intimate association with Edinburgh, whichalone could have given rise to the impression, hadnot yet begun.But even if De Quincey had been " peevish," hehad found fit companionship in Hazlitt, with hisharshness and gloom, his dislike of contemporaryliterature, and his devotion to the genius and art of apast time, and his inconsistent idolatry of Napoleon.Several times, De Quincey tells us, he walked for afew miles with Hazlitt through London late at night,and after leaving a party; but always " felt depressedby the spectacle of a mind constantly in agitationfrom the gloomier passions. "The evident tendency of such gatherings as thatat Taylor & Hessey's is to become ill-assorted, throughthe submergence of the social feelings under those ofbusiness and self-interest. Besides, there were specialdrawbacks to De Quincey's full enjoyment. The conductors of the " London Magazine " were dissenters,if they were not even touched by a kind of freethinking; and it was a part of their policy to dealfreely not only with the Church, but with religiousquestions. De Quincey, in spite of a philosophicdesire to investigate all things for himself, confessesThe " Confessions " Published. 237that:-" Being myself, not by birth and breedingonly, but upon the deliberate adoption of my judgment, an affectionate son of the Church of England,in respect to her doctrines, her rites , her discipline ,and her internal government, it both shocked andgrieved me to meet with what seemed to me so muchlevity of rash judgment amongst the thoughtful andwell-principled, —so harsh an illiberality amongst theliberal, so little consideration amongst the considerate. "But if such drawbacks arose in the social meetingsto which he was invited, there were few drawbacks tothe advantages which speedily arose to De Quinceyfrom the appearance of his first contributions in the" London Magazine. " He had intended unambitiously to begin with translations from the German;but his opium experiences, and his resolute efforts toescape from the thraldom of the drug, had of coursebeen the subject of conversation on his first introduction to the circle, which was so impressed by hisrecitals, that he was asked to inaugurate his connection with the magazine by a record of his opiumexperiences. Accordingly, there appeared in the"London Magazine " for October and November 1821 ,the "Confessions of an English Opium-Eater." Fewmagazine articles have ever produced a deeper or amore general impression.We have found among his papers a little bundleof letters, which Mr. Taylor, of the firm of Messrs.Taylor & Hessey, had handed to him as likely toafford him gratification from the favourable verdictof distinguished men. Amongst them are notes238 De Quincey's Life and Writings.from Sir James Mackintosh, Horace Smith, andRobert Montgomery. Sir James says:-" I have just read the second part of the ' OpiumEater' with more delight than I knowhow to express.I felt such a wish to read the first that I could nothelp telling you that poor Scott [ the former editor ofthe " London Magazine "] used to send me themagazine, and that if you should follow his example,I can afford to pay you regularly by the pleasurewhich I shall experience every month, if the publication continues to be good. . I had not thesoreness which your critic on Madame de Staël supposed I should feel at some passage of his criticism,and I read of parliamentary debates being therinsings of the human understanding ' without abating or embittering my admiration of the OpiumEater. "•Mr. Horace Smith, who dates from Versailles, isequally enthusiastic:-" Several literary avocationshave hitherto prevented my contributing to the' London, ' but I hope soon to have more leisure,and to send you something; though you really seemto have little need of new hands or heads. Whatan admirable paper the Confessions of an OpiumEater '! I have seen nothing so original and interesting in periodical literature.99The numbers were speedily exhausted, and areprint appeared early in 1822, and a secondedition in 1823. To this little volume an appendixwas added, in which the writer gave a tabulatedreport of his process of reducing the amounttaken day by day. The book whetted the interest,instead of satisfying it. De Quincey, however,Doubts as to Genuineness. 239could not at that time see his way to make additions to the Opium- Confessions. In not a fewquartershe was astonished to find doubts raised whetherthere was not an element of fiction in the narrative,and in others a blunt assertion made that a ruse hadbeen tried on the credulity of the reading public bya mere invention. He could not then bring himselfto write more on a subject which seemed to have suchfascination for readers in-general-learned and simplealike—that a mere popularity-seeker might well haveenvied him his prerogative, and gone on producing.The doubt as to the complete genuineness of therecord was soon uttered by those whose opinioncould not but carry weight. The " North AmericanReview " merely gathered up and set in criticallanguage a feeling which widely obtained at thetime of the publication of the " Confessions, " whenit said:-"We should like to go behind the screen onwhich he has been pleased to cast the shadows, andsee how far the reality corresponds with the picture;and learn, too, something more of those portionswhich now lie as a blank, since the filling of themis quite necessary for a full understanding of whatis so skilfully portrayed. Not that we doubt thetruthfulness of the unusually frank narrative, orhave a right to pry into personal secrets which thewriter chooses to conceal; but we are sometimes indoubt whether what is sometimes stated apparentlyas narrative, is not really meant for brilliant fiction ,or at least for fiction founded on fact." "And in the " Sheffield Iris " Mr. James Montgomery wrote some articles, in the course of which240 De Quincey's Life and Writings.he expressed the same opinion; giving in the opening so striking a theory of dreams and dreaming,that we cannot resist the temptation to present it toour readers, as else they might have no chance ofperusing it a piece of writing on its own accountwell worthy of this position, even had it not beenwritten by so true a poet and so consistent athinker:-" Man leads a double life on earth: he inhabits aworld of reality by day, and a world of imaginationby night. A third of human existence would belost if the blank space of sleep were not filled upwith pictured fancies that amuse the brain in dreams;and these, how grotesque and extravagant soeverthey be, yet bear such analogy to truth, that, wereall the actions of an individual recorded on onehand, and his dreams brought to light on the other,it would puzzle Duns Scotus and Thomas Aquinasthemselves to say, whether his character might notbe less equivocally determined by the latter than theformer. One thing is clear, that more of the secretsof his heart would be betrayed from the completionof that life which he leads in sleep than that whichhe leads before the world. Awake, and among hisfellow- creatures, whose eyes are at all times uponhim, man acts, even when he is least conscious of it,under habitual restraint; but the scene of his dreamsis the sanctuary of his own mind, into which nonebeside himself can intrude. The miscreated shapesthat people them are the offspring of his peculiarphantasy, and no eye but his can see them; nor,unless he chooses to divulge his invisible adventuresin that terra incognita, is there one breathing thatJames Montgomery on Dreams. 241can track his footsteps thither, or by any felicity ofapprehension catch a glimpse of its frontier, anymore than a spirit can be followed in its flightthrough the valley of the shadow of death, or theregion in the eternal world that receives it bedescribed by mortal optics from this side of thegrave. When man enters the cave of Morpheus, hedisappears from the multitude, and remains inaccessible till his involuntary return." In such retirement, under cover of night moreimpenetrable than that which envelops the universe-in a little world of his own where all is lightand life and liberty to him and to him only, theslumberer is thoroughly and purely himself; he acts,he speaks, he thinks, he feels, without disguise andwithout reserve. He cannot help being honest herein the exercise of his virtues, or the exposure of hisvices; there is no hypocrisy beyond that ineffablepoint, which we all may pass thousands of times, yetnever recollect passing it once-the point of fallingasleep. We shall be told, and we admit, that thereare innumerable fallacies in dreams-' the stuff thatdreams are made of' is proverbial for that which ismost puerile, incongruous, and inane.It is not,however, what they are, but what they represent,that deserves attention, and will repay it. Theimages of which they are composed may be hieroglyphics, more undecipherable than those of Egypt,without the key that unlocks their mysteries; thatkey every man possesses for his own use, and em-.ploying it he may learn, from apparently unintelligible jargon, lessons of self-knowledge whereby toregulate his waking-hours; for to these all hisVOL. I. Q242 De Quincey's Life and Writings.night visions have a reference, and are as surely reflections, however misshapen of their forms, as theSpectre of the Alps, towering from the valley to thefirmament, at sunrise, is only an aerial image of thebeholder himself, dilated by mist through immensity.But it may be prudent to draw in here; perhaps wehave already said more than we can prove-which isthe easiest thing in the world to do, as the readerwill soon see, if he tries his knack of assertion onany paradoxical topic; -be it understood then, thatit is the moral and not the fable of dreams intowhich we must look for the interpretation of life andcharacter; that fable, like the fictions of poetry, isoften distorted with strange and irrelevant associations , which have either no meaning at all, or nomeaning worth unravelling. But, that the phantomsand changes that occur in dreams, while they aremere repetitions, cross- readings , and exaggerations ofmatters of fact, at the same time exemplify thehabits, pursuits, understandings, affections, and antipathies of the dreamers, may be ascertained byanybody who will take the trouble to retrace andcompare the remembrances of his own nocturnalvagaries. There may be persons of such adamantframes and imperturbable spirits , that these echoes oflife are silent with them; the night answers not tothe day while they repose, nor does slumber do morefor them than it does for plants which are said tosleep, but were never yet known to dream. Thesemay think that we rave, when we give so muchimportance to unrealities; but could one of thesephlegmatic gentry catch his neighbour napping, andwalk into his dream, he would probably make suchThe Asiatic Demon.243discoveries there as might cause him to love or hate,fear or despise, that neighbour, not only more thanhe had formerly done, but more than he would otherwise ever have had occasion to do."We have been led into this rhapsody by readingthe ' Confessions of an Opium- Eater,' lately published, of whose dreams some superb specimens willbe found in our last page. Opium- eating is not avery common taste in this country, nor is theremuch fear that any reader will be tempted tocontract it, for the sake of being tortured andtransported, as this marvellous sufferer has been,in the process of recovery from the perdition intowhich the fell drug had absorbed him. He, indeed,is evidently a man of fiery temperament, and vulgarbeings, even if they do learn to swallow with delightas much crude abomination in a day as would' poison six dragoons and their horses,' must nothope to have their darkness ` illumined by visions sotremendously magnificent and exquisitely agonisingas his were. They can expect nothing, but that' the confusion ' of their stupid dreams will be" worse confounded,' when the Asiatic demon inthe disguise of'Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care '6has usurped the empire of their brain; for opium islike ' love ' and like the moon, ' whose influence,according to Sheridan, ' acting upon men of dullsouls , makes idiots of them, but meeting subtlerspirits, betrays their course and urges sensibility tomadness. '"But, if nobody in his senses is likely to be allured244 De Quincey's Life and Writings.6to the practice of eating this insane drug that takesthe reason prisoner,' by reading the Confessionsof an Opium- Eater, ' many might be profited by theresolute perusal of them with self-application; forit may be safely affirmed, that every habitual indulgence of appetite or intellect, beyond what naturerequires, or will endure, for the health of body ormind, is a species of opium-eating. Such, cordials ,exhilaratives, and stimulants are generally, in thefirst instance, resorted to as lenitives of pain, reliefsfrom languor or resources in idleness; they soon become necessary gratifications, affording little eitherof pleasure or pain in the use (though abstinence ismisery) , till in the sequel they grow into tyrannousexcesses that exhaust the animal spirits, debilitatethe mind, and consume the frame with disease whichno medicine can reach. The drunkard, in this sense,is an opium-eater; he puts an enemy into hismouth that takes away his senses; ' and the fools'paradise, into which liquor transports him, lies on" the broad way that leadeth down to destruction. 'The epicure, in this sense, is an opium-eater; hedevours himself alive, and in every dish that isserved up at his table-were his eyes opened—hemight see a part of his body, ay, and of his soul,laid for sacrifice on the only altar at which heworships with devotion. The snuff-taker, and thetobacco smoker, in this sense, are opium-eaters;these luxuries, as well as eating and drinking, maybe enjoyed in moderation, but where does moderationend and abuse begin? That fine line of distinctionwas never yet traced with assurance, and the onlysafety lies many a league on the right side of it.Moral Opium-Eaters. 245The Indian weed ' may be less promptly deleterious than the Asiatic, ' but in this country itis scarcely a question that the former destroys morevictims than the latter."But there are moral and sentimental opium-eaters.The idler is one of these. There is not a drug inthe Pharmacopoeia so deadly as time, when it is adrug. Every other poison, from opium to the juiceof the lysas, only produces death at last; this produces instant death, and perpetuates it too, for theidler is dead even while he liveth. ' We talk ofkilling time; ' we deceive ourselves, time in thisworld, at least, is immortal; and he who kills buta moment, kills just so much of himself. It werebetter to spend our days in the grave, than thusto misspend them above ground. The novel- reader,in this sense, is an opium-eater. How the mindis teased and pleased, bewildered and weakened ,fatigued and tormented-while the heart is unconsciously experiencing a process by which itshonest sensibilities are blunted , and its affectionsdisordered, if not absolutely vitiated, thousands andtens of thousands of the loveliest and most pitiableof our fair country-women can tell-to say nothingof the multitudes of our own sex, who read themselves into dandies and coxcombs, and bloods andbullies, by inordinate doses of these mawkish exhibitions of the inspissated juice of poppies, thatgrow on the banks of Lethe, making people forgeteverything but what ought not to be remembered.And are not newspaper readers opium-eaterstoo? We grant that they are, and yet we shallnot say a word about the maddening potions of246 De Quincey's Life and Writings.radicalism, or the bewitching philtres of loyalty,administered by the most notorious of our empiricalbrethren, lest we should be reminded of the ' sleeping draughts ' (opiates with a vengeance) , preparedat the office of the Iris. ' Poets also are opium- eaters,(inveterate ones) in the sentimental acceptation ofthe term."From the first relish in infancy of the pleasuresof imagination, to the last pang of heart-breakingdisappointment that closes a life of hopes, alternately perishing and regenerated, regenerated onlyto perish more miserably, and yet be more infatuatedly trusted—he that is born a poet ' neverforegoes the indulgence of that ' fine frenzy ' whichmakes all other enjoyments insipid, and all othersufferings tolerable, -while he rather haunts thaninhabits the world of common-sense and commonplace. To his dreams we need not refer-he wakesonly to tell them-thrice happy, if ' fit audience hemay find, though few, ' to hear them. "Favourable notice from such quarters was in itselfgratifying; and when the doubt came couched inlanguage of complete respect and appreciation, DeQuincey felt called on to make some reply-to givesuch assurance as was within his scope, that thesketches were genuine narratives, as faithful as theycould be made in the circ*mstances, of what reallyhad occurred to him, and not mere fanciful inventions. He therefore sent to the " London Magazine "this letter, which duly appeared there:-" SIR,-I have seen in the Sheffield Iris ' a noticeof my two papers, entitled, " Confessions of anEnglish Opium-Eater. ' Notice of any sort from Mr.De Quincey's Answer. 247Montgomery could not have failed to gratify me, byproving that I had so far succeeded in my efforts , asto catch the attention of a distinguished man ofgenius; a notice so emphatic as this, and introducedby an exordium of so much beauty as that containedin the two first paragraphs on the faculty of dreaming, I am bound in gratitude to acknowledge as amore flattering expression and memorial of successthan any which I had allowed myself to anticipate." I am not sorry that a passage in Mr. Montgomery's comments enables me to take notice of adoubt which had reached me before; the passage Imean is this: in the fourth page of the ' Iris, 'amongst the remarks with which Mr. Montgomeryhas introduced the extracts which he has done methe honour to make, it is said: ' Whether thischaracter ' (the character in which the opium- eaterspeaks) be real or imaginary, we know not. ' Thesame doubt was reported to me as having been madein another quarter; but, in that instance, asclothed in such discourteous expressions, that I donot think it would have been right for me, or thaton a principle of just self-respect I could havebrought myself to answer it at all; which I say inno anger, and I hope with no other pride than thatwhich may reasonably influence any man in refusingan answer to all direct impeachments of his veracity.From Mr. Montgomery, however, this scruple on thequestion of authenticity comes in the shape whichmight have been anticipated from his own courteousand honourable nature, and implies no more than asuggestion (in one view, perhaps, complimentary tomyself) that the whole might be professedly and248 De Quincey's Life and Writings.!intentionally a fictitious case as respected the incidents, and chosen as a more impressive form forcommunicating some moral or medical admonitionsto the confirmed opium-eater. Thus shaped, I cannot have any right to quarrel with this scruple. Buton many accounts I should be sorry that such a viewwere taken of the narrative by those who may happento read it. And, therefore, I assure Mr. Montgomery,in this public way, that the entire Confessions ' weredesigned to convey a narrative of my own experienceas an opium-eater, drawn up with entire simplicityand fidelity to the facts, from which they can in norespect have deviated, except by such trifling inaccuracies of date, &c. , as the memoranda I have withme in London would not in all cases enable me toreduce to certainty. Over and above the want ofthese memoranda, I laboured sometimes (as I willacknowledge) under another and a graver embarrassment. To tell nothing but the truth must, in allcases, be an unconditional moral law; to tell thewhole truth is not equally so. In the earlier narrativeI acknowledge that I could not always do this;regard of delicacy towards some who are yet living,and of just tenderness to the memory of others whoare dead, obliged me, at various points of my narrative, to suppress what would have added interest tothe story, and sometimes, perhaps, have left impressions on the reader favourable to other purposes ofan autobiographer. In cases which touch too closelyon their own rights and interests, all men shouldhesitate to hurt their own judgment; thus far Iimposed a restraint upon myself, as all just and conscientious men would do; in everything else I spokeAdverse Conditions of Writing. 249fearlessly, and as if writing private memoirs for myown dearest friends. Events, indeed, in my life,connected with so many remembrances of grief, andsometimes of self-reproach, had become too sacredfrom habitual contemplation to be altered or distortedfor the unworthy purposes of scenical effect and display, without violating these feelings of self-respectwhich all men should cherish, and giving a lastingwound to my conscience.66 Having replied to the question involved in thepassage quoted from the Iris, ' I ought to noticean objection conveyed to me through many channels ,and in too friendly terms to have been overlooked,if I had thought it unfounded; whereas, I believe itis a very just one. It is this: that I have so managedthe second narrative as to leave an overbalance onthe side of the pleasures of opium, and that the veryhorrors themselves, described as connected with theuse of opium, do not pass the limit of pleasure. Iknow not how to excuse myself on this head, unlessby alleging (what is obvious enough) that to describeany pains, of any class, and that at perfect leisurefor choosing and rejecting thoughts and expressions ,is a most difficult task; in my case I scarcely knowwhether it is competent to me to allege farther, thatI was limited both as to space and time, so long asit appears on the face of my paper that I did notturn all that I had of either to the best account. Itis known to you, however, that I wrote in extremehaste, and under very depressing circ*mstances inother respects. On the whole, perhaps, the best wayof meeting this objection will be to send you a thirdpart of my Confessions, ' drawn up with such assist-250 De Quincey's Life and Writings.ance from fuller memoranda, and the recollections ofmy only companion during these years, as I shall beable to command on my return to the North. I hopethat I shall be able to return thither in the courseof next week; and, therefore, by the end of Januaryor thereabouts, I shall have found leisure from myother employments to finish it to my own satisfaction. I do not venture to hope that it will realisethe whole of what is felt to be wanting; but it isfit that I should make the effort, if it were only tomeet the expressions of interest in my previouspapers which have reached me from all quarters, orto mark my sense of the personal kindness which inmany cases must have dictated the terms in whichthat interest was conveyed." This, I think, is what I had to say. Some things ,which I might have been disposed to add, would notbe fitting in a public letter. Let me say, however,generally, that these two papers of mine, short andinconsiderable as they are, have in one way produceda disproportionate result, though but of a personalnature, by leading to many kind acts and generousservices and expressions of regard in many differentshapes, from men of talents in London." To these hereafter I shall look back as to afund ofpleasant remembrances. Meantime, for the present,they have rendered me a service not less acceptable,by making my residence in London, in many respects ,agreeable, at a time when, on other accounts, it shouldnaturally have been otherwise.-I remain, sir, yourfaithful friend and servant, X. Y. Z.66 London, November 27, 1821. "" X. Y. Z." was the signature adopted by DeA" Bantering Epistle." 251Quincey for several of his less important contributions to the " London Magazine. " This third part ofthe " Confessions, " of which he here gives an indefinite promise, never, however, did appear there.De Quincey next contributed to the " LondonMagazine " a series of translations from the German,amongst them a version of Kant's essay on " NationalCharacter, " also the translated essay on the " Rosicrucians and Freemasonry," and that most characteristic series of " Letters to a Young Man whoseEducation has been Neglected, " in which he reallymanaged to convey a scheme of liberal educationrelieved by many touches of wit and humour. Theseletters furnished the occasion for one of CharlesLamb's most lively jeux d'esprit-the " Letter toan Old Man whose Education has been Neglected. "We find Sir Charles Noon Talfourd making thisnote:-" Mr. de Quincey had commenced a series of lettersto the London Magazine,' ' To a Young Man whoseEducation has been Neglected,' as a vehicle for conveying miscellaneous information in his admirablestyle. " Upon this hint, Lamb, with the assent whichMr. de Quincey could well afford to give, contributeda parody on the scheme in "A Letter to an OldGentleman whose Education has been Neglected. "And we find Lamb himself writing to Miss Hutchison: "Mr. de Quincey's parody was submitted tohim before printed , and had his approbation. "Lamb's Essay is to be found among the collected" Eliana, " but he prefixed to it, as it appeared inthe Magazine, the following letter to the Editor:-" DEAR SIR,—I send you a bantering ' Epistle to252 De Quincey's Life and Writings.an Old Gentleman whose Education is Supposed tohave been Neglected. ' Of course, it was suggested bysome letters of your admirable opium-eater; the discontinuance of which has caused so much regret tomyself in common with most of your readers. Youwill do me injustice by supposing that in the remotestdegree it was my intention to ridicule those papers.The fact is, the most serious things may give rise toan innocent burlesque; and the more serious theyare, the fitter they become for that purpose. It isnot to be supposed that Charles Cotton did notentertain a very high regard for ' Virgil,' notwithstanding he travestied that Poet. Yourself can testifythe deep respect I have always held for the profoundlearning and penetrating genius of our friend. Nothing upon earth would give me greater pleasurethan to find that he has not lost sight of his entertaining and instructing purpose. -I am, dear sir,yours and his,ELIA."But the "Letters " were not resumed; the schemehaving probably been interrupted by the episode of" Walladmor," in which De Quincey's genius admirably justified itself in the way of practical joke." Walladmor " was a novel got up in Germanyto meet the demand for a new story from the peuof Sir Walter Scott, which that year was not forthcoming for the Easter Fair at Leipsic. De Quinceywrote an article on it in the " London Magazinesoon after its appearance; but, according to hisstatement, he formed too favourable an opinion of itat a hasty glance; and when asked by the publishersto translate it, he found the task harder than he hadbargained for. But he would not be beaten; he'Walladmor."253made the German, as he says, only a ground-work,and " darned " it to his own wish. We may wellassume, therefore, that there is more of De Quincey inthe English version than there is of that Germanhoaxer, bold and inventive as he was. It is a pureparody and caricature of the excessive incident andmystery of " Guy Mannering," with Dirk Hatteraicksputtering Dutch-English, Meg Merrilees, and all;but now and then it becomes mawkish and weak indialogue. It has very clever passages, and is mostamusing when read with a lively eye to the greatoriginal. But perhaps the cleverest portion of itwas the " Dedication " to the " German Translator,'which De Quincey prefixed to his version. We mustmake room for it here:-99" Having some intention, sir, of speaking ratherfreely ofyou and your German translation, in a postscript to the second volume of my English one, I amshy of sending a presentation copy to Berlin. Neitheryou nor your publisher might relish all that I maytake it into my head to say. Yet, as books sometimes travel far, if you should ever happen to meetwith mine knocking about the world, in Germany, Iwould wish you to know that I have endeavoured tomake you what amends I could, for any little affrontwhich I meditate in that postscript, by dedicating myEnglish translation to yourself. You will be surprised to observe that your three corpulent German

• De Quincey himself in after years gave a racy account of the

whole affair in " Tait's Magazine "--an article which Messrs. Blackhave reprinted in the sixteenth or supplementary volume of the"Collected Writings," as from the " London Magazine " of 1824,which internal evidence decisively tells it could not have been.254 De Quincey's Life and Writings.volumes have collapsed into two English ones ofrather consumptive appearance. The English climate,you see, does not agree with them; and they havelost flesh as rapidly as Captain le Harnois, in chaptereighth. We have a story in England, trite enoughhere, and a sort of philosophic commonplace, likeBuridan's ass, but possibly unknown in Germany;and as it is pertinent to the case between us, I willtell it, the more so as it involves a metaphysical question; and such questions, you know, go up from allparts of Europe to you people in Germany, as ' thecourts above. ' Sir John Cutler had a pair of silkstockings, which his housekeeper, Dolly, darned fora long term of years with worsted; at the end ofwhich time, the last gleam of silk had vanished, andSir John's silk stockings were found to have degenerated into worsted. Now, upon this, a questionarose among the metaphysicians, whether Sir John'sstockings retained (or, if not, at what precise periodthey lost) their personal identity. The moralistsagain were anxious to know whether Sir John'sstockings could be considered the same ' accountable 'stockings from first to last. The lawyers put thesame question in another shape, and demandedwhether any felony which Sir John's stockings couldbe supposed to have committed in youth, mightlegally be the subject of indictment against the samestockings when superannuated; whether a legacy leftto the stockings in the first year, could be claimedby them in the last; and whether the worsted stockings could be sued for the debts of the silk stockings.Some such questions will arise, I apprehend, uponyour German Walladmor ' as darned by myself.Sir John Cutler's Silk Stockings. 255But here, my good sir, stop a moment. I must nothave you interpret the precedent of Sir John andDolly too strictly. Sir John's stockings were originally of silk, and darned with worsted; but don't youconceit that to be the case here. No, no! I flattermyself the case between us is just the other way.Your worsted stockings it is that I have darned withsilk; and the relations which I and Dolly bear toyou and Sir John are precisely reversed. What couldinduce you to dress good St. David in a threadbaresuit, it passes my skill to guess-it is enough that Iam sure it would give general disgust; and, therefore, I have not only made him a present of a newcoat, but have also put a little embroidery upon it.And I really think I shall astonish the good folks inMerionethshire by myaccount of that saint's festival.In myyoung days I wandered much in that beautifulshire, and other shires which lie contiguous; andmany a kind thing was done to me in poor men'scottages, which, to my dying day, I shall never beable to repay individually. Hence, as occasions offer,I would seek to make my acknowledgments generallyto the country. Upon Penmorfa Sands I once hadan interesting adventure—and I have accordinglycommemorated Penmorfa. To the little town ofMachynleth I am indebted for various hospitalities;and I think Machynleth will acknowledge itself indebted to me exclusively for its mayor and corporation. Others there are, besides, in that neighbourhood, both towns and men, that, when they shall readmy St. David's Day, will hardly know whether theyare standing on their head or their heels. As to theBishop of Bangor, of those same days, I owed his256 De Quincey's Life and Writings.lordship no particular favour, and, therefore, you willobserve, I have now taken my vengeance on that seefor ever, by making it do suit and service to thehouse of Walladmor. But enough of St. David'sDay. There are some other little changes which Ihave been obliged to make, in deference to the tasteof this country. In the case of Captain le Harnois,it appeared to me that, from imperfect knowledge ofthe English language, you have confounded the words' sailor ' and ' tailor; ' for you make the captaintalk very much like the latter. There is, however, agreat deal of difference in the habits of the twoanimals according to our English naturalists; and,therefore, I have retouched the captain, and curledhis whiskers. I have also taken the liberty of curingMiss Walladmor of an hysterical affection. Whatpurpose it answered, I believe you would find it hardto say; and I am sure she has enough to bear withoutthat. Your geography, let me tell you, was none ofthe best, and I have brushed it up myself. Somethings the public will bear; topographical sins arevenial in a romance; and no candid people look verysharply after the hydrography of a novel. But still,my dear sir, it did strike me, that the case of a manswimming on his back from Bristol to the Isle ofAnglesea, was a little beyond the privilege grantedby the most maternal public. No, pardon me, thatrather exceeds the public swallow. Besides, it wouldhave exposed us both to illiberal attacks in the'Quarterly Review,' from Mr. Barrow of the Admiralty, your weak point being his strong one; andparticularly because I had taken liberties with Mr.Croker, who is a colleague and old crony of his.Mutual 'Darning ' proposed. 257Your chronology, by the way, was also damaged; butthat has gone to the watchmaker's, and it is nowregulated, so as to go as well as the Horse Guards.Now, finally, ' mine dear sare, ' could you not translate me back into German, and darn me as I havedarned you? But you must not ' sweat ' me down inthe same ratio that I have sweated ' you; for ifyoudo that, I fear that my dimensions will become invisible to any thick sight in Germany, and I shallpresent no mark to the critical enemy. Darn me intotwo portly volumes; and then, perhaps, I will tranlate you back again into English, and darn you withsilk so hyper-lustrous that, were Dolly and ProfessorKant to rise from the dead, Dolly should growjealousof me, and the Professor confess himself more thoroughly puzzled and confounded, as to the matter ofpersonal identity by the final ' Walladmor, ' than everhe had been by the Cutlerian stockings. Jusqu'aurevoir, my dear Principal, hoping you will sooninvest me with that character in relation to yourself; and that you will then sign, as it is now myturn to sign, your obedient (but not very faithful)Translator. '99To the " London Magazine " he also contributedarticles on Richter and Herder, with specimens fromtheir works, together with many notes and minorpapers.In spite of all his efforts, however, it would seemthat in 1825 he had not been able to extricate himself from debt and difficulty; and that now, evensupposing it had been in his power to run Northoftener than had been his wont, since he had begunhis literary campaign in 1821 , he was exiled fromVOL. I. R258 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Westmoreland, and compelled to go into a kind ofhiding from creditors. In February 1825 we findhim writing from London to Professor Wilson, respecting a work on Education by Mr. Hill, * whosebrothers were engaged in some school experiment atHazelwood in Warwickshire:-" His book has just been reviewed in the last' Edinburgh Review ' (of which some copies havebeen in town about a week). This service has beendone him, I suppose, through some of his politicalfriends-(for he is connected with Brougham, LordLansdowne, old Bentham, &c. ) But I understand byMr. Jeffrey, how Hill, in common with multitudes inthis Babylon who will not put their trust in Blackwood as in God (which, you know he ought to do),yet privately adores him as the devil; and indeedpublicly, too, is a great proneur of Blackwood. For,in spite of his Jacobinism, he is liberal and inevitably just to real wit. His fear is-that Blackwoodmay come as Nemesis, and compel him to regorgeany puffing and cramming which Tiff has put intohis pocket, and is earnest to have a letter addressedin an influential quarter to prevent this. I allegedto him that I am not quite sure but it is an affrontto a Professor to presume that he has any connection as contributor, or anything else, to any workwhich he does not publicly avow as his organ forcommunicating with the world of letters. Heanswers that it would be so in him-but that anold friend may write sub rosa. I rejoin that I know

• The work here referred to is, " Plans for the Government

and Liberal Instruction of Boys in Large Numbers, drawn fromExperience." 8vo. London, 1823.An Immense Authority. 259not but you may have cut Blackwood-even as asubscriber a whole lustrum ago. He rebuts, byurging a just compliment paid to you as a supposedcontributor, in the ' News of Literature and Fashion,'but a moon or two ago. Seriously, I have told himthat I know not what was the extent of your connection with Blackwood at any time; and that Iconceive the labours of your chair in the universitymust now leave you little leisure for any but occasional contributions, and therefore for no regularcognisance of the work as director, &c. However,as all that he wishes is simply an interference tosave him from any very severe article, and not anarticle in his favour, I have ventured to ask of youif you hear of any such thing, to use such influenceas must naturally belong to you in your generalcharacter (whether maintaining any connection withBlackwood or not) to get it softened. On thewhole, I suppose no such article is likely to appear.But to oblige Hill I make the application. He hasno direct interest in Hazelwood: he is himself abarrister in considerable practice, and of some standing, I believe; but he takes a strong paternal interest in it, all his brothers (who are accomplishedyoung men, I believe) being engaged in it. Theyhave already had one shock to stand: a certain Mr.Place, a Jacobin friend of the school till just now,having taken the pet with it and removed his son.Now this Place, who was formerly a tailor, leatherbreeches maker, and habit-maker, having made afortune and finished his studies, is become an immense authority as a political and reforming headwith Bentham, etc. , as also with the Westminster260 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Review, ' in which quarter he is supposed to have theweight of nine times ten men; whence, by the way,in the ' circles ' of the booksellers, the ' Review ' hasgot the name of the ' Breeches Review.'"Thus much concerning the occasion of my letter.As to myself-though I have written not as onewho labours under much depression of mind—thefact is, I do so. At this time calamity presses uponme with a heavy hand; I am quite free of opium,but it has left the liver, which is the Achilles' heelof almost every human fabric, subject to affectionswhich are tremendous for the weight of wretchednessattached to them. To fence with these with the onehand, and with the other to maintain the war withthe wretched business of hack-author, with all itshorrible degradations, is more than I am able tobear. At this moment I have not a place to hidemy head in. Something I meditate-I know notwhat. Itaque e conspectu omnium abiit. ' With agood publisher, and liberty to premeditate what Iwrite, I might yet liberate myself: after which,having paid everybody, I would slink into some darkcorner-educate my children—and show my face inthe world no more."Ifyou should ever have occasion to write to me,it will be best to address your letter either to thecare of Mrs. de Quincey, Rydal Nab, Westmoreland(Fox Ghyll is sold, and will be given up in a fewdays), or to the care of M. D. Hill, Esq. , 11 King's

• Fox Ghyll was a little cottage which, owing to the increase

of family and of books, Mr. de Quincey had sometime beforetaken on lease. Rydal Nab, as has already been said, was theresidence of his wife's father, where she then was.Charles Knight.261Bench Walk, Temple; but, for the present, I thinkrather to the latter, for else suspicions will arise thatI am in Westmoreland, which, if I were not, mightbe serviceable to me; but-if, as I am in hopes ofaccomplishing sooner or later, I should be-mightdefeat my purpose. 'Mrs. Gordon adds the following note to this letterwith regard to the statement contained in it that hewas free of opium: "-" To the last he asserted this;but the habit, though modified, was never abandoned. "She is wrong as to his assertions: he positively tells ,with iteration, that though he had frequently fanciedhimself free of the habit, it reasserted its power overhim up to a certain extent. It is abundantly clearthat Mrs. Gordon wrote without reading the finaledition of the " Confessions," which, consideringeverything, she should have done.Another very important friendship of this Londonperiod was that formed with Charles Knight, who wasthen engaged with his " Quarterly Magazine. " He askedDe Quincey to write; and several of his articles andtranslations from the German appeared in it. In his"Passages of a Working Life," Mr. Knight gives apretty full, though unfortunately a somewhat disconnected, account of their intercourse, which was close andintimate. De Quincey during some months resided inMr. Knight's house in Pall Mall, East. Mr. Knightsays:-" In July 1824 I had become acquainted with Mr.de Quincey, and he had contributed to the ' QuarterlyMagazine ' a slight translation from the German, thoughas to the strict fidelity of the translation I might have262 De Quincey's Life and Writings.

sentap♥ **14 GLImit Ater IhAMBICJhad considerable doubts. He could not go about thissort of work without improving all he touched."Mr. Knight describes a visit which he had paid to DeQuincey at his lodging, whilst he was in the toils withWalladmor," and we have this reminiscence:-"I sawhim groaning over his uncongenial labour, by which heeventually got very little. It was projected to appearin three volumes. He despairingly wrote to me, ' Afterweeding out the forests of rubbish, I believe it will makeonly one decent volume.'་Mr. Knight thus notes some characteristics, andillustrates them by incidents: —one."Vast as were his acquirements, intuitive as was hisappreciation of character and the motives of humanactions, unembarrassed as was his demeanour, pleasantand even mirthful his table-talk, De Quincey was ashelpless in every position of responsibility as when hepaced ' stony-hearted Oxford Street ' looking for the lostHe was constantly beset by idle fears and vainimaginings. His sensitiveness was so extreme, incombination with the almost ultra-courtesy of a gentleman, that he hesitated to trouble a servant with anypersonal requests without a long prefatory apology. Myfamily were in the country in the summer of 1825, whenhe was staying at my house in Pall Mall, East. Afriend or two had met him at dinner, and I had walkedpart of the way home with one of them. When Ireturned, I tapped at his chamber door to bid him goodnight. He was sitting at the open window habited as aprize-fighter when he enters the ring. You will takecold, ' I exclaimed. 'Where is your shirt?' ' I havenot a shirt-my shirts are unwashed.' ' But why notSensitiveness. 263tell the servant to send them to the laundress? ' ' Ah!how could I presume to do that in Mrs. Knight'sabsence? '"One more illustration of the eccentricity of DeQuincey. I had been to Windsor; on my return I wastold that Mr. de Quincey had taken his box away, leaving word that he was gone home. I knew that he waswaiting for a remittance from his mother, which wouldsatisfy some clamorous creditors, and enable him to rejoin his family at Grasmere. Two or three days after,I heard that he was still in town. I obtained a clueto his lodging, and found him in a miserable placeon the Surrey side of Waterloo Bridge. He had received a large draft on a London banker at twenty-onedays' sight. He summoned courage to go to LombardStreet, and was astonished to learn that he could notobtain the amount till the draft became due. A man ofless sensitive feelings would have returned to Pall Mall,East, and have there waited securely and comfortablytill I came. How to frame his apology to our trustydomestic was the difficulty that sent him into the denwhere I found him. He produced the draft to me fromout of his Bible, which he thought was the best hidingplace. Cometo me to-morrow morning and I will giveyou the cash.' ' What? How? Can such a thing bepossible? Can the amount be got before the draft isdue? ' ' Never fear; come you, and then get home asfast as you can.' ."We were all truly sorry to part with this valuedfriend, whose eccentricity made him even more dear tous-whose helplessness under the direst pressure ofwant of means brought no feeling of contempt, for his264 De Quincey's Life and Writings.abilities We and learning commanded our reverence.scarcely knew then what he had to endure during hisLondon sojourn."It is very easy to foresee that a nature such as thiswould find itself in very odd and exceptional positionson the way through the world, -positions apt to bemisunderstood, and often made to bear a sinister aspectby the vulgar-minded.In the end of 1825 he wrote to Mr. Knight fromWestmoreland:-"Anxiety, long continued with meof late years, in consequence of my opium-shattering,seizes on some frail part about the stomach, and producesa specific complaint which very soon abolishes all powerof thinking at all."Recalling the fascination of his talk at that time, Mr.Knight, in opposition to some remark to the same effectas that which we have quoted from a report of theTaylor & Hessey banquets, writes thus:-Oh, for one hour of Dundee! '-one hour of DeQuincey! Better three hours, from nine till midnight,for a rapt listener to be ' under the wand of themagician,' spellbound by his wonderful affluence oftalk, such as that of the fairy whose lips dropped rubiesand diamonds. Many a night have I, with my wife bymy side, sat listening to the equable flow of his discourse, both of us utterly forgetting the usual regularityof our habits, and hearing the drowsy watchman's ' pastone o'clock ' (for the old watchman then walked hisround), before we parted."Mr. Knight further enlightens us as to later intercourse." I occasionally had a warm- hearted letter from him," Oh, for one hour of De Quincey!" 265but our correspondence after a year or two ceased.I was delighted at its renewal in July 1829, when hewrote me the most pressing invitation from Mrs. deQuincey and himself to come with my wife andchildren to visit them. In this letter he says:-' Andnow, my friend, think what a glorious Eldorado of milkand butter, and cream-cheeses, and all other dairyproducts, supposing that you like those things, I canoffer you morning, noon, and night.You mayabsolutely bathe in new milk, or even in cream; andyou shall bathe, if you like it. I know that you carenot much about the luxuries of the dinner-table; else,though our luxuries are few and simple, I could offeryou some temptations-mountain lamb equal to Welsh;char famous to the antipodes; trout and pike from thevery lake within twenty-five feet of our door; bread,such as you have never presumed to dream of, made ofour own wheat, not doctored and separated by the usualmiller's process into fine insipid flour and coarse, thatis, merely dirty- looking white, but all ground downtogether, which is the sole receipt (experto crede) forhaving rich, lustrous, red-brown ambrosial bread; newpotatoes of celestial earthiness and raciness, which withus last to October; and finally, milk, milk, milk-cream,cream, cream (hear it, thou benighted Londoner! ) , inwhich you must and shall bathe."Among the other notable personages he met inLondon at this period, was " Walking Stewart, "whom he has fitly celebrated. With his excessiveabstinence, his hatred of reading, his systematicattention to hours and to exercise; above all, withhis expressive dislike to religion generally, and266 De Quincey's Life and Writings.to the Christian religion in particular, WalkingStewart could not but have frequently offended DeQuincey with his outbursts. In fact, there wasunmistakably a vein of madness in the man. YetDe Quincey, with complete tolerance, writes ofhim:-"His books are filled with extravagances on allsubjects; and to religious people they are especiallyrevolting, by the uniform spirit of contempt whichhe manifests for all creeds alike Christian, Mahometan, Buddhist, Pagan. In fact, he was as deliberate and resolute an atheist as can ever haveexisted; but for all that, and though wishing, forhis own sake, that he had been a more religiousman, or at least had felt a greater reverence forsuch subjects, and a closer sympathy with that which,for so vast a majority of the human race, must everconstitute their sole consolation under sorrow andcalamity: still I could not close my eyes to themany evidences which his writings and his conversation afforded of a true grandeur of mind, and of acalm, Spinozistic state of contemplative reverie. Infact, he was half-crazy; but his mind, like a shelltaken from the sea, still echoed and murmured to themultitudinous sounds and forms amongst which hisformer years had been passed. "Physiognomic, truly, is De Quincey's love of thecrazy Walking Stewart. One of Stewart's whims wasthat, as his philosophy would not be appreciated whilehe lived, he should have copies of his works buriedwith him, to await the time when the world shouldbe prepared for the revelation! De Quincey drewfrom his contact with Walking Stewart convictions46 Walking Stewart." 267which enabled him to deny the truth of the assertionof Wordsworth and Coleridge, that mad people are,invariably, dull and miserable companions. Hehumoured Stewart, and found him a rich study—aqueer but a delightful fellow to pass the time with-sprightly, and open to many kinds of impressions ,in spite of his madness. De Quincey's contact withthe "madman " brings out his sympathetic qualitiesand his tact in a very convincing manner.A merestudent, or a man without humour, would havequarrelled with Stewart, or become disgusted athim, within an hour.That De Quincey's fame was rapidly growing, isproved by various circ*mstances -more particularlythe demands made upon him by editors here andthere. Another evidence, though perhaps not quiteso convincing a one, he was somewhat inconsistentlyintroduced as an interlocutor in the " Noctes Ambrosianæ " by Wilson, who, however, never succeeded incatching but the faintest echo of De Quincey's mannerof talking. Here is part of a dialogue from " Maga, ”for October 1823, before the talk about the opiumconfessions had died down:-"North. My dear late English Opium-Eater, thisis an unexpected, unhoped-for happiness. I thoughtyou had been in Constantinople." The Opium-Eater. You had no reason whateverfor any such thought. No doubt I might have beenat Constantinople-and I wish I had been-but Ihave not been; and I am of opinion that you havenot been there since we last parted, any more thaumyself. Have you, sir?"The Shepherd. I dinna ken, sir, where you hae268 De Quincey's Life and Writings.

been; but, hech, sirs, yon bit opium tract's a desperate interesting confession. It's perfectly dreadfu' , yon pouring in upon you o' Oriental eemagery.But nae wunner. Sax thousand draps o' lowdnam!It's as muckle, I fancy, as a bottle of whusky. Itried the experiment mysel' , after reading the wee,wud, wicked wark, wi' five hunner draps, and Icouped ower and continued in ae snore frae Mondaynight till Friday morning. But I had naething taeconfess; naething at least that wad gang into words;for it was a week-lang, dull, dim dwawm o' themind, with a kind o' soun' bummin i' my lugs; andclouds, clouds, clouds hovering round and roundand things o' . sight no made for the sight; and anawfu' smell like the rotten sea; and a confusionbetween the right hand and the left; and events o'auld lang syne, like the torments o' the presenthour, wi' naething to mark onything by; and doubtso' being quick or dead; and something rouch, rouch,like the fleece o' a ram, and motion as of an everlasting earthquake; and nae remembrance o' myain Christian name; and a dismal thought that Iwas converted into a quadruped cretur, wi' four feet;and a sair drouth, aye sook, sookin' awa' at emptywin'; and the lift doukin' doun to smore me; andthe moon within half a yard o' my nose; but no justlike the moon either. O Lord, save us! I'm a'grewin' to think o't; but how could I CONFESS? forthe sounds and the sights were baith shadows; andwhere are the words for expressing the distraction o'the immaterial sowl droonin' in matter, and warstlingwi' unknown powers to get ance mair a steady footin'on the greensward o' the waking world? ""Noctes Ambrosiana." 269And again, in October 1825, we find in the"Noctes " what sounds like an over-celebration ofDe Quincey's success as a contributor to the " London Magazine; " but it loses in effect from a toodirect purpose to disparage De Quincey's colleagueson that journal. However, here it is; it is certainlyspirited and Wilson-esque enough, if it is nothingelse; and suffices to show that Wilson, the moreintimately he came to know De Quincey, held thehigher opinion of him both as a writer and as aman:-" O'Doherty. You would disapprove, I suppose ,of the attack on Mr. de Quincey in the ' John BullMagazine '?" North. Disapprove? I utterly despised it, andso, no doubt, did he. They say he is no scholar,because he has never published any verbal criticismson any Greek authors. What stuff! Then, I takeit, the best scholars in the world are such creaturesas Dr. Parr-rubbish that I honestly confess I neverused to think any sensible man would condescend toclass much higher than a Petralogist, or a99"North. Macaulay and Praed have written verygood prize poems. These two young gentlemenought to make a figure in the world. By the way,you would be glad to see, Tickler, that Knight'sQuarterly Magazine ' is rediviva?Having now con-" Tickler. I was so. May it flourish! It is anable and elegant miscellany. Methinks I see theopium-eater in last number.nected himself with gentlemen,bright and prosperous, for he is amay his career beman of a million.270 De Quincey's Life and Writings." North. His original genius and consummatescholarship speedily effected the damnation of Taylorand Hessey's magazine, according to my prophecy.All the other contributors looked such ninnies beside him, that the public burst out a laughing in thepoor magazine's face. Then one and all of thembegan mimicking our friend, and pretended to beopium-eaters. Now, the effect of the poppy uponthe puppy is most offensive to the bystanders, andneed not be described.Taylor & Hessey, hearing the ' din of battle bray, ' fled from the field. "In the end of 1825, whilst De Quincey still remained in Westmoreland, we find Professor Wilsonaddressing to him the following letter:-GLOUCESTER PLACE, EDINBURGH,November 12th, 1825.MY DEAR PLATO, -Mrs. Wilson is in good health. I am mostanxiously expecting your communications; without themJANUS will be afraid to look the public in the face. Do, Iearnestly beseech you, send me as much as you can, and ifpossible without delay. I am not without hope that yourlucubrations may at this moment be crossing the Border. Thepress is stopped, and I cannot think of sending to it bad orindifferent articles till I am forced to prove that your effectualaid is not to be given in this extremity. I am naturally anxiousabout the volume, because, if an annual, it can yield you fiftyguineas (and myself), without interference with any other moreimportant objects. I shall not proceed till I hear from you;and a few days more, say a week, must be allowed, rather thanlose your contributions.I wish earnestly that you would read Brown and Welsh asI have undertaken to write a review of the soon as you can.lectures for the first number of the " Quarterly," edited by Lockhart; and with your assistance (to be acknowledged in the wayof business, and felt in the way of friendship) a creditablearticle may surely be composed. Lockhart's dynasty beginsTopicsfor the “ Quarterly.” 271with the resignation of John Coleridge, after next number, andhe is naturally anxious about his debut.There seem to be several distinct topics for a review ofBrown: first, the introductory lectures, containing his view ofthe mode of studying the human mind, which seemed to meingenious, and perhaps true, although, to your more instructedintelligence, they may seem otherwise. Secondly, his distribution of the subject generally into sensations, notions, andfeelings of relation. I now speak vaguely; but there heconceives his chief merit and decided originality to lie: it ishis system. Thirdly, what is his theory of the moral feelingor faculty? Many other subjects there are discussed by him;but on these three especially would I wish to have yourmatured and reasoned opinion. Of course I shall be happyto have your opinion on any other or every other part of hisphilosophy.I need not say to you that a certain moderated tone must beassumed by every writer in the "Quarterly." You know whatthat is, and how to strike that tone on a different instrumentfrom that generally sounded. I have begun to write upon thework; and should you think it safe to assist me, and to confide your views to such hands, I do not despair of being ableto interweave them with my own in a way not unsatisfactoryto your mind. Of course the whole article would be submittedto you before publication. Should you tell me that you willengage in this, I will write you a fuller letter without loss oftime.Lockhart will doubtless for some time-perhaps always-besomewhat fettered in his will, but I know how happy he willbe to have your assistance. He knows your great talents, andwill, I know, act in the most gentlemanly spirit to all contributors. A noble review of Kant would, in good time, bevaluable to him and you; and, master as you are of Germanliterature and philosophy, I do indeed hope that you maybecome a contributor. I have engaged to do all I can in mynarrower department. John Paul should certainly now havejustice done him; and he is a writer respecting whom it is notlikely any difference of opinion should exist between you andLockhart.It will make me truly happy to hear from you as often asthespirit moves you. Thank God you are not now domineered272 De Quincey's Life and Writings.over by circ*mstances, and may your noble nature never morebe disturbed but by its own workings!I begin now to believe that you are a political economist.Would that Ricardo had not been a Jew.Hartley Coleridge has given me some very good things forJANUS. But do not damn his godship.I hope Mrs. de Quincey is well, and that your handsomeboy is about to lay down his crutches. I write you in a garretoverlooking a thousand smoky chimneys, but there is a bluesky and a gleam of the sea. The watery whirlwinds on Rydalmere must have been in full feather during these high blasts.Do not be teased with my importunities, but attribute thempartly to selfish and partly to friendly motives.-I am, my dearDe Quincey, your most sincere friend,JOHN WILSON.CHAPTER XIII.THE STRUGGLE MAINTAINED.SHE position in which De Quincey found himself at the beginning of 1826 almost over99powered him. " It seemed to him, " he said," as though the sunlight would never visit him again:as though he could creep into any unvisited and unblessed cellar, and never see the face of friend or foeany more. He had returned to London; and thesense of exile from his Westmoreland cottage, andfrom his children, chilled his energies and crampedhis powers of production. Wilson had said seriouslythat, if De Quincey owed a £5 note and wereunable to pay it, it would vex him more than debtsof thousands would vex many other men rollingabout in their carriages. He was likely, therefore, to sympathise with the deep depression ofDe Quincey's letters, and to do what he couldto remove the cause. He was able to send a response that relieved the gloom; it was an offer ofsuch a sum for a series of articles for " Blackwood, "as would in the meantime mitigate matters, and sofar set De Quincey's mind free to write. The resultVOL. I. S274 De Quincey's Life and Writings.was the publication in " Maga " ofthat valuable seriesof papers titled the " Gallery of the German ProseWriters," which was opened in the number forNovember 1826 with the article on Lessing. Thiswas followed in February 1827 by one on the " LastDays of Kant," and later by others. He was enabled, by this timely engagement, and by slightcontributions which he continued to make to the" London Magazine " and other journals, to maintain his Westmoreland cottage. For the next twoyears, the best products of his pen went into thepages of " Maga. " The most conspicuous of thesecontributions were " Murder considered as one of theFine Arts," which appeared in the end of 1827; and" The Toilette of the Hebrew Lady " in 1828.This connection with Edinburgh led him seriously tothink of another effort at settlement there. He accordingly went to Edinburgh in the end of 1828, to occupyWilson's rooms for a short time whilst he was at Elleray.It was at this time that De Quincey wrote the bulk ofthe articles which appeared in 1828, 1829, and 1830in the " Edinburgh Literary Gazette," from one ofwhich Mrs. Gordon, in her life of her father, has madelengthened extracts. At this time, too, he entered intoa new engagement with Blackwood. Whether he hadbeen influenced by a long letter written by MissWordsworth for Mrs. de Quincey, his decision was inconformity with advice tendered, as will be seen fromthe following extracts:-RYDAL MOUNT, Thursday, November 16th.MY DEAR SIR, -A letter of good tidings respecting Mrs.de Quincey and your family cannot, I am sure, be unwelcome;and besides, she assures me that you will be glad to hear of myEngagements in Edinburgh. 275safe return to Rydal after a nine months' absence. I called atyour cottage yesterday, having first seen your son William atthe head of the schoolboys,—as it might seem a leader of theirnoontide games; and Horace among the tribe, both as healthylooking as the best, and William very much grown. Margaretwas in the kitchen, preparing to follow her brothers to school,and I was pleased to see her also looking stout and well, andmuch grown. Mrs. de Quincey was seated by the fire abovestairs with her baby on her knee. She rose and received mecheerfully, as a person in perfect health, and does indeed seemto have had an extraordinary recovery, and as little suffering ascould be expected. The babe looks as if it would thrive, andis what we call a nice child. ·Mrs. de Quincey seemed on the whole in very good spirits,but, with something of sadness in her manner, she told me youwere not likely very soon to be at home. She then said thatyou had at present some literary employments at Edinburgh,and had, besides, had an offer (or something to this effect) of apermanent engagement, the nature of which she did not know,but that you hesitated about accepting it, as it might necessitate you to settle in Edinburgh. To this I replied, " Why notsettle there, for the time, at least, that this engagement lasts?Lodgings are cheap at Edinburgh, and provisions and coals notdear. Of these facts I had some weeks' experience four yearsago." I then added that it was myfirm opinion that you couldnever regularly keep up to your engagements at a distance fromthe press, and said I, “ Pray tell him so when you write." Shereplied, " Do write yourself. " Now I could not refuse to giveher pleasure by so doing, especially being assured that myletter would not be wholly worthless to you, having suchagreeable news to send of your family.I do not presume to take the liberty of advising the acceptance of this engagement or of that, only I would venture torequest you well to consider the many impediments to literaryemployments to be regularly carried on in limited time at adistance from the press in a small house and in perfect solitude. You must well know that it is a true and faithful concern for your interests and those of your family that promptsine to call your attention to this point; and if you think that276 De Quincey's Life and Writings.I am mistaken, you will not, I am sure, take it ill that I havethus freely expressed my opinion.It gave me great pleasure to hear of your good health andspirits, and you, I am sure, will be glad to have good accountsof all our family, except poor Dora, who has been very ill,indeed,-dangerously ill; but now, thank God, she is gainingground, I hope, daily. Her extreme illness was during myabsence, and I was, therefore, spared great anxiety, for I didnot know of it till she was convalescent. I was, however,greatly shocked by her sickly looks. They improve, however,visibly, and she gains strength and has a good appetite. Whenever weather permits she rides on horseback. My brother'seyes are literally quite well. This surely is a great blessing,and I hope we are sufficiently thankful for it. He reads aloudto us by candlelight, and uses the pen for himself. My poorsister is a little worn by anxiety for Dora, but in other respectslooks as well as usual.I cannot express how happy I am to find myself at homeagain after so long an absence, though my time has passed veryagreeably, and my health been excellent. I have had manyvery long walks since my return, and am more than evercharmed with our rocks and mountains. Rich autumnal tints,with an intermixture of green ones, still linger on the trees.My brother and sister do not know of my writing, otherwise they would send their remembrances.Make my respects to Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Wilson; andbelieve me, dear sir, yours affectionately,P.S.-Excuse a very bad pen and haste.D. WORDSWORTH.1 o'clock, Thursday. I have been at Grasmere, and againseen your wife. She desires me to say that she is particularlyanxious to hear from you on her father's account. The newspaper continues to come directed to my brother, though,sometime since, my brother wrote to request that it mightnot. The new editor, no doubt, however, wished to continuethe connection with you; but we think that it would bemuch better that Mrs. de Quincey should write to order it notto be sent, at least until your return to Grasmere, especiallyas at present you are not likely to contribute anything to thepaper. She agrees with me in thinking it right so to do, andMr. Carlyle's Letter. 277will write to the editor unless you order to the contrary. Perhaps you will write yourself. Pray mention this matter whenyou next write to her.These arrangements it was, probably, that led himshortly after this to bring his elder children, Williamand Margaret, to Edinburgh for the sake of superioreducation. They were taken under charge for a timeby Captain Hamilton (Cyril Thornton) and hiswife, who were unremitting in their kindness andattention.Though in many points De Quincey's habits andfeelings were far removed from those of ordinary men,his love for his children was close and tender. Theywere always in his thoughts; and what added thesharpest sting, when he recalled lost chances andpossibilities thrown away, was the consciousness thatthey might suffer. The thought of them, and of possible privations for them, braced him up to new effortswhen he might have helplessly succumbed. Aftera certain age, as we shall learn by and by, he wasthe sole tutor his sons ever had.Mr. Thomas Carlyle, with that generous interest inwhat is original and excellent which has so honourably distinguished him throughout his long career,had, in common with manyothers, asked after the" Opium-eater " whose contributions had drawn somuch attention to the " London Magazine," and hadmet him, while he was on visits to Edinburgh, atthe houses of Mr. John Gordon and others. Hearingthat De Quincey had come to Edinburgh at thistime, Mr. Carlyle addressed to him the following veryfriendly letter, which we are gratified to have his278 De Quincey's Life and Writings.permission to print in this place; and our readers,we are sure, will agree with us that it would havebeen a public loss had this letter fallen irrecoverably aside:-CRAIGENPUTTOCH, 11th December 1828.MY DEAR SIR,-Having the opportunity of a frank, I cannotresist the temptation to send you a few lines, were it only tosignify that two well-wishers of yours are still alive in theseremote moors, and often thinking of you with the old friendlyfeelings. My wife encourages me in this innocent purpose:she has learned lately that you were inquiring for her of somefemale friend; nay, even promising to visit us here—a fact ofthe most interesting sort to both of us. I am to say, therefore,that your presence at this fireside will diffuse no ordinary gladness over all members of the household; that our warmestwelcome, and such solacements as even the desert does notrefuse, are at any time and at all times in store for one we loveso well. Neither is this expedition so impracticable. We liebut a short way out of your direct route to Westmoreland;communicate by gravelled roads with Dumfries and otherplaces in the habitable globe. Were you to warn us of yourapproach, it might all be made easy enough. And then such atreat it would be to hear the sound of philosophy and literaturein the hitherto quite savage wolds, where since the creation ofthe world no such music, scarcely even articulate speech, hadbeen uttered or dreamed of! Come, therefore, come and seeus; for we often long after you. Nay, I can promise, too, thatwe are almost a unique sight in the British Empire; such aquantity of German periodicals and mystic speculation embosomed in plain Scottish Peat-moor being nowhere else that Iknow of to be met with.In idle hours we sometimes project founding a sort of colonyhere, to be called the " Misanthropic Society; " the settlers allto be men of a certain philosophic depth, and intensely sensibleof the present state of literature; each to have his own cottage,encircled with roses or thistles as he might prefer; a libraryand pantry within, and huge stack of turf-fuel without; fencedoff from his neighbours by fir woods, and, when he pleased, bycast-metal railing, so that each might feel himself strictly anBog" School v." Lake" School. 279individual, and free as a son of the wilderness; but the wholesettlement to meet weekly over coffee, and there unite in theirMiserere, or what were better, hurl forth their defiance, pity,expostulation, over the whole universe, civil, literary, andreligious. I reckon this place a much fitter site for such anestablishment than your Lake Country-a region abounding innatural beauty, but blown on by coach-horns, betrodden bypicturesque tourists, and otherwise exceedingly desecrated bytoo frequent resort; whereas here, though still in communicationwith the manufacturing world, we have a solitude altogetherDruidical-grim hills tenanted chiefly by the wild grouse, tarnsand brooks that have soaked and slumbered unmolested sincethe Deluge of Noah, and nothing to disturb you with speech,except Arcturus and Orion, and the Spirit of Nature, in theheaven and in the earth, as it manifests itself in anger or love,and utters its inexplicable tidings, unheard by the mortal ear.But the misery is the almost total want of colonists! Wouldyou come hither and be king over us; then indeed we hadmade a fair beginning, and the " Bog School " might snap itsfingers at the " Lake School " itself, and hope to be one dayrecognised of all men.But enough of this fooling. Better were it to tell you inplain prose what little can be said of my own welfare, and inquire in the same dialect after yours. It will gratify you tolearn that here, in the desert, as in the crowded city, I ammoderately active and well; better in health, not worse; andthough active only on the small scale, yet in my own opinionhonestly, and to as much result as has been usual with me atany time. We have horses to ride on, gardens to cultivate,tight walls and strong fires to defend us against winter; booksto read, paper to scribble on; and no man or thing, at least inthis visible earth, to make us afraid; for I reckon that sosecurely sequestered are we, not only would no Catholic rebellion, but even no new Hengist and Horsa invasion, in anywise disturb our tranquillity. True, we have no society; butwho has, in the strict sense of that word? I have never hadany worth speaking much about since I came into this world:in the next, it may be, they will order matters better. Meanwhile, if we have not the wheat in great quantity, we are nearlyaltogether free from the chaff, which often in this matter ishighly annoying to weak nerves. Mywife and I are busy learn-280 De Quincey's Life and Writings.ing Spanish; far advanced in Don Quixote already. I purposewriting mystical Reviews for somewhat more than a twelvemonth to come; have Greek to read, and the whole universe tostudy (for I understand less and less of it); so that here as wellas elsewhere I find that a man may " dree his wierd " (serve outhis earthly apprenticeship) with reasonable composure, andwait what the flight of years may bring him, little disappointed(unless he is a fool) if it bring him mere nothing save what hehas already-a body and a soul—more cunning and costly treasures than all Golconda and Potosi could purchase for him.What would the vain worm, man, be at? Has he not a head,to speak of nothing else—a head (be it with a hat or withoutone) full of far richer things than Windsor Palace, or theBrighton Teapot added to it? What are all Dresden picturegalleries and magazines des arts et des métiers to the strangepainting and thrice wonderful and thrice precious workmanshipthat goes on under the cranium of a beggar? What can beadded to him or taken from him by the hatred or love of allmen? The grey paper or the white silk paper in which thegold ingot is wrapped; the gold is inalienable; he is the gold.But truce also to this moralising. I had a thousand things toask concerning you: your employments, purposes, sufferings,and pleasures. Will you not write to me? will you not come tome and tell? Believe it, you are well loved here, and none feelsbetter than I what a spirit is for the present eclipsed in clouds.For the present it can only be; time and chance are for all men;that troublous season will end; and one day with more joyful,not deeper or truer regard, I shall see you “ yourself again."Meanwhile, pardon me this intrusion; and write, if you have avacant hour which you would fill with a good action. Mr.Jeffery is still anxious to know you; has he ever succeeded?We are not to be in Edinburgh, I believe, till spring; but I willsend him a letter to you (with your permission) by the firstconveyance. Remember me with best regards to ProfessorWilson and Sir W. Hamilton, neither of whom must forgetme; not omitting the honest Gordon, who I know willnot.The bearer of this letter is Henry Inglis, a young gentlemanof no ordinary talent and worth, in whom, as I believe, es stecktgar viel. Should he call himself, pray let this be an introduction, for he reverences all spiritual worth, and you also willSettles in Edinburgh. 281learn to love him.-With all friendly sentiments, I am ever, mydear sir, most faithfully yours,T. CARLYLE.Besides the contributions to the " Literary Gazette ”already named, De Quincey wrote for " Blackwood, "about this time, the more important essay titled," Dr. Parr and his Contemporaries; or, Whiggismin its Relations to Literature," one of his mostthoughtful, original, and finished productions. Henever returned to Grasmere, for in 1830 he wasjoined in Edinburgh by Mrs. de Quincey and theyounger children. To a man of De Quincey's sensitive and brooding temperament, to whom placesinevitably became closely associated with the memories of joy and sorrow, it might well befall thatWestmoreland was no longer fitted to be thepleasant home it had been. Friends had passed;and the solitude which he had often sought nowbecame over-populous with ghostly presences. Otherconsiderations, too, which had once been all- powerfulin favour of the Westmoreland domicile and headquarters, had now in some measure ceased to haveforce. Mrs. de Quincey, it may be, had clungto her native vale for reasons other than mere sentimental love of it; she was near to her father andfamily, for one thing; and, when weighing the advantages and disadvantages of separation, at the timeher husband set forth for London, she may have cometo the conclusion that for the sake of the childrenWestmoreland was at least more healthy than London could be; whereas, a removal of all the familythere might only have the effect of hampering andtying her husband to a poverty - stricken, squalid282 De Quincey's Life and Writings.locality. Staying where she was, at cost of muchanxiety and self-denial, would serve two purposes—keep the children in the sweet country air, and preserve a corner to which her husband could retire forrest and change as often as his engagements wouldallow. But such considerations as had weighedagainst a transfer of the family to London ceasedto have force in favour of the maintenance of theWestmoreland home-much prized as it had beenthrough a lifetime when a settlement had beenmade in Edinburgh. Some of his earlier friendsthere had already passed away, or had removed toother places; but there was Wilson in the height ofhis fame, and the circle which he had gathered roundhim had grown. There could be no lack of society;De Quincey was likely to have more of it than hewould either seek or enjoy. The Cottage at Townend, however, was not formally relinquished tillsome time after this.With " Tait's Magazine, " which had been startedin Edinburgh as a kind of Whig or Liberal opponentof " Blackwood, " De Quincey had formed a connection which proved profitable to him in severalways. Though committed politically, the publisher was willing to hold literature, so far, anopen field, and to allow considerable latitude in thatdepartment to the expression of personal opinion.It was in the pages of " Tait, " for the next fifteenyears, that some of his best and most interesting,if less finished, writings found a place. It was atthis time, too, that he wrote the greater portion ofthe story " Klosterheim, " which was published bythe Messrs. Blackwood as an independent volume"Klosterheim." 283in 1832, the only thing in the shape of a novelwhich De Quincey ever attempted, or at all eventsever gave to the world avowedly as such.The scene of " Klosterheim " is laid in Germanyin the time of the Thirty Years' War, when the inrush of the Swedes had disturbed all the ordinaryrelations; when numbers of freebooters foundample verge for their predatory propensities; andminor princes were betrayed into sympathy with theforeigners. Some of these freebooters were actuallyencouraged by the Swedes for their own purposes,and on this point some details of the plot of"Klosterheim " depend. Klosterheim is a universitycity, the seat of the Landgrave of X--, who ruleshis principality more by terror than by anythingelse, having called to his aid a crafty Italian, LuigiAdorni, by whom he is assisted in underhand wilesto outwit the Imperial power. This man, whocovered a temperament of terrific violence with amasque of dissimulation and the most icy reserve,met with no opposition , unless it were occasionallyfrom Father Anselm, the Confessor. He delightedin the refinements of intrigue, and in the most tortuous labyrinths of political manoeuvring, purely fortheir own sakes; and sometimes defeated his ownpurposes by mere superfluity of diplomatic subtlety,which hardly, however, won a momentary concernfrom him in the pleasure he experienced at havingfound an undeniable occasion for equal subtlety, inunweaving his own webs of deception.At the time the story opens , the Klosterheimers arein great excitement concerning the safety of a bandof their fellow- citizens, who are coming from Vieuna284 De Quincey's Life and Writings.•under armed escort. They know that a militaryrobber of ill-repute-Holkerstein-will use all hisart to waylay and to entrap them. In this caravan isthe Lady Paulina, said to be a natural daughter ofthe Emperor; and at a certain point, when the caravan has encamped by the forest, they are joined by" Friends from Klosterheim, " being " a chosenband of volunteers, on whose fidelity they mightentirely depend," to strengthen their escort. Amongstthem is " a young cavalier, magnificent alike in hisperson, dress, and style of his appointments. Hewas superbly mounted, wore the decorations of amajor-general in the Imperial service, and scarcelyneeded the explanations which he gave to exoneratehimself from the suspicion of being a leader ofrobbers under Holkerstein. "This same young officer, Maximilian, had beenknown ever since his student days to have espousedthe cause of the Emperor against that of the Landgrave who, as next heir, had succeeded to a princegreatly beloved, but was himself hated for hiscruelty, and the gloomy austerity of his character.This young officer is now joyously received by Paulina as " Dearest Maximilian, " for she had no hopeof meeting him there. At the chateau of Falkenberg, some eighteen miles from Klosterheim, wherethey rested, Maximilian, after having conversedwith Paulina, and seen her safely to her room forthe night, also retired. This is a fair specimen ofDe Quincey's narrative style:-" The particular room which he selected for hispurpose, on account of its small size, and its warmappearance in other respects, was furnished underA German Fashion.285foot with layers of heavy Turkey carpets, one laidupon another (according to a fashion then prevalentin Germany) , and on the walls with tapestry. Inthis mode of hanging rooms, though sometimesheavy and sombre, there was a warmth sensible andapparent as well as real, which peculiarly fitted itfor winter apartments, and a massy splendour whichaccorded with the style of dress and furniture in thatgorgeous age. One real disadvantage, however, ithad as often employed: it gave a ready concealmentto intruders with evil intentions; and under theprotecting screen of tapestry many a secret had beendiscovered; many robberies facilitated; and somecelebrated murderers had been sheltered, with circ*mstances of mystery that for ever baffled investigation." Maximilian smiled as the sight of the hangings,with their rich colours glowing in the fire-light,brought back to his remembrance one of those taleswhich in the preceding winter had made a greatnoise in Vienna. With a soldier's carelessness , hethought lightly of all dangers that could arise withinfour walls; and, having extinguished the lightswhich burned upon a table, he unbuckled his sabre,and threw himself upon a sofa which he drew nearto the fire; and then enveloping himself in a largehorseman's cloak, he courted the approach of sleep.The fatigues of the day, and of the preceding night,had made this in some measure needful to him. Butweariness is not always the best preface to repose;and the irritation of many busy anxieties continuedfor some time to keep himin a most uneasy state ofvigilance. As he lay, he could see on one side the286 De Quincey's Life and Writings.fantastic figures in the fire composed of wood andturf; on the other side, looking to the tapestry, hesawthe wild forms and the melée, little less fantastic,of human and brute features in a chase- -a boarchase in front, and a stag chase on his left hand.These, as they rose fitfully in bright masses of colourand of savage expression under the lambent flashingof the fire, continued to excite his irritable state offeeling; and it was not for some time that he feltthis uneasy condition give way to exhaustion. He wasat length on the very point of falling asleep, orperhaps had already fallen into its very lightest andearliest stage, when the echo of a distant door awokehim. He had some slight impression that a noisein his own room had concurred with the other andmore distant one to awake him. But, after raisinghimself for a moment on his elbow and listening, heagain resigned himself to sleep."Again, however, and probably before he hadslept a minute, he was roused by a double disturbance. A low rustling was heard in some part of theroom, and a heavy foot upon a neighbouring staircase. Roused at length to the prudence of payingsome attention to sounds so stealthy, in a situationbeset with dangers, he rose and threw open the door.A corridor, which ran round the head of the staircase,was lit up with a brilliant light; and he could command from this station one flight of the stairs. Onthese he saw nothing; all was now wrapt in a softeffulgence of light, and in absolute silence. Nosound recurring after a minute's attention, and indisposed by weariness to any stricter examination,where all examination from one so little acquaintedUneasy Suspicions. 287with the localities might prove unavailing, he returned to his own room; but before again lyingdown, he judged it prudent to probe the concealments of the tapestry by carrying his sabre round,and everywhere pressing the hangings to the wall.In this trial he met with no resistance at any point;and willingly believing that he had been deceived,or that his ear had exaggerated some trivial sound,in a state of imperfect slumber, he again lay downand addressed himself to sleep. Still there wereremembrances which occurred at this moment todisturb him. The readiness with which they hadbeen received at the chateau was in itself suspicious.He remembered the obstinate haunting of theircamp on the preceding night, and the robbery conducted with so much knowledge of circ*mstances.Jonas Melk, the brutal landlord of Waldenhausen,a man known to him by repute (though not personally) as one of the vilest agents employed by theLandgrave, had been actively engaged in his master'sservice at their preceding stage. He was probablyone of those who haunted the wood through thenight. And he had been repeatedly informedthrough the course of the day, that this man in particular, whose features were noticed by the yagers,on occasion of their officer's reproach to him, hadbeen seen at intervals in company with others, keeping a road parallel to their own, and steadily watching their order of advance." These recollections, now laid together, impressedhim with some uneasiness. But overpowering weariness gave him a strong interest in dismissing them..And a soldier, with the images of fifty combats fresh288 De Quincey's Life and Writings.in his mind, does not willingly admit the idea ofdanger from a single arm, and in a situation of household security. Pshaw! he exclaimed, with somedisdain, as these martial remembrances rose up before him, especially as the silence had now continuedundisturbed for a quarter of an hour. In fiveminutes more he had fallen profoundly asleep; andin less than one half hour, as he afterwards judged,he was suddenly awakened by a dagger at his throat." At one bound he sprung upon his feet. Thecloak, in which he had been enveloped, caught uponsome of the buckles or ornamented work of hisappointments, and for a moment embarrassed hismotions. There was no light, except what camefrom the sullen and intermitting gleams of the fire.But even this was sufficient to show him the duskyoutline of two figures. With the foremost he grappled, and, raising him in his arms, threw him powerfully upon the floor, with a force that left himstunned and helpless. The other had endeavouredto pinion his arms from behind; for the bodyarmour, which Maximilian had not laid aside for thenight, under the many anticipations of service whichtheir situation suggested, proved a sufficient protection against the blows of the assassin's poinard.Impatient of the darkness and uncertainty, Maximilian rushed to the door and flung it violently open.The assassin still clung to his arms, conscious thatif he once forfeited his hold until he had secured aretreat, he should be taken at disadvantage. ButMaximilian now drawing a petronel which hung athis belt, co*cked it as rapidly as his embarrassedmotions allowed him. The assassin faltered, con-A Contest. 289scious that a moment's relaxation of grasp wouldenable his antagonist to turn the muzzle over hisshoulder. Maximilian, on the other hand, now perfectly awake, and with the benefit of that self-possession which the other so entirely wanted, felt thenervous tremor in the villain's hands; and profitingby this moment of indecision, made a desperateeffort, released one arm, which he used with so mucheffect as immediately to liberate the other, and thenintercepting the passage to the stairs, wheeled roundupon his murderous enemy , and presenting thepetronel to his breast, bade him surrender his armsif he hoped for quarter."The man was an athletic, and, obviously, a mostpowerful ruffian. On his face he carried more thanone large glazed cicatrix, that assisted the savageexpression of malignity impressed by nature uponhis features. And his matted black hair, with itself- locks, completed the picturesque effect of a face,that proclaimed, in every lineament, a reckless abandonment to cruelty and ferocious passions. Maximilian himself, familiar as he was with the faces ofmilitary butchers in the dreadful hours of sack andcarnage, recoiled for one instant from this hideousruffian, who had not even the palliations of youth inhis favour, for he seemed fifty at the least. All thishad passed in an instant of time; and now, as herecovered himself from his momentary shock at sohateful an expression of evil passions , great wasMaximilian's astonishment to perceive his antagonistapparently speechless , and struggling with someover-mastering sense of horror, that convulsed hisfeatures, and for a moment glazed his eye. ”VOL. I. T290 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Of Klosterheim itself we have this little hint,which also has a close bearing on the plot." There were, in those days, as is well known toGerman antiquaries, few castles or fortresses ofmuch importance in Germany which did not communicate by subterraneous passages with the exterior country. In many instances these passageswere of surprising extent, first emerging to the lightin some secluded spot among rocks or woods, at thedistance of two, three, or even four miles. Therewere cases even in which they were carried belowthe beds of rivers as broad and deep as the Rhine,the Elbe, or the Danube. Sometimes there wereseveral of such communications on different faces ofthe fortress; and sometimes each of these branched,at some distance from the building, into separatearms, opening at intervals widely apart. And theuses of such secret communications with the worldoutside, and beyond a besieging enemy, in a landlike Germany, with its prodigious subdivision ofindependent states and free cities, were far greaterthan they could have been in any one great continuous principality.these passages hadIn Klosterheim they" In many fortified placesexisted from the Middle Ages.had possibly as early an origin; but by this periodit is very probable that the gradual accumulation ofrubbish, through a course of centuries, would haveunfitted them for use, had not the Peasants' War,in the time of Luther's reformation, little more thanone hundred years before, given occasion for theiruse and repair. At that time Klosterheim hadstood a siege, which, from the defect of artillery,1A Secret Passage. 291was at no time formidable in a military sense; butas a blockade, formed suddenly when the citizenswere slenderly furnished with provisions, it wouldcertainly have succeeded, and delivered up the vastwealth of the convents as a spoil to the peasantry,had it not been for one in particular of these subterraneous passages, which, opening on the oppositeside of the little river Iltiss, in a thick bocage,where the enemy had established no posts, furnishedthe means of introducing a continual supply of freshprovisions, to the great triumph of the garrison, andthe utter dismay of the superstitious peasants, wholooked upon the mysterious supply as a providentialbounty to a consecrated cause." So memorable a benefit had given to this onepassage a publicity and an historical importancewhich made all its circ*mstances, and amongst thoseits internal mouth, familiar even to children. Butthis was evidently not the avenue by which Maximilian had escaped into the forest. For it openedexternally on the wrong side of the river, whilsteverybody knew that its domestic opening was inone of the chapels of the schloss; and another circ*mstance equally decisive was, that a long flightof stairs, by which it descended below the bed of theriver, made it impassable to horses."Every attempt, however, failed to trace out themode of egress for the present. By his spies,Adorni doubted not to find it soon; and in themeantime, that as much as possible the attention ofthe public might be abstracted from the travellersand their concerns, a public proclamation was issuedforbidding all resorts of crowds to the walls. These292 De Quincey's Life and Writings.were everywhere dispersed on the ninth; and forthat day were partially obeyed. But there was littlechance that, with any fresh excitement to the popularinterest, they would continue to command respect. "The anxiety for the fate of friends still exposed tothe danger of attack, had risen to the highest pitchat Klosterheim. But it availed not. The caravanwas set upon amidst a dense fog when not far fromthe city. Maximilian, while making the most heroicefforts, was wounded and taken prisoner; while LadyPaulina reached Klosterheim, and was taken incharge by the Abbess. By and by, to the perplexityand the horror of all, the city became haunted by a" Masque, " who appeared for a moment, and as suddenly disappeared; the guards were carried off fromtheir proper stations, and officers of high rank werethreatened. These circ*mstances naturally tendedto develop and to intensify all the superstitious dreadnative to the German mind at that period." Terror and superstitious dread predominatedundoubtedly in the total impression; but the gentlevirtues exhibited by a series of princes, who hadmade this their favourite residence, naturally enoughterminated in mellowing the sternness of such associations into a religious awe, not without its ownpeculiar attractions. But at present, under theharsh and repulsive character of the reigning Prince,everything took a new colour from his ungenialhabits. The superstitious legends, which had soimmemorially peopled the schloss with spectralapparitions, now revived in its earliest strength.Never was Germany more dedicated to superstitionin every shape than at this period. The wild tumul-"The White Lady Agnes." 293tuous times, and the slight tenure upon which allmen held their lives, naturally threw their thoughtsmuch upon the other world; and communicationswith that, or its burthen of secrets, by every varietyof agencies, ghosts, divination, natural magic,palmistry, or astrology, found in every city of theland more encouragement than ever." It cannot, therefore, be surprising that the wellknown apparition of the White Lady (a legend whichaffected Klosterheim through the fortunes of itsLandgraves, no less than several other princelyhouses of Germany, descended from the same original stock), should about this time have been seenin the dusk of the evening at some of the upperwindows in the castle, and once in a lofty gallery ofthe great chapel during the vesper service. This lady,generally known by the name of the White LadyAgnes, or Lady Agnes of Weissemburg, is supposed tohave lived in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, andfrom that time, even to our own days, the currentbelief is , that on the eve of any great crisis of goodor evil fortune impending over the three or fourillustrious houses of Germany which trace theirorigin from her, she makes her appearance in someconspicuous apartment, great baronial hall or chapel,of their several palaces, sweeping along in whiterobes and a voluminous train. Her appearance oflate in the schloss of Klosterheim, confidently believed by the great body of the people, was hailedwith secret pleasure, as forerunning some greatchange in the Landgrave's family,-which was butanother name for better days to themselves, whilstof necessity it menaced some great evil to the Prince294 De Quincey's Life and Writings.himself. Hope, therefore, was predominant in theirprospects, and in the supernatural intimations ofcoming changes;-yet awe and deep religious feelingmingled with their hope. Of chastisem*nt approaching to the Landgrave they felt assured, some dimreligious judgment, like that which brooded overthe house of Edipus, was now at hand, -that wasthe universal impression. His gloomy asceticism oflife seemed to argue secret crimes, -these were to bebrought to light; -for these, and for his recenttyranny, prosperous as it had seemed for a moment,chastisem*nts were now impending; and somethingof the awe which belonged to a prince so markedout for doom and fatal catastrophe, seemed to attachitself to his mansion, -more especially, as it wasthere only that the signs and portents of the comingwoe had revealed themselves in the apparition of theWhite Lady." Under this superstitious impression, many ofthe spectators paused at the entrance of the castle,and lingered in the portal, though presuming thatthe chamber of justice, according to the frank oldusage of Germany, was still open to all comers. Ofthis notion they were speedily disabused by thesudden retreat of the few who had penetrated intothe first antechamber. These persons were harshlyrepelled in a contumelious manner, and read to theastonished citizens another lesson upon the new artsof darkness and concealment, with which the Landgrave found it necessary to accompany his new actsof tyranny. "When a great fête was given in the city, consternation was excited by the intimation that the MasqueThe Masque. 295would appear, -"" that he who ruled by night inKlosterheim could not suppose himself to be excluded from a nocturnal fête given by any person inthat city. " Some citizens affected to laugh becauseAdorni had been thus defied; but he now set himselfthe more resolutely to find means to entrap themysterious stranger." These various incidents had furnished abundantmatter for conversation in Klosterheim, and hadcarried the public expectation to the highest pitchof anxiety, some time before the great eveningarrived. Leisure had been allowed for fear andevery possible anticipation of the wildest characterto unfold themselves. Hope, even, amongst many,was a predominant sensation. Ladies were preparing for hysterics. Cavaliers, besides the swordswhich they wore as regular articles of dress, wereproviding themselves with stilettoes against anysudden rencontre hand to hand, or any unexpectedsurprise. Armourers and furbishers of weaponswere as much in request as the more appropriateartists who minister to such festal occasions. Theseagain were summoned to give their professional aidand attendance to an extent so much out of proportion to their numbers and their natural power ofexertion, that they were harassed beyond all physicalcapacity of endurance, and found their ingenuitymore heavily taxed to find personal substitutesamongst the trades most closely connected withtheir own, than in any of the contrivances whichmore properly fell within the business of their ownart. Tailors, horse-milliners, shoemakers, friseurs ,drapers, mercers, tradesmen of every description,296 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and servants of every class and denomination, weresummoned to a sleepless activity-each in his severalvocation, or in some which he undertook by proxy.Artificers who had escaped on political motives fromNuremburg and other Imperial cities, or from thesack of Magdeburg, now showed their ingenuity,and their readiness to earn the bread of industry;and if Klosterheim resembled a hive in the closepacked condition of its inhabitants, it was now seenthat the resemblance held good hardly less in theindustry which, upon a sufficient excitement, it wasable to develop. But in the midst of all this stir,din, and unprecedented activity, whatever occupation each man found for his thoughts or for hishands in his separate employments, all hearts weremastered by one domineering interest-the approaching collision of the Landgrave, before his assembledcourt, with the mysterious agent who had so longtroubled his repose. "But Adorni's schemes did not succeed. TheMasque was equal to the occasion, and proceeded sofar as to threaten the Landgrave, as he revealed tohim his face, saying, " Landgrave, for crimes yetunrevealed, I summon you in twenty days before atribunal where there is no shield but innocence! "While Paulina, believing that her lover had beenkilled, was mourning over his fate in the convent,she received a letter, evidently in his handwriting,telling her that the Landgrave was scheming toinjure her, and urging her to flee. This she did.Managing to join a party that was to be escorted tosome distance, she became privy to some secretswhich proved to be of service afterwards; but sheDe Quincey as a Novelist. 297found herself, sooner than she had fancied, summoned to a court of criminal justice in the castle ofLorenstein, where she received but scant courtesy.When the twenty days had expired, the Masqueappeared to fulfil his promise-the account of themanner in which he does so being most dramatic.Suffice it to say here, that the Masque is none otherthan Maximilian-the child of the good Landgravewho had been brutally assassinated by the man whosucceeded him; that the Landgrave, though he hadheard much of Maximilian, and his opposition to hisinterests, did not know who he was, and had neverseen his face, which, from its great resemblance tohis father's, so shook his courage, as we have seen, inthat momentary exposure to him. All the personswho had been so mysteriously made away with nowappear-witnesses of the crimes of the Landgrave,who, amid the exclamations of the people, is deposed in favour of the true heir, Maximilian; and theLady Paulina soon reappears at his side to becomeLandgravine amid rejoicings.If the story here and there shows some lack ofvariety, and of relief in dialogue, it is most dramatically conceived, and conveys a vivid idea of the condition of Germany at the opening of the seventeenth century; and it is a masterpiece of style, asour extracts must have shown. De Quincey himself,however, after having made his experiment, was sokeenly alive to its defects, that he would not consentto its forming part of the collected works. But itis worthy of the attention of the student as revealingthe varied capacities of De Quincey's mind, and thehigh position that he might have secured as a298 De Quincey's Life and Writings.novelist, had not other interests taken possession ofhim at those earlier stages of life, when the constructive and inventive powers are most susceptible ofeducation. Though De Quincey never set store by"Klosterheim," a student of his works cannot affordto ignore it; and it has met with such favour, andhas been so highly spoken of by several critics ofrepute, that it would hardly have been right for usto have disposed of it in a summary manner.add here the opinion of one of these critics , premising, however, that we do not concur with his highestimate in every point. We quote his words mainlyfor the sake of the facts which are conveyed in hislast paragraph:--We"From first to last, without pause, break, or digression, the plot is made conducive to a certain dénouement, which the skill of the author has contrived,with great adroitness, so as not to be suspected untilthe very termination of the story. The leading elements and characteristics of fiction-wild adventure,guilt-born terrors, enduring love, and secret mystery,pervade the whole composition, which reads like atrue narrative of actual events, so progressive are theincidents, so complete the vrai-semblance. In somescenes, the limits of the supernatural are reached,and the effect is startling. Into his service he hasimpressed hatred and love, revenge and remorse, fearand courage, mystery and terror; and in the end,in the closing scenes, has freely made use of thatresponse which keeps the reader breathless withexpectation. In the employment of mystery andterror, he awakens recollections of the wonderful artwith which Mrs. Radcliffe extorted science from the""Klosterheim " Dramatised. 299same mighty agents. Like her too, -and she isnamed head of the novelists who used such sciencethough he appeared at times to pass into the supernatural, he never wholly abandons the actual. If heinvolves the characters in a cloud of mystery, hedoes not fail to dissipate it at the proper crisis withthe ingenuity of a master of the art."" Klosterheim, ' as a literary composition, iswritten in De Quincey's best style. Its language isfull of concentration, and the story is never onceimpeded by the digressions, which his warmest admirers admit constitute the defective points in someof his subsequent writings. Another striking featurein Klosterheim ' is its truly dramatic charactera feature so observable, indeed, that the story wassimultaneously dramatised for two of the Londontheatres, and performed during the greater part ofthe season with success. The melodramatic characterof the story rendered it so readily applicable, that,with the exception of introducing a slight underplot,no material alteration was made by the playwrights. ""Klosterheim, " at all events, has for us a distinctbiographical interest. It was written-certainly agreat part of it was written-amidst grief andloneliness. Perhaps, in De Quincey's case, as inother cases on record, the preoccupation of the mind,in following the fate of imaginary characters, wasfound to be the most efficient anodyne. Viewedin this aspect, the work will take on a new autobiographic value to any one who wishes to followthe history of De Quincey's mind, and to find pointsof sympathy with it sufficient to justify a reallyimpartial judgment on such a work.CHAPTER XIV.RESIDENce in edDINBURGH.E QUINCEY'S literary interests, we maysay, now centred completely in Edinburgh.In 1832-34, " Blackwood" was brightenedby the series on the Cæsars; and articles onHannah More and Animal Magnetism, a subjectwhich was then causing some stir, followed them.In 1834, the autobiographic sketches began to appear in " Tait's Magazine. " His reputation was suchthat editors were willing to pay him extra prices;but his powers of production were not of the steadyand equable kind which can be depended on fora regular supply of marketable material. Besides,he was always fastidious, and found it very difficultto please himself. At this time, as at his first adventure into the literary field in London, he frequently remodelled and re-wrote an article severaltimes over, before he could bring it up to what heregarded as a passable point. He was, in his ownway, conscientious in the extreme. If he did notfall readily into what is called the " popular style,”he respected his own ideal, and many a half-finishedarticle saw its way to the brilliant ordeal of the fireSara Coleridge's Acknowledgments. 301in these days. The autobiographic articles in " Tait, "pervaded as they were by a strong vein of the personalelement, balanced so to speak by a strong desire togive a wholly disinterested view of the most distinguished people he had met, were not in every instance admired. The friends of Wordsworth andthe family of Coleridge were both offended, andinclined to make representations and retaliate; butthe odd thing was, that neither could disguise acertain pride in the fact that a man of such highauthority should, with his acuteness and discrimination, unqualifiedly praise the genius of the men,whatever faults he may have detected and set forthas having existed in their characters. Sara Coleridge,for instance, wrote to a friend on the subject of DeQuincey's treatment of her father, and, after sayinghow offended the family were with certain littlepersonal allusions, she naively goes on to confess: -" He has characterised my father's genius andpeculiar mode of discourse with great eloquence anddiscrimination. He speaks of him as possessing'the most spacious intellect, the subtlest and the mostcomprehensive ' (in his judgment) that ever existedamongst men. Whatever may be decided by the worldin general upon this point, it is one which, fromlearning and ability, he is well qualified to discuss.I cannot believe that he had any enmity to my father,indeed he often speaks of his kindness of heart. "And again, in the " Biographia Literaria " (ii. pp.408, 409) we find this record:-" Of all the censors of Mr. Coleridge, Mr. deQuincey is the one whose remarks are the mostworthy of attention; those of the rest in general302 De Quincey's Life and Writings.are but views taken from a distance, and filled upby conjecture, views taken through a medium, sothick with opinion, even if not clouded with vanityand self- love, that it resembles a horn more thanglass or the transpicuous air. The Opium-Eater, ashe has called himself, had sufficient inward sympathy with the subject of his criticism to be capablein some degree of beholding his mind, as it actuallyexisted, in all the intermingling shades of individualreality; and in few minds have these shades beenmore subtly intermingled than in my father's."Most readers at this date will, we think, be inclined to say that Miss Mitford speaks with singularimpartiality and good judgment when she writesthus:-" The truth and life of these Lake sketchesis something wonderful. Of course, the blind worshippers of Wordsworth quarrel with him, but thereis quite enough left to praise and admire in the bardof The Excursion ' after accepting Mr. de Quincey'sportrait. "" Tait's Magazine, " with which, as has been said,his connection continued for upwards of a dozen years,was the main source of his income for that period;and any curious student will find in the volumesfor these years various shorter articles which havenot been deemed worthy of reprinting, but whichare for the most part richly characteristic.This period, which may be regarded as singularlysuccessful, in a literary point of view, was markedby repeated domestic bereavements, which had theirown influence on De Quincey's mind and character.Julius, his youngest son, an attractive child of fouryears of age, on whom he doted, suddenly died ofDomestic Bereavements. 303fever in 1833. Then his eldest son, William, abrilliant and beautiful youth, not eighteen, " whosescholarship and eagerness for learning," says Mrs.Baird Smith, " astonished even my father, who washis sole tutor, " passed away in 1835, from a painfuland obscure disease of the brain. Mrs. de Quincey'shealth failed rapidly after her son William's death.She died in 1837, in Edinburgh, and was buried inthe West Kirkyard beside her children.In spite of much in her husband's habits fitted inmany ways to ruffle the current of domestic happiness, their life had been beyond most bright andcheerful, full of the patient confidence that trueaffection only can sustain. The loss of one who hadproved so faithful a helpmeet was a heavy blow to DeQuincey, and disinclined though he was to allow themere facts of biography to steal into his sketches ,we have seen how he has enshrined that memory inwords as touching and suggestive as anything in theEnglish language." Looking back to that time, when I was a merechild," Mrs. Baird Smith writes, " I yet seem tosee that his mind was unhinged by these sorrows,and the overwhelming thought of being left with afamily of such differing ages and needs, and withno female relative at hand to help him, as even hiseldest daughter was then so young that she musthave seemed to him, as she did to others, herselfmost needing a mother's care. But her charactersoon so developed as to leave him no anxiety on thisground, for she became the able and upright mistressof the household almost immediately, and her andher next brother's wise resolution it was-the two304 De Quincey's Life and Writings.being still little beyond childhood-which removedthe family from the expensive and undesirable life of atownto the quiet and wholesome little homenear Lasswade, she sacrificing much personal enjoyment andcompanionship at the time to secure what she felt tobe for the honour of the family-the power to livewithin our small means. "In the introduction to a series of " Letters froma Modern Author to his Daughters on the usefulLimits of Literature considered as a Study forFemales "-a work which unfortunately exists onlyin an unavailable fragmentary condition-he thusrefers pathetically to these trials: —You have been in some measure a witness to the fortitudewith which I have borne these later calamities. True it isthat we, who see most of each other, nearest relations united inthe same household, see but little of that inner world, thatworld of secret self- consciousness, in which each of us lives asecond life apart and with himself alone, collateral to hisother life, or life which he lives in common with others. Thatis a world in which every man, the very meanest, is a solitarypresence, and cannot admit the fellowship even of that oneamongst all his fellow-creatures whom he loves the most andperhaps regards as his other self. But allowing for this impossibility of following me into these secret haunts of feeling—privileged recesses for all human beings alike—you have in otherrespects seen the silence and tranquillity with which I havesupported losses the heaviest by which I could have beenassailed-wounds applied, as if with premeditating skill, exactlyto those points in which chiefly I was vulnerable. I will trustmyself to notice particularly only one case. Your eldest brother,myfirst-born child, the crown and glory of my life, died * nearly

• Of a complaint affecting the brain, and so far anomalous

that a long and elaborate account of it was thought requisite,and was drawn up and published by the learned and very ablephysician Dr. Balfour, who chiefly watched its progress.The Loss ofhis Eldest Son. 305upon his eighteenth birthday. Upon him I had exhausted allthat care and hourly companionship could do for the cultureof an intellect, in all stages of his life, somewhat premature.And the result was such, so far beyond what I had even hopedfor, that I was advised (and at one time I entertained theadvice) to publish a little memorial account of him and hisaccomplishments. In this I could at least have shown, inproof of his classical attainments, not merely an Etonian skillin the management of Greek metres, but, in one instance atleast, in a commentary which he had composed at sixteen uponSuetonius, that he had dealt successfully with some difficultiesthat had baffled both Casaubon and Joseph Scaliger. Some ofthese, indeed, I shall yet take an opportunity of publishing; notso much by way of trophy to him, as for the real light theybring to the text of that author. But from the scheme of amemoir my heart retreated under the hopelessness that I couldraise any echo to the feelings which moved there by the faintexhibition of a few glittering accomplishments-accomplishments possessed in common with many of every generation forthe last two centuries, who, each in his turn, has been honouredby tributes which brightened their memories with some fugitiveeffect, have had their names murmured over with a sound continually decaying through a few brief months, and then haveall alike sunk into everlasting silence and forgetfulness. Suchrecords are tolerated out of pity for the anguish of wounds yetraw and bleeding; but rarely do they gather in their train anygenuine accompaniments of sympathy: nor is praise, after all,and the language of honour, any balm to real sorrow: love only,the love which feels a loss, and not for a loss, is the one soleconsolation which penetrates to the heart of those who weep insecret for the vanished faces of their household.Under this loss, which (as I have said) cut away from me thevery glory of my life, you can bear me witness that I have nototherwise shown any alteration in habits of feeling than bystudy and literary labours far more intense. I believe that inthe course of any one month since that unhappy day I have putforth more effort in the way of thought, of research, and ofcomposition, than in any five months together selected frommy previous life. Thus at least (if no other good end has beenattained) I have been able to instruct my surviving children inthe knowledge that grief may be supported, and howit may be VOL. I. τ306 De Quincey's Life and Writings.supported. Energy of thought, and the determinate application of the mind to themes able to absorb its entire capacity offeeling these, with a spirit of unmurmuring resignation, areequal to the task of suspending daily for hours, turning aside,and charming into slumber, the most heart-gnawing affliction.From 1830 till the year 1834 he had lived withhis family, either in King Street or Forres Street,or at Duddingstone; but after the death of his wifehe found, or fancied he found, that the children,relieved from her wise restraint and control, were toomuch for him. They were noisy, and inclined tointrude on him in his study, and he therefore tookodgings in another portion of the town; in 1838 ,settling at 42 Lothian Street (the same house he diedin) , which was then kept by the same people, Mrs.Wilson and her sister Miss Stark. The latter tellsthat on De Quincey's first night there, ProfessorWilson, not having heard of his advent, chancingto call on a Professor Aitken who was in the house,was delighted to meet two friends instead of one;and she adds, that "the three learned men had astrong cup of coffee that night, and sat and talkedtill it was late. " This he only quitted to accompany his daughters to Lasswade in 1840. Out ofmany records of these years, in the shape of friendlyletters to the Misses Miller, daughters of MajorMiller of Dalswinton, and others, the following maybe given here:-Saturday Morning, May 26, 1837.MY DEAR MISS JESSIE,-In some beautiful verses where thewriter has occasion to speak of festivals, household or national,that revolve annually, I recollect at this moment from hisdescription one line to this effect-"Remembered half the year and hoped the rest. "Thus Christmas, suppose, is a subject for memory until mid-Remembrance and Hope.66307summer, after which it becomes a subject for hope, because themind ceases to haunt the image of the past festival in a dawninganticipation of another that is daily drawing nearer. 'Well,"I hear you say, "a very pretty sentimental opening for a noteaddressed to a lady! but what is the moral of it? "The moral, my dear Miss Jessie, is this—that I, soul- sick ofendless writing, look back continually with sorrowful remembrances to the happy interval which I spent under your roof;and next after that, I regret those insulated evenings (scatteredhere and there) which, with a troubled pleasure-pleasureanxious and boding-I have passed beneath the soft splendoursof your lamps since I was obliged to quit the quiet haven ofyour house. Sorrowful, I say, these remembrances are, andmust be by contrast with my present gloomy solitude; and ifthey ever cease to be sorrowful, it is when some new evening tobe spent underneath the same lamps comes within view. Thatwhich is remembered only suddenly puts on the blossoming ofhope, and wears the vernal dress of a happiness to come, insteadof the sad autumnal dress of happiness that has vanished.Is this sentimental? Be it so; but then also it is intenselytrue; and sentimentality cannot avail to vitiate truth; on thecontrary, truth avails to dignify and exalt the sentimental.But why breathe forth these feelings, sentimental or not, precisely on this vulgar Saturday? ( for Saturday is a day radicallyvulgar to my mind, incurably sacred to the genius of marketing, and hostile to the sentimental in any shape). "Why? "you persist in asking. Simply because, if this is Saturday, ithappens that to-morrow is Sunday; and on a Sunday nightonly, if even then, I can now approach you without danger.And what I fear is-that you, so strict in your religious observances, will be dedicating to some evening lecture, or charitysermon, or missionary meeting, that time which might be spentin Duncan Street, and perhaps-pardon me for saying so-moreprofitably. " How so? " Why because, by attending the missionary meeting, for example, you will, after all, scarcely contributethe7th, or even the 70th, share to the conversion of some NewZealander or feather- cinctured prince of Owhyee. Whereas now, onthe other hand, by vouchsafing your presence to Duncan Street,you will give-and not to an unbaptized infidel, who can neverthank you, but to a son of the Cross, who will thank you fromthe very centre of his heart-a happiness like that I spoke of as308 De Quincey's Life and Writings.belonging to recurring festivals, furnishing a subject for memorythrough one half of the succeeding interval, and for hope throughthe other.Florence was with me yesterday morning, and again throughout the evening; and, by the way, dressed in your present.Perhaps she may see you before I do, and may tell you that Ihave been for some time occupied at intervals in writing somememorial " Lines for a Cenotaph to Major Miller of the HorseGuards Blue," and towards which I want some informationfrom you. The lines are about thirty-six in number; too many,you will say, for an epitaph. Yes, if they were meant for thereal place of burial; but these, for the very purpose ofevading that restriction, are designed for a cenotaph, to whichsituation a more unlimited privilege in that respect is usuallyconceded.It is probably to a period not much later thanthis that Mr. Hill Burton refers in his unique sketchof De Quincey, under the thin disguise of " Papaverius," in " The Bookhunter," from which he willno doubt permit us to make a few extracts here:-" The next slide of the lantern is to represent aquite peculiar and abnormal case. It introduces astrangely fragile, unsubstantial, and puerile figure,wherein, however, resided one of the most potentand original spirits that ever frequented a tenementof clay. . . . The first impression, that a boy hasappeared, vanishes instantly. Though in one of thesweetest and most genial of his essays he shows howevery man retains so much in him of the child heoriginally was—and he himself retained a great dealof his primitive simplicity-it was buried within thedepths of his heart-not visible externally. On thecontrary, on one occasion, when he corrected anerroneous reference to an event as being a centuryold, by saying that he recollected its occurrence, oneSentences Exquisitely Joined. 309felt almost a surprise at the necessary limitation inhis age-so old did he appear, with his arched browloaded with thought, and the countless little wrinkleswhich engrained his skin, gathering thickly roundthe curiously expressive and subtle lips. These lipsare speedily opened by some casual remark, and presently the flood of talk passes forth from them, free,clear, and continuous, never rising into declamation, never losing a certain mellow earnestness , andall consisting of sentences as exquisitely joined together as if they were destined to challenge thecriticism of the remotest posterity. Still the hoursstride over each other, and still flows ou the streamof gentle rhetoric, as if it were labitur et labetur inomne volubilis ævum. It is now far into the night,and slight hints and suggestions are propagatedabout separation and home-going. The topic startsnew ideas on the progress of civilisation, the effectof habit on men in all ages, and the power of thedomestic affections. Descending from the general tothe special, he could testify to the inconvenience oflate hours; for was it not the other night that,coming to what was, or what he believed to be, hisown door, he knocked, and knocked, but the oldwoman within either couldn't or wouldn't hear him;so he scrambled over a wall, and having taken hisrepose in a furrow, was able to testify to the extremeunpleasantness of such a couch. The predial groovemight indeed nourish kindly the infant seeds andshoots of the peculiar vegetable to which it was appropriated, but was not a comfortable place of reposefor adult man.310 De Quincey's Life and Writings." Suppose the scene changed to a pleasant countryhouse, where the enlivening talk has made a guestforget-'The lang Scots miles,The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles 'that lie between him and his place of rest. Hemust be instructed in his course, but the instruction reveals more difficulties than it removes, andthere is much doubt and discussion which Papaverius at once clears up, as effectually as he had everdispersed a cloud of logical sophisms; and this timethe feat is performed by a stroke of the thoroughlypractical, which looks like inspiration-he will accompany the forlorn traveller and lead him through thedifficulties of the way-for have not midnight wanderings and musings made him familiar with all itsintricacies? Roofed by a huge wide-awake whichmakes his tiny figure look like the stalk of somegreat fungus, and with a lantern of more than commondimensions in his hand, away he goes down thewooded path, up the steep bank, along the brawlingstream, and across the waterfall-and ever as hegoes there comes from him a continued stream oftalk concerning the philosophy of Immanuel Kant,and other kindred matters. Surely, if we two wereto be seen by any human eyes, it must have beensupposed that some gnome, or troll, or kelpie wasluring the listener to his doom. The worst of suchaffairs as this was the consciousness that, when left,he would continue walking on until, weariness overcoming him, he would take his rest wherever thathappened, like some poor mendicant. He used todenounce, with his most fervent eloquence, thatc*mstances.Pecuniary Responsibility. 311barbarous and brutal provision of the law of England, which rendered sleeping in the open air an actof vagrancy, and so punishable, if the sleeper couldnot give a satisfactory account of himself-a thingwhich Papaverius could never give under any cirAfter all, I fear this is an attempt todescribe the indescribable. It was the commonest ofsayings when any of his friends were mentioning toeach other ' his last,' and creating mutual shrugsof astonishment, that, were we to attempt to tell allabout him, no man could believe it, so separatewould the whole . be from all the normal conditionsof human nature." Those who knew him a little, might call him aloose man in money-matters; those who knew himcloser, laughed at the idea of coupling any notionof pecuniary or other like responsibility with hisnature. You might as well attack the character ofthe nightingale, which may have nipped up your fivepound note and torn it to shreds to serve as nestbuilding material. Only immediate craving necessities could ever extract from him an acknowledgment of the common vulgar agencies by which mensubsist in civilised society; and only while thenecessity lasted did the acknowledgment exist.Take just one example, which will render this clearerthan any generalities. He arrives late at a friend'sdoor, and on gaining admission-a process in whichhe often endured impediments-he represents, withhis usual silver voice and measured rhetoric, theabsolute necessity ofhis being then and there investedwith a sum of money in the current coin of the realm312 De Quincey's Life and Writings.-the amount limited, from the nature of his necessities which he very freely states, to 7s. 6d. Discovering, or fancying he discovers, signs that hiseloquence is likely to be unproductive, he is fortunately reminded that, should there be any difficultyin connection with security for the repayment of theloan, he is at that moment in possession of a document, which he is prepared to deposit with thelender-a document calculated, he cannot doubt, toremove any feeling of anxiety which the most prudentperson could experience in the circ*mstances. Aftera rummage in his pockets, which develops miscellaneous and varied, but as yet by no means valuablepossessions, he at last comes to the object of hissearch, a crumpled bit of paper, and spreads it out—a fifty-pound bank-note! The friend , who knewhimwell, was of opinion that, had he, on delivering over the7s. 6d. , received the bank-note, he never would haveheard anything more of the transaction from theother party. It was also his opinion that, beforecoming to a personal friend, the owner of the notehad made several efforts to raise money on it amongpersons who might take a purely business view ofsuch transactions; but the lateness of the hour, andsomething in the appearance of the thing altogether,had induced these mercenaries to forget their cunning,and decline the transaction." He stretched till it broke the proverb that ' to givequickly is as good as to give twice. ' His giving wasquick enough on the rare occasions when he hadwherewithal to give, but then the act was final , andcould not be repeated. If he suffered in his ownperson from this peculiarity, he suffered still moreThe Bookhunter's Pursuit.313in his sympathies, for he was full of them to allbreathing creatures, and, like poor Goldie, it wasagony to him to hear the beggar's cry of distress ,and to hear it without the means of assuaging it,though in a departed fifty pounds there were doubtless the elements for appeasing many a street wail.All sums of money were measured to him through thecommon standard of immediate use. Not for himwere the common enjoyments and excitements of thebookhunter's pursuit. He cared not to add volumeto volume, and heap up the relics of the printingpress. All the external niceties about pet editions,peculiarities of binding, or of printing rarity itself,were no more to him than to the Arab or the Hottentot. His pursuit, indeed, was like that of thesavage who seeks but to appease the hunger of themoment. If he catch a prey just sufficient for hisdesires, it is well; yet he will not hesitate to bringdown the elk or the buffalo, and, satiating himselfwith the choicest delicacies , abandon the bulk of thecarcase to the wolves or the vultures. So of Papaverius. If his intellectual appetite were craving aftersome passage in the Edipus, ' or in the Medeia,'or in ' Plato's Republic, ' he would be quite contentedwith the most tattered and valueless fragment of thevolume if it contained what he wanted; but, on theother hand, he would not hesitate to seize upon yourtall copy in Russia-gilt and tooled; nor would theexemption of an editio princeps from everydaysordid work restrain his sacrilegious hands. If itshould contain the thing he desires to see, what is tohinder him from wrenching out the twentieth volumeof your Encyclopædia Methodique, ' or ' Ersch '314 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and Gruber,' leaving a vacancy like an extractedfront tooth, and carrying it off to his den of Cacus?If you should mention the matter to any vulgarminded acquaintance given to the unhallowed practice of jeering, he would probably touch his nose withhis extended palm and say, ' Don't you wish youmay get it? True, the world has gained a brilliant essay on Euripides or Plato; but what is thatto the rightful owner of the lost sheep?"The learned world may very fairly be divided intothose who return the books borrowed by them, andthose who do not. Papaverius decidedly belongedto the latter order. A friend addicted to the marvellous boasts that, under the pressure of a call by apublic library to replace a mutilated book by a newcopy which would have cost £30, he recovered avolume from Papaverius, through the agency of aperson specially bribed and authorised to take anymeasures—insolence and violence excepted; but thepower of extraction that must have been employed insuch a process excites very painful reflections. Somelegend, too, there is of a book-creditor having forcedhis way into the Cacus den, and there seen asort of rubble-work inner wall of volumes withtheir edges outwards, while others, bound andunbound-the plebeian sheepskin and the aristocraticRussian-were squeezed into certain tubs drawn fromthe washing establishment of a confiding landlady.In other instances the book has been recognised atlarge, greatly enhanced in value by a profuse edgingof manuscript notes from a gifted pen-a phenomenoncalculated to bring into practical use the speculationsof the civilians about pictures painted on other people'sNever ate a Good Dinner.315panels. What became of all his waifs and strays,it would be well not to inquire too curiously. If heran short of legitimate tabula rasa to write on, do youthink he would hesitate to tear out the most convenient leaves of any broad-margined book, whetherbelonging to himself or another? Nay, it is said heonce gave in copy written on the edges of a talloctavo Somnium Scipionis; and, as he did not obliterate the original matter, the printer was ratherpuzzled, and made a funny jumble between the letterpress Latin and the manuscript English. All thesethings were the types of an intellectual vitality whichdespised and thrust aside all that was gross ormaterial in that wherewith it came in contact. Surely,never did the austerities of monk or anchorite soentirely cast all these away as his peculiar natureremoved them from him. It may be questioned ifhe ever knew what it was to eat a good dinner, ' orcould even comprehend the nature of such a felicity.Yet in all the sensuous nerves which connect as itwere the body with the ideal, he was painfully susceptible. Hence a false quantity or a wrong note inmusic was an agony to him; and it is rememberedwith what ludicrous solemnity he apostrophised hisunhappy fate as one over whom a cloud of the darkestdespair had just been drawn. A peaco*ck had cometo live within hearing distance from him, and notonly the terrific yells of the accursed biped piercedhim to the soul, but the continued terror of theirrecurrence kept his nerves in agonising tension duringthe intervals of silence. Peace be with his gentle

• Just. ii. 2, 34.

316 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and kindly spirit, now for sometime separated fromits grotesque and humble tenement of clay! It isboth right and pleasant to say that the characteristicshere spoken of were not those of his latter days. Inthese he was tended by affectionate hands; and Ihave always thought it a wonderful instance of thepower of domestic and filial management that,through the ministrations of a devoted offspring,this strange being was so cared for, that those whocame in contact with him then, and then only, mighthave admired him as the patriarchal head of anagreeable and elegant household. "The years 1837-40 were particularly busy and productive years. In addition to the articles on the" Essenes," which showed immense research, andthe power of penetrating beyond masses of detail tothe essential purport of remote social movements, andthe articles on " Style," which appeared in " Blackwood " in 1840-41 , and those on " Homer and theHomerida " which speedily followed them-De Quincey continued his " Reminiscences " in " Tait, " andalso wrote several of the biographies for the " Encyclopædia Britannica. " The most notable of these wasthat on Shakespeare. Here, in the absence of clearhistoric fact, he showed in a higher degree than hasprobably been attained by any other Englishman-certainly than by any of his own contemporaries—the power of literary restoration, a power which maybe said to correspond to the gift of the comparativeanatomist. De Quincey, in spite of the cloud thatrests on large spaces in the life of the " Gentle Will, "wrote a very clear and complete biography, which hashardly been displaced by later efforts, though researchLife of Shakespeare. 317has since then been busy, and has achieved much. Ofthis essay, which appeared in 1840, we find a writerin " Fraser's Magazine, " for July 1841, thus takingoccasion to recount his meetings with De Quincey,though professedly concerned only with the " NewLife of Shakespeare: ""We have ourselves read all the lives of Shakespeare that we could buy, borrow, or steal; and inthe most operose, as in the most frivolous, we havealways met with something to interest or amuse.The last that has fallen into our hands is one by thatcuriously meditative and subtle spirit, Thomas deQuincey, who has thrust an admirable and ingeniousmemoir into a grave and ponderous work, the ' Encyclopædia Britannica, ' where it shines amongtreatises on the senses, serpents, and shipbuilding.The Opium-Eater must be a new man. The dreamylanguor of his former state seems to have passedaway; and he is as alert and vigorous, and as zealousin his researches and investigations , as if he had allhis life, like Milton, risen at the crowing of theco*ck, and been unconscious of the black bottle thatgraced his table through the long hours of midnightamong the wilds of Westmoreland. We rememberonce passing a night with this most eloquent dissertator and conversationalist. The winds, keen andcutting as a scythe, swept the North Bridge ofEdinburgh; but snugly seated in the Rainbow, webade defiance to its blasts. Hour after hour glidedon the stream of talk, welling out from the capacious, overflowing cells of Thought and Memory, thata single word, a hint, or token could stir and agitate.De Quincey seemed to live in the past, and the past318 De Quincey's Life and Writings.1has few such admirers or painters. When fullykindled up and warmed on his subject, his wholetalk is poetry; and his slight, attenuated frame,pale countenance, and massive forehead, with thesingular sweetness and melody of his voice andlanguage, impress one as if a voice from the deadfrom some old man eloquent '—had risen to tell usof the hidden world of thought, and imagination,and knowledge." No plant that grows on mortal soil,Nor in the glistering foilSet off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies.'" This is to exhibit the Opium-Eater in his bestvein, and the picture is not overcharged. From sucha source we expected an interesting sketch of Shakespeare's life-some ingenious speculation and philosophising, a little wayward criticism or captiousobservation, as the wind might sit and we havenot been disappointed. About twenty close-printed,double-columned quarto pages has Mr. de Quinceypresented to his readers on the subject of Shakespeare,running up his story even from his boyish days, anddescanting on every salient point and prominent circ*mstance in that brief but glorious life. The narrative of course is merely a few facts-a slenderthread on which to hang a string of pearls. "By this time, too, De Quincey was at work on his" Logic of Political Economy, " which shows anaspect in which prima facie one would scarcely haveexpected him to figure as an expert.CHAPTER XV.LASSWADE.T was in 1840 that the family were transferred to Mavis Bush, a neat little cottagenear Lasswade, which was leased for aperiod of years. It was pleasantly situated near theriver Esk, and being within a few miles of Edinburgh, presented the attraction of a retreat withoutthe sense of banishment from such intellectual societyas he cared for.It needs, however, to be frankly admitted that thesense of depression which, in spite of this pleasantchange of residence, had at intervals continued tooppress him for many years after the death of hiswife, had led to deeper relapses into opium than hehad known between 1827 and 1837. Not seldom hismisery was very great, in the mingled impotenceto produce marketable work, and the sense ofburdens with which he felt himself unable to cope.Places soon came to exercise an indescribable influence over him, as suggesting painful associations.This must be taken in some measure to account forhis frequent changes of lodgings, and his occasional·320 De Quincey's Life and Writings.escapes, sometimes for weeks, to the houses offriends-friends who could for the most part allowfor his eccentric ways in admiration of his genius,his eloquence, and the finer points in his personalcharacter. Amongst these were Professor Wilson,Mr. Hill Burton, Professor Lushington, and Professor J. P. Nichol, the well-known astronomer,with whom-as any one will believe who remembersthe article on Lord Rosse's telescopes-De Quinceywas able to discuss the most abstruse ideas arisingout of the more recent facts of astronomical research.Many a conversation took place at the tables of thesethree gentlemen (in which De Quincey was a leadingvoice) , which as well deserved preservation as mosttable-talk that has been more prized, and privilegedwith preservation in print: but De Quincey had noBoswell.It was mainly on account of his interest inastronomical researches that, in 1841-43, he madea stay in Glasgow, in order that he might profit byconverse with his friend, Professor J. P. Nichol, atthe Observatory. He stayed for a short time withProfessor Nichol in the old College, and then for afew weeks with Professor Lushington, immediatelyafter that taking lodgings, first in the High Street,opposite the College, and afterwards at 79 RenfieldStreet, which lodgings (though during the yearsthat intervened between his visits to Glasgow andwhen he resided with his daughters at Lasswade henever used them) were faithfully paid for till theyear 1847, as here also were the inevitable gatherings of books, and papers, to which, as though theycould not be moved, he must have recourse whenGlasgow.321special circ*mstances arose to make reference necessary to anything in the piles there gathered. Hispower of managing amidst such heaps of booksand papers was so dependent on arrangementsmarked by local position alone, that we can alittle understand this peculiarity of his with respectto these gatherings, and his terror lest anythingshould be disturbed-a terror that led him to haveat least four separate sets of lodgings , all beingpaid for at one time. It will thus readily beunderstood that necessities would arise for hissometimes going to Glasgow, as we find that hedid-being there for the most part from March1841 to June 1843 , and again in 1847 fromJanuary to the end of October. He may havepaid visits during the period between these moresettled residences; but in 1845 we can find recordof only one hurried visit in the end of October ofthat year, when he reached Glasgow the one dayand left it the next. At all events, he certainlydid not, after 1841 , reside for any lengthened periodwith Professor Nichol. From other evidence, itis apparent that in 1845 he was much occupied inpreparing his son, Francis, who had up till thistime been a clerk in a mercantile house, to pass aLatin examination preliminary to entrance on medical studies; and he was with this object in Edinburgh, near the College. In 1843, and again in1847, he was writing for a Glasgow newspaperwhich is not now in existence.The following note to his son Francis, then still inManchester, may be read with interest, both on account of the subject and the manner of treating it:—VOL. I. X322 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Monday, August 8, 1842.MY DEAR FRANCIS, -I received your letter yesterday, sixdays after its date. This-the delay, I mean-arose, of course,from its circuitous route through Lasswade. That letter Iwill answer fully in a few days. Meantime, in this I reply toa former letter, in which you mentioned that you had read withpleasure the too famous " Letters of Junius." It was right,perhaps, that you should feel some pleasure in an authorshrewd, caustic, sometimes even brilliant, and always happyin retort or stinging sarcasm . And for a young person, without much experience or power of comparing his sense ofpleasure with any settled standard (which is slow to formitself in the mind) , very often it is difficult in a high degreeto ascertain how much he really has been pleased. Assuredfrom without that he ought to have been pleased, too often hefancies that he was, and abides by that belief as a fixed persuasion; though, left to himself, and unbiassed by any strongpreconception of merit in the author, very possibly he mighthave found nothing but what was wearisome.Without discussing too anxiously the real merits of Juniusas a master of composition, let me tell you one secret about himwhich accounts for his high reputation through so manyyears after his personalities must have become obsolete; forconsider:-One generation succeeding to his own even withinthe eighteenth century, much more a second generation in thisnineteenth century, what could they know or care about SirW. Draper, the Dukes of Bedford and of Grafton, or LordMansfield as the Chief Justice of England? This, you will say,tells in favour of Junius; for if he continued to please and todazzle after he could no longer be supposed much indebtedto his slanderous insinuations and his felicitous personalities,if he soared buoyantly through two generations of men whenthose Icarian wings had melted away,-surely this argues somedeep intrinsic merit, potent enough to survive all casual andmomentary attractions from illegitimate sources. True, itargues such a merit no doubt; but too powerfully. You haveheard of arguments " proving too much; " this is one of sucharguments; and it well illustrates what is meant by proving toomuch. It is when the inference, to which the argument tends,would turn out too weighty for the case itself to support." Is this your trunk, sir? this very splendid- looking trunk? ""Junius."323"Oh yes, porter, it is mine; I brought it yesterday in this cab. ""I am afraid not, sir; for, when I try to lift it, I begin to perceive that it would crush your cab." In the case of Junius, wereit at all true that some solid merit of a permanent kind hadavailed to compensate the gradual decay of his transientsarcasms, and to operate as a substitute, that merit must beexcessive; and, therefore, the more easy it would be to assignit, to name it, or to describe it. For it must be a merit notonly qualified to supply the gradual dropping away of personalities once racy and stimulant to the palate of every manfamiliar with public life (every man, for instance, at thefirst publication of the Letters, knew by sight and had aninterest in Lord Granby, in Lord Mansfield, &c. ); but it mustbe a merit vivid enough to counteract the dulness of obsolete-nay, forgotten-politics. No dulness in this world is equalto that of faded scandal, of stale law, of superannuated politics.Think of the fury with which you receive last year's paper fromthe waiter, dated August 8,—that unhappy man having lit thefire with the corresponding date of An. Dom. 1842, throughhurry or philosophic absence of mind, tendering respectfully toyou the very freshest and newest paper he has left himselfviz., for August 8, 1841. Assassination becomes almost a dutyin such a case. But how if the villain should absolutely tendera journal of thirty-five, or even twice thirty-five, years back;perfectly right as to the day and the month, only so horriblywrong as to the year as to have been obviously stolen out ofthe pocket of your great-grandfather's riding- coat, confided toan ancestor of this waiter for the purpose of being dried at thekitchen-fire? You will admit that such a newspaper would needto show some most extraordinary splendour of one kind orother in order to balance the staleness of its news. The"Letters of Junius " form precisely such a newspaper, withonly sarcastic epigram and innuendo so nicely pointed thatwe ourselves are constantly reminded of instances to-day towhich they might be applied, and yet the one defect aboutJunius is that he never in one solitary instance rises to ageneral principle. *

• This is but a vivid familiar illustration of what he says in

his essay on " Rhetoric: "-" It is an absolute fact that Juniushas not one principle, aphorism, or remark of a general nature324 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The year 1844 was notable for several reasons, and wemust pause for a moment to dwell upon it. Amid thepressure of accumulated cares, he had so relapsed thathe had once more reached something like five thousanddrops of laudanum per day. This, as we shall see, is hisfourth fall, which he himself honestly acknowledges ina passage written towards the close of his life . He nowbegan to experience certain phases of nervous sufferingin a more intense form than ever. He thought he nowtraced them directly to the opium, which he had alwaysh*therto held to have modified or lessened certain acuteand recurrent symptoms. His jottings and memorandaduring this period show that he possessed more strengthof will and self- control than he is usually credited with,else assuredly he must now have succumbed. Havingconvinced himself of the curse that excessive opiumindulgence had been to him, he once more set himselfresolutely to subdue it. His constant, careful jottingsof graduated reductions day by day-his patient recordsof the effect of ordinary articles of diet, coffee, cocoa,&c.-his measured round of exercise, amounting tofifteen or twenty miles per day, often taken in the littletreadmill walk of the garden attached to the Lasswadein his whole armoury; not in a solitary instance did his barrenunderstanding ascend to an abstraction or general idea, butlingered for ever in the dust and rubbish of individuality,amongst the tangible realities of things and persons. Hencethe peculiar absurdity of that hypothesis which discoveredJunius in the person of Burke. The opposition was heretoo pointedly ludicrous between Burke, who exalted the merestpersonal themes into the dignity of philosophic speculations,and Junius, in whose hands the very loftiest dwindled intoquestions of person and party."A Notable Year.325cottage, forty rounds counting for a mile -all aretouching in the agony that may be read between thelines. He himself, in a letter to one of his dearestfriends, has thus shadowed forth the experiences of thattime"With respect to my book [" The Logic of PoliticalEconomy," which appeared in 1844], which perhaps bythis time you and Professor Nichol will have receivedthrough the publishers, I have a word to say. Uponsome of the distinctions there contended for it would befalse humility if I should doubt they are sound. Thesubstance, I am too well assured, is liable to no dispute. But as to the method of presenting the distinctions, as to the composition of the book, and the wholeevolution of a course of thinking, there it is that I toodeeply recognise the mind affected by my morbid condition. Through that ruin, and by help of that ruin,I looked into and read the latter states of Coleridge.His chaos I comprehended by the darkness of my own,and both were the work of laudanum. It is as if ivorycarvings and elaborate fretwork and fair enamellingshould be found with worms and ashes amongst coffinsand the wrecks of some forgotten life or some abolishednature. In parts and fractions eternal creations arecarried on, but the nexus is wanting, and life and thecentral principle which should bind together all theparts at the centre, with all its radiations to the circumference, are wanting. Infinite incoherence, ropes of sand ,gloomy incapacity of vital pervasion by some oneplastic principle, that is the hideous incubus upon mymind always. For there is no disorganised wreck soabsolute, so perfect, as that which is wrought by misery.326De Quincey'sLifeand Writings.On leaving Glasgow in the"Misery is a strong word; and I would not havemolested your happiness by any such gloomy reference,were it not that I did really, and in solemn earnest,regard my condition in that same hopeless light as Idid until lately. I had one sole glimmer of hope, andit was this—that laudanum might be the secret key toall this wretchedness, not utterable to any human ear,which for ever I endured. Upon this subject the following is my brief record.first week of June 1843, I was as for two years you hadknown me. Why I know not, but for some cause duringthe summer months the weight of insufferable misery andmere abhorrence of life increased; but also it fluctuated.A conviction fell upon me that immense exercise mightrestore me. But you will imagine my horror when,with that conviction, I found, precisely in my earliestefforts, my feet gave way, and the misery in all itsstrength came back. Every prospect I had of beinglaid up as a cripple for life. Much and deeply I pondered on this, and I gathered myself up as if for a finaleffort. For if that fate were established, farewell I feltfor me to all hope of restoration. Eternally the wordssounded in my ears: ' Suffered and was buried. ' Unless that one effort which I planned and determined, asoften you see a prostrate horse ' biding his time ' andreserving his strength for one mighty struggle, toosurely I believed that for me no ray of light would evershine again. The danger was, that at first going off onexercise the inflammation should come on; that, ifthen I persisted, the inflammation would settle into thebones, and the case become desperate. It matters not totrouble you with the details-the result was this:-IWrestling with Opium: 327took every precaution known to the surgical skill of theneighbourhood. Within a measured space of forty- fouryards in circuit, so that forty rounds were exactlyrequired for one mile, I had within ninety dayswalked a thousand miles. And so far I triumphed.But because still I was irregular as to laudanum, thisalso I reformed. For six months no results; one drearyuniformity of report-absolute desolation; misery soperfect that too surely I perceived, and no longer disguised from myself, the impossibility of continuing tolive under so profound a blight. I now kept my journalas one who in a desert island is come to his last day'sprovisions. On Friday the 23d of February, I mightsay for the first time, in scriptural words, And theman was sitting clothed and in his right mind.' That isnot too strong an expression. I had known all along,and too ominously interpreted the experience from thefact, that I was not in my perfect mind. Lunacy causesmisery; the border is sometimes crossed, and too oftenthat is the order of succession. But also misery, andabove all physical misery, working by means of intellectual remembrances and persecution of thoughts, no doubtsometimes inversely causes lunacy. To that issue I feltthat all things tended. You may guess, therefore, the awethat fell upon me, when, not by random accident, capable of no theory on review, but in consequence of one firmsystem pursued through eight months as to one element,and nearly three as to another, I recovered in a moment,in the twinkling of an eye, such a rectification of thecompass as I had not known for years. It is true thatthis frame departed from me within forty-eight hours;but that no way alarmed me-I drew hope from the328 De Quincey's Life and Writings.omen. It is as if a man had been in a whirlpool,carried violently by a headlong current, and before hecould speak or think, he was riding as if at anchor, oncemore dull and untroubled, as in days of infancy. Thecurrent caught me again; and the old sufferings indegree came back, as I have said. There is somethingshocking and generally childish , by too obvious associations, in any suggestions of suicide; but too certainly I feltthat tothis my condition tended; for again enormous irritability was rapidly travelling over the disk of my life, andthis, and the consciousness of increasing weakness, addedto my desolation of heart. I felt that no man could continue to struggle. Coleridge had often spoken to me ofthe dying away from him of all hope; not meaning, asI rightly understood him, the hope that forms itself asa distant look out into the future, but of the gladsomevital feelings that are born of the blood, and make thegoings-on of life pleasurable.Then I partly understood him, now perfectly; andlaying all things together, I returned obstinately to thebelief that laudanum was at the root of all this unimaginable hell. Why then not, if only by way of experiment, leave it off? Alas! that had become impossible.Then I descended to a hundred drops. Effects so dreadful and utterly unconjectured by medical men succeededthat I was glad to get back under shelter. Not the lessI persisted; silently, surely, descended the ladder, and,as I have said, suddenly found my mind as if whirledround on its true centre. A line of Wordsworth's aboutGermany I remembered:-' All power was given her in the dreadful trance. 'Such was my sense: illimitable seemed the powers re1Misery the Talisman. 329stored to me; and now, having tried the key, and foundit the true key, even though a blast of wind has blownthe door to again, no jot of spirits was gone away fromme: I shall arise as one risen from the dead."This long story I have told you, because nothingshort of this could explain my conduct, past, present, andfuture. And thus far there is an interest for all theworld—that I am certain of this, viz. , that misery is thetalisman by which man communicates with the worldoutside of our fleshly world."In detached parts of his journals we find record of hisexperiences during this terrible struggle of 1844:-" This night, Wednesday, December 25, about 7 P.M.,has first solemnly revealed itself to me that I am andhave long been under a curse [q. the opium curse?] , allthe greater for being physically and by effort endurable,and for hiding itself, i.e., playing in and out from alloffices of life at every turn of every moment. Oh, dreadful! by degrees infinitely worse than leprosy-thanBut oh, what signifies the rhetoric of a case so sad!Conquer it I must by exercise unheard of, or it willconquer me.'And later:-"Did you ever read of leprosy as it existed in Judea,or-and that was worse-as it existed in Europe during the dark ages? Did you ever read of that tremendous visitation in the early days of Judaism, when, if thepoor patient would have hushed up his misery in silence,the walls of his house whispered of his whereabouts.Horrible! that a man's own chamber-the place of hisrefuge and retreat-should betray him! ... ... Not fear orterror, but inexpressible misery, is the last portion of the330 De Quincey's Life and Writings.opium-eater. At certain stages it is not so. We knowof a man called X— who has often jumped out of bed-bounced like a column of quicksilver-at midnight,fallen on his knees and cried out, while the perspirationran down his wasted face, and his voice waked all thehouse, O Jesus Christ, be merciful to me a sinner! '-so unimaginable had been the horror which sleepopened to his eyes. Such is for some time its effect.But, generally in its later stages, it is not horror, it isnot fear: all these are swallowed up in misery."Mrs. Baird Smith says of this period:—"Though I knew that about 1844 he succeeded inattaining a final comparative escape from opium, I wasnot aware till I had carefully perused these scatteredfragments that the date had been so distinctly markedas it is. In June of that year he brought it down tosix grains, and with the most signal benefit. I would ·not say by any means that he never exceeded this afterwards, but I am very sure he never much exceeded itafter he had convinced himself that anything in excessof it caused much of his nervous suffering. I rememberthat he used to set down these memoranda; but,as I have said, I hardly hoped to find the dates so fullymarked."The following note was addressed to a friend, andfurnishes an additional incidental record of his experiences in reference to opium at that critical time:-LASSWADE, Wednesday, November 13, 1844.MY DEAR SIR,-I have but a moment to say how happy andflattered we shall feel by your taking the trouble of comingover from Edinburgh on Friday, and that without any shadowof inconvenience we can offer you a bed. As to writing, it is Iwho am the culprit, and that I should not have been but forLetter to Miss Mitford. 331the tremendous arrears of wrath still volleying and whirlinground upon me from retreating opium. Its flight is Parthian,"flying, it pursues." I am much improved as to health; but,from dire reactions of frantic nervousness, my sufferings (thoughintermitting) have been great.I rejoice to find (indirectly, I mean, by your leaving homefor a day or two) that Mrs. - is well, and your younghope is prospering. Just as I write this, it strikes me that,except by seven weeks minus one day, he has accomplished onerevolution, not as W. W.'s first daughter in that divine commemorating poem of " The second glory of the heavens," but ofthe primary and central.The Lasswade coach brings you in so as to reach us (I understand) by half- past five. Of course we shall have the pleasureof seeing you to dinner. -Ever faithfully yours,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.The following extract from a letter to Miss Mitfordin 1842 reveals some of the pleasant amenities of hisLasswade life:-More pleasant it must be if I try to give you some clue to themotive, the how and the why, of my residence in this place.My companions, as you know, are my three daughters, who, ifit should be found that they had no other endowment from thebounty of nature, have this one, better perhaps than all that Icould ask for them from the most potent of fairies, viz. , that theylive in the most absolute harmony I have ever witnessed.Such a sound as that of dissension in any shade or degree Ihave not once heard issuing from their lips. And it gladdensme beyond measure that all day long I hear from their littledrawing-room intermitting sounds of gaiety and laughter, themost natural and spontaneous. Three sisters more entirelyloving to each other, and more unaffectedly drawing their dailypleasures from sources that will always continue to lie withintheir power-viz., books and music-I have not either known orheard of. Our dwelling is a little cottage, containing eightrooms only, one of which (the largest), or what in London iscalled the first floor, is used as a drawing-room, and one abouthalf the size, on the ground floor, a dining-room, but for a partyof ten people at the utmost. Our garden gate is exactly seven332 De Quincey's Life and Writings.measured miles from the Scott Monument in Princes Street,Edinburgh. Lasswade, to which nominally we allocate ourselves, is in fact one mile and a half distant; but, as it is thenearest town possessing a market and a regular post-office (Dalkeith, which is very much larger, being distant three and a halfmiles or more) , and as our means of communicating with Lasswade, though imperfect enough, are better than with any otherplace, it follows that Lasswade is the best address. ... We keeponly two servants (female servants), a housemaid and a cook,and with so narrow a command of labour, we are unable tosend for our letters, the journey to and fro making a clear totalof three miles' walking.The following note, addressed to Mr. Young,banker, Lasswade, may be read with some interest, asbearing on a well-known article in " Tait " in 1845:-Friday Night, December 13th, 1844.MY DEAR SIR,-On Wednesday night, in rejoinder to yournote of Wednesday morning, I wrote an answer. Unfortunatelyon Thursday morning, when it should have moved off into yourhands, suddenly the discovery was made that I had written itupon the back of a tailor's bill. Fearing, therefore, that if thewrong side of the note presented itself first, you might be disturbed by finding that you owed twenty pounds more than youhad supposed, I kept it back; and now, except as to date (andthe tailor's little account) , I copy the exact note of Wednesdaynight.My Dear Sir, I was myself aware from the first that itwould not be prudent to advance upon unknown ground inthis great question (so truly a national question) until I hadobtained the benefit of your advice. Francis had also not forgotten to convey your caution on the subject a week or twoback; so that I should not have proceeded in the dark. But Iam not the less obliged to you for your note of this day;sensible that your kind intention was to prevent my throwingaway any labour. In fact, a mistake as to the point of theDick Bequest might have made it necessary to recast the wholepaper.I shall be most gratified by your coming over as you promise,and if a night after Monday, the 16th (any night whatever), wouldStrength ofWill. 333suit your convenience, mine it would suit better than an earliernight.I beg my respectful compliments to Mrs. Young; and am,my dear sir, ever your faithful servant,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.P.S.-I have a handkerchief of yours, which Mrs. Youngkindly insisted on my taking when I left your house. I reserveit for your use, because if you take it then (having come outas an import), it will go home as an export; whereas if I sendit home now, it will go home as ballast, simply a burden, andof no use to anybody.William Young, Esq. , Lasswade.As bearing on the point of a decisive escape from theexcess of opium, we may be allowed here to present thereminiscences of one who was not a casual, but a constant and trusted visitor during the greater portion ofthe Lasswade life, and whose interest in Mr. de Quinceyand the family became closer as time went on:-"Few seem to be aware that Mr. de Quincey almostentirely overcame his craving for opium, and enjoyedan old age of quiet and repose, which contrasted in themost marked manner with the difficulties and thestruggles of his earlier life-especially of those yearsjust after the death of his wife, when his horizon wasso cloudy and dark that he would undoubtedly havesunk under it had it not been for the high character,the energy, decision, and premature business capacitywhich his daughter Margaret manifested at that crisis.With what a struggle the excessive opium habit wasconquered, it is difficult even to conceive. With aweak constitution, shattered nerves, and a depth ofdepression which constantly suggested suicide, it required no little strength of will to refrain from anindulgence which promised him at all events tem-334 De Quincey's Life and Writings.porary relief. Of such constitutions, one may well saywith Burns:"We know not what's resisted.'"During his later years, as I have said, he had noanxiety about money, his income being larger than herequired. He had a comfortable home always open toreceive him, and, if he lived a good deal in Edinburgh,it was from some fancied advantage of being near hispublishers; and he had got all his family comfortablyprovided for. Two of his sons, Horace and Frederick,went into thearmy; the former having gone through theChinese campaign of 1840-42 under Sir Hugh Gough,and the latter through the Sutlej campaign of 1846;while a third, Francis, educated himself as a medicalinan under great difficulties, often walking in and outfrom Lasswade to attend his classes, as lodgings inEdinburgh would have been too great a strain on theirincome at that time."Mr. de Quincey's whole manner and speech wereimbued with as much high-bred courtesy as I ever metwith; and this was not a habit put on for ceremoniousoccasions, but was especially remarkable in his intercourse with servants or with any chance labourer hemight meet on the road."His conversation was never a monologue, nor did hegenerally suggest the topics, but, making use of whatever might turn up, he never failed to raise the toneand to suggest some new and interesting points of view.I think I may safely say, that to no one could the triteaphorism, ' Nullam quod tetigit non ornavit,' be moretruly applied.A"Fossil Tory." 335" He had also, in a degree that I never saw exceededexcept in one instance, the power of drawing out anything that was in those with whom he conversed. Hesuggested to them new views of subjects, and enabledthem to assist him, as it were, in elucidating a subject,with no small satisfaction, as you may believe, to theirself-esteem."He especially disliked controversy, as anything ofthe nature of strife was painful to his nature; but heliked discussion in its original sense,-to have a subjecttossed about from one to another, becoming graduallybetter understood as each suggested some new view." At one time, I used to go very frequently to MavisBush in the evenings, and I generally walked homesome miles across the country at late hours of thenight; and in walking home quietly, I can yet rememberwith what pleasure I dwelt on these evenings, not somuch from what I recalled of his conversation, howeverexcellent, as from the sense that for some hours I myself had been raised to a higher level of thought andfeeling than I could otherwise attain to."Any friends or admirers who came to visit him werealways received most pleasantly and hospitably, andno house in the country had more attractions for peoplewho cared for cultivated conversation. I recollect onone occasion ridiculing the idea of his being a Torywith the intense sympathy he had with progress; andhis reply was, that if he were dug up two centurieshence, he would be found a perfect specimen of a ' fossilTory.' "Here, if we may judge by results, De Quincey'sgenius, cast once more amid surroundings so336 De Quincey's Life and Writings.far congenial, overpassed its former versatilityand power. In addition to contributions to the"North British Review " in philosophy and literature, and such contributions to " Blackwood " as" Coleridge and Opium-eating " and " Suspiria deProfundis," which appeared in the course of the year1846, he was particularly well represented in " Tait. "He contributed to that magazine, in 1845, articleson Godwin, Foster, Hazlitt, and Shelley, and alsoa most characteristic paper on the TemperanceMovement. In the course of 1846, appearedthere also the remarkably vigorous and completeessay on " Christianity as an Organ of PoliticalMovement," besides an ingenious article on theAntigone of Sophocles, apropos of its renewed presentation on the stage, and essays on Keats, SirJames Mackintosh, and the Marquis of Wellesley.Over and above these articles, there appeared in"Tait " between 1843 and 1846, the remarkable essayon " Protestantism, " the series on " Greek Literature " and the " Greek Orators," as well as thetouching episode of George and Sarah Green, whichis embodied in the autobiographic sketches as oneof the " Memorials of Grasmere. "The following letter will suffice to showthat ProfessorNichol in 1846 was desirous, on his own spontaneousmovement, to draw closer the ties of intimacy withDe Quincey:-Wednesday Night, April 15, 1846.MY DEAR M., -Dr. Nichol, always to me a most interestingman, who and whose wife were at Glasgow most kind to me,is now become a far more interesting man: he has destroyedutterly without mercy cut the lovely throat of-the NebularHypothesis. You know, of course, what is the Nebular Hypo-Professor Nichol and " Delta." 337thesis. Or if, by some strange chance you do not, then, andon that paradoxical assumption, Florence will explain itfully; or, in her default, Emily; or, if Emily should spendtoo many words over it, then call upon the cat; or, if he isgalavanting, then perhaps the rug would have the goodness toexplain.Now this Dr. Nichol, who has been lecturing to Edinburghfor, I suppose, a fortnight, upon Astronomy, is, you areaware, Professor of Astronomy in the University of Glasgow.This Law Professor in the University of Glasgow has imbibeda strong desire to pay a visit to Lasswade. Upon thatpoint he has communicated with me. Now, listen: wouldtherefore it be inconvenient for him and myself to dine withyou on SUNDAY, viz., April 19th? [What do you put somany lines under Sunday for, unless you think that nobodycan hear if you do not cry at the top of your voice?]I have, in my possession, and will restore, and have read,Fred's letter from the Punjaub. What a godsend! *The next note suggests a touching incident:-Thursday, January 1846.MY DEAR SIR, -You do not know how much depth ofinterest I attached to the explanations which I made onTuesday; yet I could neither explain the interest, nor sufficiently explain the explanations, in the fervour of a social party.But what I write for is -to communicate an incident to you,which renders all further explanation needless, which tome was most expressive, and which in one moment, by themost silent of languages, communicated to me the fact thatyou never had been offended by my two breaches of courtesy;breaches which were inevitable, but which you could not absolutely know to be such.After you had gone away, I noticed a sweet girl, of mostcharming countenance, sitting at a distance; who she was,I had naturally no guess even. But to my utter surprise she,when taking leave of the company, came up under the guidance of Miss Blackwood, yet so obviously, also, by a spontaneous movement of goodness on her own part, for the sake of

• This refers to his son Frederick, who was an officer in the

70th Queen's Regiment, passing as interpreter to his regiment.VOL. I. Y338 De Quincey's Life and Writings.claiming an introduction to my unworthy self. When I foundthat this young lady was the daughter of Delta, I do not knowthat in my whole life I have been more profoundly touched.She, it appeared too evidently, had never associated my namewith any shadow of a thought that I or any man could meandisrespect to her father; and this convinces me that you,also, had never harboured a thought of that nature.-Evermost faithfully yours, THOMAS DE QUINCEY.In the next note, to Professor Lushington, he gives hisopinion about the " Suspiria," which, considering hispowers in self- criticism, may be regarded by not a fewas having a special value.No man can have descended more profoundly than myselfinto the consolations of utter solitude, no man can ever haveweaned himself more entirely from dependence upon sympathy;but at the same time, perhaps, no man has ever felt it morekeenly. . . .I would not talk to any man of myself were the matter lessinteresting to my own feelings and those of my family, andwould not that you might think it unfriendly if I claim yourattention. Perhaps I told you, when you were last over at Lasswade, of the intention I had (and was then carrying into effect) towrite another Opium Confessionis; or, if I did not tell you, it musthave been only because I forbore to pester you too much withmy plans -especially whilst unfinished, and liable to derangements more than one. Now, however, this particular plan,after occupying me for seven months of severe labour, isaccomplished. Last Friday I received from the printer a sheetand something more (of " Blackwood's Magazine "), containingthe first part out of four. It bears for its title, " Suspiria deProfundis; being a Sequel to the Confessions of an EnglishOpium-Eater." And the separate title of this first part is—"The Affliction of Childhood." Why I mention beforehand afact, which would at any rate have become known to you at thebeginning of March, is partly for its interest to myself, and partlybecause I hope that it will possess some interest to you. Atleastwhatever pleasure you may at any time have found in theoriginal "Confessions," to which, in part, I fancy myself indebtedfor the great kindness shown to me in Glasgow by yourself andThe Final " Confessions."339Professor Nichol, will probably be trebled in this second series.One must not praise one's own writings positively, but comparatively one may. I, if at all I can pretend to judge insuch a case, think them very greatly superior to the first. Andthree persons, who took the trouble to read this first part inMS., one of the three being Professor Wilson, have independentlyof each other communicated to me their sense of the superiorityof these present " Confessions," by language very much strongerthan that which I have used. The four parts, when published inBlackwood through March, April, May, June, and July, will begathered into a volume without any delay, and introduced by aletter of some length to my three daughters. These final " Confessions " are the ne plus ultra, as regards the feeling and thepower to express it, which I can ever hope to attain. And Ishould feel myself much disappointed if I failed to obtain areading from yourself. As respects this first part, were it onlyfor its subject, I count also on the honour of a reading fromMrs. Lushington.In the following letter to Miss Mitford, we have someglimpses of his nervous sufferings, and also a hint, whichwe regard as more significant than it might seem atfirst sight, respecting the real bearing of opium on hissufferings.MY DEAR MISS MITFORD,-I am stung with compunctionexaggeration there is not in that word-when I figure to myselfthe sort of picture which any outside observer would just nowframe of our several shares in the sort of intercourse going on between us. Your condescension on the one side incontinuing to answer my daughter's letters, and on the otherside my own lordly arrogance (as it certainly would appearto a stranger) in sitting at ease, and addressing you (if Ican be said to do so at all) by proxy. One fact whichmy daughter (I believe) has communicated to you, serves tomitigate the atrocity of this picture-viz. , that I did address toyou, and all but finished, a pretty long letter. Perhaps she hasnot told you that since that I have written two others, in allthree. Where are they? you ask. Hereafter I will explain that,and you will then understand that I not only know where they340 De Quincey's Life and Writings.!are, but that they are recoverable. Whytheydisappeared for a time,and how they came to do so, is a point which my daughter couldnot explain, seeing that she is not at all aware of it. No purposecould be answered by my vainly endeavouring to make intelligible for my daughters what I cannot make intelligible for myself-the undecipherable horror that night and day broods overmy nervous system. One effect of this is to cause, at uncertainintervals, such whirlwinds of impatience as precipitate me violently, whether I will or not, into acts that would seem insanities,but are not such infact, as my understanding is never under anydelusion. Whatever I may be writing becomes suddenly overspread with a dark frenzy of horror. I amusing words, perhaps,that are tautologic; but it is because no language can give expression to the sudden storm of frightful revelations openingupon me from an eternity not coming, but past and irrevocable. Whatever I may have been writing is suddenly wrapt,as it were, in one sheet of consuming fire-the very paperis poisoned to my eyes. I cannot endure to look at it, and Isweep it away into vast piles of unfinished letters, or inchoateessays begun and interrupted under circ*mstances the same inkind, though differing unaccountably in degree. I live quitealone in my study, so nobody witnesses these paroxysms. Nor,if they did, would my outward appearance testify to the dreadfultransports within. They interpret the case so far as it is madeknown to them by many practical results of my delay or myneglect, not indolence or caprice. At the worst they put itdown amongst my foibles, for which I amsure they find filialexcuses. Why should I interrupt their gaiety, which all day longsounds often so beautifully in my ears-a gaiety which at timesis so pathetic to me as the natural result of their youth andtheir innocence-by any attempts to explain the inexplicable?Them it would sadden, and me it could in no way benefit. SoI leave them always in cases where I have failed in any promisedperformance to make that excuse which the circ*mstances seemmost to warrant.Meantime, I foresee that your benignity, and the regard withwhich you honour me, will prompt, as your first question, Whathave I done, or am doing, towards the alleviation ofthe dreadfulcurse? Is there any key, you will say, to its original cause?Sincerely I do not believe there is. One inevitable suggestionat first arose to everybody consulted-viz., that it might be someAn Eligible Tenant. 341horrible recoil from the long habit of using opium to excess.But this seems improbable for more reasons than one. 1st.Because previously to any considerable abuse of opium-viz. , inthe year 1812,-I suffered an unaccountable attack of nervoushorror which lasted for five months, and went off in one night asunaccountably as it had first come on in one second of time. Iwas at the time perfectly well, was at my cottage in Grasmere,and had just accompanied an old friend of Southey's (viz. , Mr.Grosvenor Bedford) round the Lake district. ·In the early part of 1847, as we have said, he was inGlasgow, occupying his rooms at 79 Renfield Street.The note we next give has reference to a transferenceto the hands of his daughters of a portion of annuityfrom his uncle, Colonel Penson, on the death of hismother. The money was to allow his three daughters toenjoy a trip to the south to visit their father's relations,whom they had not seen. His proposal of himself as atenant for the Lasswade cottage was no more than a bitof fun; for it had been arranged to shut up the house fora time, and he remained in Glasgow until his daughtersreturned.79 RENFIELD STREET, GLASGOW,Tuesday Night, February 23, 1847.MY DEAR MARGARET,-Your letter of Sunday last I foundlying on the breakfast-table this morning. The money, whichcomes in April, viz. , £42, 9s. 2td. , I make over to you in fullnot reserving even the 2 d. , as I am sure you will want thewhole.Nowas to the house-hear who it is that I propose as yourtenant myself. Listen, and I will convince you that I am aneligible tenant. First, I engage to pay the £8 a month (lunaror calendar?): secondly, I engage to pay it in advance. Andeven more; for, as I shall receive a considerable sum in April,I will before Shakspeare's birthday, St. George's day, April23-at which day you will (upon your reckoning) still be inLasswade-send at least one month's rent, viz. , £8, if not two.This will give you a clear £50, if not near £60, exclusive of342 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Bath money, to commence the war upon. I will also send youthe 12s. (is it not?) that I owe you, and compound interestupon the said capital sum of 12s.Now, mark what will happen if you decline me for atenant.I am satisfied that the Bunyil-Carno or Bunyip * will hear ofthe opening made for introducing the sharp end of his wedgeinto the house. He will effect a lodgment. True, he is offto Ashantee; but what of that? He has agents all up anddown the world, and spies. Vengeance is what he thirsts forupon me; and unless some Caboeser at Ashantee cuts histhroat, it is bythis fatal opening that he will bore his road intothe very heart of vengeance. You know that nautical tale (q.Captain Marryat's?), where a dreadful awe settles upon allvessels in the Mediterranean, of a mysterious pirate, thatsuffered no tales to transpire from any ship captured by him,-and behold suddenly in a mist the narrator's ship finds herselfcaptured, and in a very little time they ascertain that her captoris the dreadful pest of the sea, the pirate that walketh indarkness. So, let who will ostensibly treat for the house, thebona fide tenant will be Bunyip. I know you fancy that ifI fell into arrears I might make a " moonlight flitting." Butyou are wrong there. And besides, if I did, that would not behalf as bad as the Bunyip's leaving the dry-rot in the timbersof the house, which he would do to a certainty.-This plan will not at all interfere with my going to Londonin your company, which will be highly necessary towards theenabling you to see anything of that tremendous place, whichwill then be in its very noon of glory. The Opera-house openedin unprecedented splendour last week, and in April anopposition opera opens, not to speak of the great choralperformances at Exeter Hall.I have got the loveliest of waltzes for Emily. Mrs. Lushington has played it for me a dozen of times. It is a perfect

• “ Bunyil- carno: "-This mysterious creature, otherwise

called the Bunyip, has never been described or figured by anynaturalist; and for a sufficient reason, viz., that it has scarcelybeen seen by any white man, or only by unsteady hastyglimpses. It has, however, been heard; and the profoundestimpression yet communicated of its dreadful powers andferocity is derived from a case where it was only heard.Philosophy and Famine. 343dream of beauty. The written notes she had not on searching,but has written for them to England.Perhaps I shall write to Florence by this enclosure, if not,love to her and Emily. -Ever yours,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.During this tour he wrote regularly, and expectedregular letters in return. We give a fewof his letters ofthat period. The "“ famishing " spoken of below arosefrom his incapacity for food.Thursday, June 10, 1847.MY DEAR M. , -I am rather disturbed that neither M.nor F. nor E has found a moment for writing to me. Yetperhaps it was not easy. For I know very seriously, and haveoften remarked, how difficult it is to find a spare moment forsome things in the very longest day, which lasts, you know,twenty-four hours; though, by the way, it strikes one as oddthat the shortest lasts quite as many. I have been sufferinggreatly myself for ten days, the cause being, in part, some outrageous heat that the fussy atmosphere put itself into about thebeginning of this month-but what for, nobody can understand.Heat always untunes the harp of my nervous system; and, ohheavens! how electric it is! But, after all, what makes me sususceptible of such undulations in this capricious air, andcompels me to sympathise with all the uproars apd miffs,towering passions or gloomy sulks, of the atmosphere, is theold eternal ground, viz., that I amfamished. Oh, what ages itis since I dined! On what great day of jubilee is it that Fatehides, under the thickest of tablecloths, a dinner for me?Yet it is a certain, undeniable truth, which this personal faminehas revealed to me, that most people on the terraqueous globeeat too much. Which it is, and nothing else, that makes themstupid, as also unphilosophic. To be a great philosopher, it isabsolutely necessary to be famished. My intellect is far tooelectric in its speed, and its growth of flying armies of thoughtseternally new. I could spare enough to fit out a nation. Thissecret lies-not, observe, in my hair; cutting off that does noharm: it lies in my want of dinner, as also of breakfast andsupper. Being famished, I shall showthis world of ours in thenext five years something that it never saw before. But if I344 De Quincey's Life and Writings.had a regular dinner, I should sink into the general stupidity ofmy beloved human brethren.By the way, speaking of gluttony as a foible of our interesting human race, I am reminded of another little foible, whichthey have, rather distressingly, viz., a fancy for being horriblydirty. If I had happened to forget this fact, it would lately havebeen recalled to my remembrance by Mrs. Butler, formerlyFanny Kemble (but I dare say you know her in neither formneither as chrysalis nor butterfly). She, in her book on Italy,&c. (not too good, I fear), makes this " observe," in which Iheartily agree—namely, that this sublunary world has the misfortune to be very dirty, with the exception of some people inEngland, but with no exception at all for any other island orcontinent. Allowing for the " some " in England, all the restof the clean people, you perceive clearly, must be out at sea.For myself, I did not need Mrs. Butler's authority on thismatter. One fact of my daily experience renews it most impertinently, and will not suffer me to forget it. As the slave saidevery morning to Philip of Macedon, " Philip, begging yourhonour's pardon, you are mortal; " so does this infamous fact sayto me truly as dawn revolves, " Tom, take it as you like, your raceis dirty." The fact I speak of is this-that I cannot accomplishmy diurnal ablutions in fewer minutes than sixty, at the least,seventy-five at the most. Now, having an accurate measure ofhuman patience, as that quality exists in most people, well Iknow that it would never stand this. I allow that, if peopleare not plagued with washing their hair, or not at the sametime, much less time may suffice, yet hardly less than thirtyminutes I think. Professor Wilson tells on this subject a storyof a Frenchman which pleases me by its naiveté—that is, youknow, by its unconscious ingenuousness. He was illustratingthe inconsistencies of man, and he went on thus-" Our faces,for instance, our hands-why, bless me! we wash them everyday our feet, on the other hand-never." And echo answered- -“ never.”In the next note, will be found a reference to Mr.Grinfield, Rector of Clifton, of whom we have alreadyspoken, and from whose letter detailing Winkfieldschool life we have quoted:---Galway-Spanish Jews. 345Wednesday, September 8, 1847.MY DEAR M. ,-For a month I have been very ill, and amonly just mending; viz., from a fever, not typhus, but perhapsas bad, caught I believe amongst a poor Irish family. Theywere one family amongst hundreds-lying out all the summeron the bridges over the Clyde, and on what is called "theGreen," a sort of smaller Hyde Park. I talked with many;indeed, walking there, howcould I help it? They fastened onme, not I on them; and this family in particular, that I talkedwith most, being from Galway, bore that picturesque Spanishcast of countenance which Spanish settlers have left in thatcountry; though, I believe, it is now almost lost by diffusion.This Hispanico- Judaic appearance interested me; and I didnot know until it was too late, that-though the parents wereuntouched-the children had a fever amongst them. I suppose it will be no pleasure to anybody that I should describemy intolerable sufferings for the last four weeks. So I delaytheaccount for a century. Before this, however, I suffered so muchfrom the summer heat, acting upon a system utterly famishedof all nutriment (hares being of course gone, for they disappeara month earlier in trebly parsimonious Glasgow than in doublyparsimonious Edinburgh), that utter prostration seized me,and, which is far worse, utter nervousness; whence comes thereason that I have not written, or rather sent what I really didwrite, but left unfinished. Oh, the torments of endless famine!This inanition and prostration doubtless predisposed me to thecontagion of fever, which indeed is sometimes self-generatedby such a habit of body. Well, that job's jobbed. I mean,that explanation is made, which I should not have madeexcept to make intelligible my silence.I have received two letters from you, both ofwhich were veryentertaining to me, and I am much obliged to you for thetrouble you took. The first was written immediately afterreaching Bletchington; the second was that sent throughFrancis, in consequence of which it never reached me tillAugust (I think about six weeks ago); none has reached mesince then. Pray, let me knowwhere you are, how you are, andwhat are your plans. From F. I gathered that last monthwould be spent at Weston-super-Mare. You would seeWesthay, therefore, and Belmaduthie. Which reminds me toask-Have you in Bath seen Mrs. Mackenzie? If you do346 De Quincey's Life and Writings.again (which ‘ again' is premature, until it is settled that youhave seen her at all), give my kind remembrances to her.From Clifton, Mr. Grinfield (who is, I think, rector or vicar orsomething of that place) wrote three months ago to renew ourancient intimacy, which has rather fallen into arrear, as youwillthink when I tell you that not one word have we exchanged-written word or spoken-in this present nineteenth century.The last time I saw him-spoke to him-shook hands with him-was in the city of King Bladud, viz., Bath (Pump-room, towit), in theyear of Christ 1800, which year has been many timesproved by most mathematical arguments to be the undoubtedproperty, or great toe, of the eighteenth century, without thesmallest relationship to any century that you are acquaintedwith. Consequently, there is a huge gap, as you perceive, in myGrinfield friendship. Yet, if you should meet him, since hisletter (besides being complimentary) was really kind, sayeverything in apology that you know so well-Glasgow Green,Galway- Spanish Jews, fever (not typhus), no dinner sinceshaking hands with him in the eighteenth century,-in short,everything that ought to account satisfactorily for postponingananswerto his letter. But perhaps Ishall postpone it no longer.So that he will say, in that case, and in case of your meeting him, "O dear! you're quite misinformed; I've heard fromhim in the present century." Bath being so near, and he somuch in company I believe, it is not unlikely that you mayreally meet. I will tell him, when I hear from you, at whatdate you will reach the city of the late King Bladud. EvenEmily will hardly find out by subtraction when that King lastsaw company: it is a thing that requires algebra. He (not thatroyal blade, Bladud, but that reverend blade, Grinfield) would,Ithink, like to meet you; and I should like it. Not "like tomeet you," I didn't mean that-I have met you at two or threeparties-but like that you should meet him.At the beginning of my fever I received a present whichgave me real pleasure. It was from Walter Savage Landor:his last publication-a volume comprehending all his Latinpoems that he wishes to own-and very prettily bound inodorous Russian leather. There is no author from whom Icould have been more gratified by such a mark of attention.Somewhere about the same time I received from an Edinburgh physician, Dr. Tait, who is the medical adviser of theWalter Savage Landor. 347Edinburgh police, a request that I would add a preface or afew notes to a work he is bringing out on opium-eating. Heintroduced himself through Dr. Handyside of the College, whoin some letters he has written to me says that the work ishighly thought of by the Edinburgh Medical body, to whom itwas privately read in MS. I readily consented-the proofsheets have since been sent to me as they issued. And I, onmy part, have nearly finished an Appendix of 35 to 40 pp. ,some parts of which will make you laugh. Dr. and Mrs.Tait have since given me so pressing an invitation to visit themfor as long as I choose, that I shall go, and should have gonebefore this. How is Florence? I heard with anxiety thatshe was rather what people call delicate. I hope bythis time,through sea-air, &c., she has become indelicate. Love to herand Emily. Write soon. -Farewell, dear M.THOMAS DE QUINCEY.Sunday Night (the Sawbath), Sept. 19, 1847.MY DEAR FLORENCE,-I received M.'s letter, so entertaining-indeed (as relating to a man so original and full of geniusas W. S. L.) so interesting-on the 17th, though dated the 12th.One day's delay was due to the servant, who being busy in cleaning a grate, bade the postman place the letter on a shelf in thekitchen; and subsequently being summoned abroad by the sunand the wind to dry her week's washing ( on which mission shestaid away till dark), forgot the letter until next day. See uponwhat accidents things turn. Poor Mrs. Jordan dying in solitudeat Versailles-wearing away day by day from that dreadfultorment of nervous frenzy so unknown to the world generally,so bitterly known to me, and here and there a martyr-actuallydied in consequence of the mail from England not bringing aletter from one of her daughters, which letter arrived some fewhours after her death. Who knows but the wretched Frenchmaid-of-all-work, being busy in cleaning a grate, bade the postman lay that filial letter on that kitchen shelf-begrimed, nodoubt, like this Scotch one, with dust of centuries-and thengoing out with the " buckbasket " to the Versailles Green, forgot it until the poor lady was a corpse? There are, however,two days still to account for. Yet, after all, on a journey offour hundred miles this loss is less in proportion to that which348 De Quincey's Life and Writings.generally occurred upon the fifty-three between Lasswade andGlasgow.Only about fifty to sixty miles now remain unfinished to connect Glasgow with London and Bath on this western route. Forthat space you have a dashing mail-coach, one of the last expiring lamps on that far more interesting system of locomotion.In November, if the weather continues favourable for working.even this last gap in the chain will be filled up. But stop!You cannot wait till November, and besides, you are engagedto dinner at Clapham on Michaelmas-day-a day sacred tothat vulgarest of all luxuries, a roasted goose, whommay Jupiter confound, and all that worship such a vile idol, sacred alsotothe Archangel Michael. On consideration, I think you willpatronise the rail, which also, I really believe, curves round byYork-a grander thing than you have yet seen. By the way, itmakes me laugh to think what it is that you have seen of London-a vast assortment, I should think, of chimney-cans, if eventhose. I daresay you saw several cabmen also, and cabs tomatch. You knowthe French phrase of burning a place―usedin the sense of passing through it with burning wheels. " Nousbrûlames Londres," says a French tourist, meaning that he wentright through London without stopping on his road to Bath."Oh, the monster! " says an English critic; "did I ever thinkthat the rage on account of Waterloo could carry a man suchlengths?" Why, no: it is odd; but odder still that you, withno Waterloo hatreds, should follow this incendiary example.Landor! I cannot say how much I was pleased with yourLandorian rencontre-so gratifying in connection with thememory (for to you the knowledge of his name will be chieflya memory) of a man really so illustrious. Ofthe two opinionswhich M. mentions as having surprised but pleased her inLandor, one at least is powerfully expressed and illustrated in hisEnglish "Conversations: " that, I mean, about Napoleon. It isalso repeated with vigorous scorn in his Latin poems. The other,about Sir W. S., may not have been expressed from considerations of courtesy, but I was sure of his feeling it. The opinionabout Nell is also expressed in his English works. I am farfrom agreeing with him. Whatever may be the separate beautyof Nell's position as to character and situation in relation to hergrandfather, it is dreadfully marred to me by the extravaganceand caricature (as so often happens in Dickens) of the gamblingDickens' Little Nell.349insanity in the old man. Dickens, like all novelists anxious onlyfor effect, misunderstands the true impulse in obstinate incorrigible gamesters: it is not faith, unconquerable faith, in their luck;it is the very opposite principle-a despair of their own luckrage and hatred in consequence, as at a blind enemy working inthe dark, and furious desire to affront this dark malignantpower; just as in the frenzy of hopeless combat you will see aman without a chance, and knowing that he does but prolongbis adversary's triumph, yet still flying again with his fists atthe face which he can never reach. Without love on the oldman's part to Nell, hers for him would be less interesting; andwith love of any strength, the old fool could not but havepaused. The risk was instant; it ruined Nell's hopes of a breakfast; it tended to a jail. Now Alnaschar delusions take adifferent flight-they settle on the future. Extravagance andwant of fidelity to nature and the possibilities of life are whateverywhere mar Dickens to me; and these faults are fatal,because the modes of life amongst which these extravagancesintrude are always the absolute realities of vulgarised life as itexist in plebeian ranks amongst our countrymen at this moment.Were the mode of life one more idealised or removed from ourown, I might be less sensible of the insupportable extravagances.But why do I trouble you with all this? Look! before Imeant to write, it was already written; and that's the reason;for ink, like blood, cannot be washed out. During my illness,having no books but Mr. Landor's Latin poems, which reachedme at its beginning, I read them at times with great interest.It is a pity that so many fine breathings of tenderness andbeauty should perish like the melodies of the regal Danish boy,because warbled " in a forgotten tongue." There is one whichbeautifully commemorates his mother-apparently an interesting creature and of ancient lineage. I collect from it that shewas an heiress, who had the pleasure to step in, as a bride, forthe critical rescue of the Landor estates and mansion at themoment when else the parties who held a mortgage upon themwould have foreclosed. The name Savage, as I infer, was derived from her; and I presume from the context that shebelonged to the Savages of the Earl of Rivers.M. tells me in a P.S. that you had read " Schlosser." Bywhat strange fatality is it that, if I write a hurried paper, by350 De Quincey's Life and Writings.its subject necessarily an inferior one, some friend is sure toshow it to you? And no friend thought it worth while to showyou the " Spanish Nun's " passage across the Andes, or the"Joan of Arc," which, however, are nowgoing to reappear, witha few words of preface telling the public what I think of them,and what place I expect for them.However, my plans far transcend all journalism high or low.And through fifty different channels I will soon make this mobof a public hear on both sides of its deaf head things that itwill not like.Wednesday Morning, October 13, 1847.MY DEAR M., -Early this morning (that is, about eighto'clock), I received your letter of the , of the whatth?For you have not dated it, which you know in my eyes isalmost a capital offence, and to be expiated only by continual tears and contrition.You are quite wrong in supposing that I should delay to readit. It is only letters that make me unhappy which I defer,until by accident, perhaps, they never get read at all. Complimentary letters, and letters of amusem*nt from their news ortheir comments, I read instantly. Yours are in the latter class,and interest me greatly. Your former very interesting letter,in which you reported Mr. Landor's visit, &c. , I wrote a prettylong answer to; only by misfortune, being not quite finished,it dropped into a chaos of papers occupying a sofa, from whichI have never extricated it; having, indeed, the excuse of illness(from the nervous reaction of my fever), so excessive that Ihave had no moment's peace until, by writing to Dr. Handyside of Edinburgh, to obtain his prescription for compoundingthe hemlock, which once before did me so much good.I will write the letter you wish to Mr. B., and express the gratitude which I feel, if only you will give me his address. Or am Ito send it through you? You are too unjust to yourselves inascribing his very earnest and judicious attentions to the filiality in which you stand to myself. Had you been gawky girls,with brown leathern skins, incipient beards, and shrewishvoices, he would, maugre the filiality, haye contented himselfwith writing a note to C., signed, Yours, ladies, with highconsideration, and indeed veneration,-X. Y.Prior Park was once a place well known to me. We, that is,Prior Park.351myself and a schoolfellow, had the privilege of the entrée to thegrounds. Your aunt J. was too young in those days to knowanything of an arrangement which did not interest little missesin the nursery. But in olden times Prior Park was interestingfrom its connection with Pope. Allan the Quaker, whom Pope(wishing to eulogise) absurdly handed down to posterity as“low-born Allan ” (think of that for a New-Year's gift; but itwas altered afterwards on finding that the low-born gentlemanfound this compliment hard of digestion), was proprietor ofPrior Park about a hundred and seven years ago. Thither Popecame to visit him with his testy female friend, Miss MarthaBlount. Miss M. got up a quarrel with the female servants,bounced into the room to Pope, said, "I'll not stay another hourin this house," and, in spite of Pope's natural desire to have hadexplanations, &c. , off she went, dragging Pope with her; and athis death (about 1744) she forced him to insult Allan in his will.There you see a specimen of your sex's fiery rashness. Manyyears ago I saw bythe newspapers that Prior Park had become aRoman Catholic institution-College is it not? It was anelegant object seen from the lateral streets going off from GreatPulteney Street.But concerning the Landor visit. At the date of your Bathletter you were under sailing orders for his house. What cameof it? Did you sail? or how? Why did you not come backby the Newcastle Railway? On the whole, nowit is over, wasyour English visit satisfactory?I am writing an elaborate article on an anonymous book (ascribed by report to three bishops, that is, to some one of the three,but the favourite amongst the betters is Dr. Wilberforce, Bishopof Oxford) . It is entitled " A Vindication of Protestant Principles," and a strange book for a bishop to write. What changesdoes time work! You would rather suppose it written by a German infidel in many parts. But I mention it, because the presswaits for myMS. However, the press is quite used to waiting forme, and I daresay never takes cold. So don't distress yourselffor having been the cause of this little inconvenience, which isnot worth mentioning, only that it compels me to break off.How is Florence? Did her sea-bathing benefit her at all?Love to her and to Emily. Write as soon as possible, and datetwice over in atonement for past crimes. -Ever yours, my dearM.,T. DE QUINCEY.352 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The following note refers to a young Greek gentleman with whom De Quincey at this time had somepleasant intercourse:—September 12, 1848.MY DEAR SIR,-Under circ*mstances which oblige me towrite in a hurry, I take the liberty of introducing to yournotice an accomplished young Grecian, Mr. Neocles JaspisMousabines. He honours your name and services to thisgeneration; and, from my personal intercourse with him, Ican undertake to say that he has been powerfully and unaffectedly impressed by the study of your works. Equallymaster of modern Greek and English as regards both writingand speaking, he may probably find or make opportunities fordiffusing his own deep impressions amongst the more intellectualof his countrymen. I have ventured, therefore, to suppose thatyou may find a pleasure in conversing with him; whilst, on theother hand, Mr. Mousabines is prepared to understand that,from the pressure of strangers on your time, or from your stateof health, or from accidents of personal convenience, you mayfind a difficulty in doing so, without meaning any sort of slightto himself.-Ever, my dear sir, your faithful friend and servant,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.Wm. Wordsworth, Esq., Rydal Mount.On being consulted by a young friend respectingthe possibility and the advisability of a literarycareer, he took occasion to defend the literary classfrom the aspersion of jealousy, and to showthatthere may be growth of power as well as of experience:-Want of experience, therefore, or insufficient experience, mayrender my judgment in such a case partially wrong. But atleast I can promise you an honest judgment; and next week,when I shall be less oppressed by calls upon my time, this shallbe at your service. By an honest judgment I do not mean toinsinuate that authors in general are capable of feeling any biasfrom jealousy lest they should be the means of introducinga fresh competitor into the paths of literature. Far from it.Does Genius Grow?353The literary body, as a whole, is honourable and generous. Andvery few, indeed, I am sure, would give a false report underthis bias. But most men addict themselves to speaking cynically of contemporary literature, as every age and generationin succession speaks cynically of itself. They persuade themselves that all things are amiss; that the spirit of originalityis extinct; and, as every age in turn sees most of the imitativespirit which gathers round the heel of power, these men fancythat peculiar to their own times which has merely been brushedaway from the face of past times by its own intrinsic perishableness. Now, at least I can hold myself to be free fromthese too common prepossessions. I see more to admire, morepower and vital force of every kind, in my own generation thanin any other. And I refuse to be duped by the scenical effectsof distance or abstraction. It does not followthat our literatureis in a good state. I think it far otherwise; but its faults arenot from want of power.With respect to the other question, not only is it much moredifficult because a personal question, allowing for the utmostcandour in both parties to such an inquiry, but it is really adangerous one for any peremptory judgment, and for a reasonwhich, perhaps, you will stare at. The notion is universal thattalent, afortiori genius, never grows. All which a man has hehas from the beginning. Growth takes place in knowledge,in skill, in address, and many artificial qualities; but not, it issupposed, in downright power. Now I beg you to supposethatit is no love of paradox which forces me into any oppositeopinion. I will not contend as to the absolute metaphysicalrealities of the case. Whether genius, like coal and diamondsin some theories, is always in a secret state of growth, orwhether it is only that a veil clears away from the mind,leaving what was always there more conspicuously visible,either way the result is the same; experience of life, largercomprehension of truth, above all, solitude, grief, meditation, doeffectually bring out powers in the adult not conjecturally visiblein the boy or the very young man.There is no record of any such struggles as those of1844 at a later date, though in 1848 we find that he madean attempt to abstain totally. The relief he had found,VOL. I. Ꮓ354 De Quincey's Life and Writings.after a period of agony, from the reduction of 1844, itdoubtless was that led him to such an experiment; butopium had laid too terrible a spell upon him to belightly shaken off for ever. Say, rather, the chronicweakness or neuralgic affection of the stomach was soestablished, that this was more than could be reasonablyhoped for. Here is one of his records at this time:-Mem.-That this day, Thursday, November 23, 1848-beingmy twenty-fourth day of abstinence-after having descendedinto utter despair, the 17th to the 22d November having beendays of profoundest suffering and utter hopelessness—(rigidobstruction, throbbing without intermission, and sub- inflammation) to my utter surprise the misery passed off afterbreakfast, not fully and consciously until about one or halfpast one; so it continued until after cocoa, when for an hour orso a reaction of misery set in, which again passed off; and now,half-past eleven at night, I am almost as well as before cocoa.On the fifteenth day also (together with the day afteror before) I had an intermission. But now it appears morestrongly that the cause of my misery must be the alcohol,and the restoration dependent on the offing obtained fromthis alcohol. If this is the truth, then it will go on; theadvance will not, perhaps, be continuous, but intermittingand per saltum; but it will burst out more and more at intervals like a fugue, until the restoration shall be perfect.After having at this time abstained wholly for sixtyone days, he was compelled to return to its moderateuse, as life was found to be insupportable; he himselfrecording afterwards that he resumed its use, on thewarrant of his deliberate judgment, as the least of twoevils; and there is no further record of any attempt attotal abstinence. His indulgences in opium after thisdate were, however, very limited.The ten last years embrace a period of quiet andsteady activity. He was well cared for, whether atProfessor Masson's Recollections.355Lasswade or at Lothian Street, Edinburgh, and abandoned to a great extent his wandering propensities.In these years he accomplished some bits of workwhich students are as much inclined to prize as theearliest and freshest of his efforts-notably, several ofthose chapters of Recollections of Infancy, which arenow embodied in the volumes of "AutobiographicSketches." He returned to Lasswade in the end of1847, and lived there without intermission till thebeginning of 1852.Some ofhis peculiar habits, in spite of the loving tendance and care of which he was now the subject, were,however, persevered in. He still sat and wrote atnight, refreshing himself with tea or coffee in largequantity-went to bed in the early hours, woke atmidday, and devoted a large part of the time whiledaylight lasted to wandering about the country, or inthe pleasant, lonely lanes in the neighbourhood ofhis house. Or, if by any chance he was unable thusto gratify himself, he would take compensation byindulging in a starlight ramble. Many, doubtless, arethe light-headed country bumpkins, who, returningfrom adventures of love or whisky, have been scaredby his thin light figure in odd habiliment, his feetin list shoes-his favourite wear-advancing silentlyand suddenly upon them in the darkness. It mustbe of this period of which Professor Masson hasmade the following record, in the course of a mostinteresting description of De Quincey and hisgenius:-"Who in Edinburgh, or anywhere else, wouldnot have delighted in the prospect of getting theOpium-Eater to his house, to dinner with a few356 De Quincey's Life and Writings.

friends , or more quietly afterwards, so as to havean evening with him? Nothing was easier if youknew the way. To invite him by note or personallywas of no use. He would promise-promise mostpunctually, and, if he saw you doubted, reassure youwith a dissertation on the beauty of punctuality;but when the time came, and you were all met,a hundred to one you were without your De Quincey.But send a cab for him, and some one in it to fetchhim, and he came meekly, unresistingly, as if itwere his doom, and he conceived it appointed that,in case of resistance, he should be carried out bythe nape of the neck. It was no compliment toyou. Anybody might have taken possession of him,unless by inadvertence time had been given him toescape by the back-window, under pretext of dressing. So, if you knew the way, you had your DeQuincey. And was it not a treat? Hour after hourthere was the stream, the sweet and subtle eddyingon of the silver talk. ·" The first time I saw him was, most pleasantly,one evening in a room high up in one of thetall houses of the Old Town. He came in charge ofa strong, determined man, who took all the necessary trouble. There were but a few present, andall went on nicely. In addition to the general impression of his diminutiveness and fragility, one wasstruck with the peculiar beauty of his head and forehead, rising disproportionately high over his small,wrinkly visage and gentle, deep-set eyes. In histalk, which was in the form of really harmonious

• Italics here are ouis, for the point has a certain special value.

His Talk not Monologue. 357and considerate colloquy, and not at all in that ofmonologue, I remember chiefly two incidents. Thebirthday of some one present being mentioned, DeQuincey immediately said, ' Oh, that is the anniversaryof the battle of so-and-so, ' and he seemed ready tocatch as many birthdays as might be thrown him onthe spot, and almanack them all round in a similarmanner from his memory. The other incident washis use of a phrase very beautiful in itself, and whichseemed characteristic of his manner of thinking.Describing some visionary scene or other, he spokeof it as consisting of ' discs of light, and interspacesof gloom, ' and I noticed that, with all the fine distinctness of the phrase, both optical and musical, itcame from him with no sort of consciousness of itsbeing out-of-the-way in talk, and with no referencewhatever to its being appreciated or not by thosearound him, but simply because, whoever he mightbe talking to, he would be thinking like De Quincey.That evening passed, and though I saw him once ortwice again, it is the last sight that I remember nextbest. It must have been, I think, in 1846, on asummer afternoon. A friend, a stranger in Edinburgh, was walking with me in one of the pleasant,quiet, country lanes near Edinburgh. Meeting us,and the sole moving thing in the lane beside ourselves, came a small figure, not untidily dressed, butwith his hat pushed far up in front of his forehead, andhanging on his hind-head, so that the back rim musthave been resting on his coat collar. At a little distance I recognised it to be De Quincey; but, notconsidering myself entitled to interrupt his meditations, I only whispered the information to my friend ,358 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that he might not miss what the look at such acelebrity was worth. So we passed him, giving himthe wall. Not unnaturally, however, after we passed,we turned round for the pleasure of a back view ofthe wee, intellectual wizard. Whether my whisperand our glances had alarmed him, as a ticket-ofleave man might be rendered uneasy in his solitarywalk by the scrutiny of two passing strangers, orwhether he had some recollection of me (which waslikely enough, as he seemed to forget nothing) , I donot know; but we found that he, too, had stopped,and was looking round at us. Apparently scared atbeing caught doing so, he immediately wheeledround again, and hurried his face toward a sideturning in the lane, into which he disappeared, hishat still hanging on the back of his head. That wasmy last sight of De Quincey; but a good many yearsafterwards I had the pleasure of receiving, in a circuitous manner, a kind word of recognition fromhim, on a ground independent of any recollection hemay have retained of my juvenile Edinburgh existence. This was just before his death, and one wasglad to know by report that, then in his old age,this eccentric man of genius, this wise, erudite, andbeautiful spirit-this English essayist, the realworth of whose remains, as compared with those ofLord Macaulay, will be found, I venture to say, asthat of a mass of wrought silver against an equalmass of gold and copper-had let his wanderinghabits be brought within bounds, and was ministeredto by the hands of willing affection. "It will not, perhaps, seem out of place here to intro-"Sitting up with Papa." 359duce some reminiscences by Mrs. Baird Smith, as theychiefly deal with the Lasswade life:-" My father's love for children, and power of winningtheir confidence, was one of his loveliest characteristics.My own first awaking to the fact that I had a fathergrew out of the restless nights of a delicate childhood,when my small ill-regulated uproar was sure to bringthe kind, careful arms which rescued the urchin from aweariful bed and the wisdom of nursery discipline, andbrought it to the bright warm room, and the dignityand delight of sitting up with papa. 'This papa,after a petting and soothing process of inexpressiblesweetness, and coffee well loaded with sugar, had alwayssome delightful book, exquisite to the sense of smell, asa book always was to the family nose, and to the eyes,because of pictures, about which, when they became tooamazing for the restraining sense that ' papa must notbe disturbed,' he had always something wonderful orbeautiful to tell. The leaves of this book had generallyto be cut, and much breathless joy came of the carefulteaching how this was to be done, so that there mightbe no ragged edges; reverence for the person of a bookbeing among our early lessons. The triumph of thesmall operator and the applause of the audience over awell-executed work was the chorus to each opened page.In my memory there seems an unending supply of thesebooks; but perhaps really little was done, as the littlecreature fell asleep sooner than was its heroic intent,which was to sit up all night with papa.'"As a girl between ten and twelve, I was his constantand almost only companion, and was never so happy aswith him. The unfailing gentleness of his temper, and360 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tender attention to the feeblest of girlish thoughts andinterests, the unconscious way to both of us in which heturned these into high meanings, without overshootingthe power of the child, was one of those wonderful andgracious gifts, like his power of conversation, whichit was as impossible to catch and bottle for future use,as it would have been to have bottled the sunshine ofthose days." This humbling of himself without effort or any appearance of condescension to little children, was not confined to his own children, nor, with all his delicate refinement, to the children of any class; the most nefariousbaby in the arms of the most impossible of mothers wasa sure passport to, it might often be, his last shilling.And nearly the last time we were together, his almostconstant companion for some time every day was thenephew of one of our maids, a child of about four, who,solely for the pleasure of conversation , walked round andround a dull little garden with him.remember one story which amused us.my father, ' What d'ye ca' thon tree? 'father, with the careful consideration which he gave toany question, began, ' I am not sure, my dear, but Ithink it may be a Lauristinus; ' when the child interrupted him with some scorn, ' A Lauristinus! Lad,d'ye no ken a rhododendron? ' The ' lad ' must havebeen about seventy at the time.Of this boy IHe had askedTo which my"One of my memories of him in bright summermornings was his capturing my baby sister, fresh fromher bath, possibly because there had been some slightfracas over that operation between her and her nurse,and dancing her about the garden; the child, with itsSimple Habits. 361scanty white raiment and golden head, looking like abutterfly glowing among the trees."My father's habits were simple, almost to asceticism. From the neuralgic suffering, which led to hisfirst taking opium, he early lost all his teeth; and, fromthe extreme delicacy of his system, he could eat nothing less capable of perfect mastication than bread, sothat only too often a little soup or coffee was his wholedinner. He was able to take very little wine, even according to the standard of the present day. His dress,unfortunately, he neither cared for himself, nor would helet others care for it. I say unfortunately, because thiscarelessness gave rise among punctilious people, unaccustomed to eccentric habits, to an impression ofpoverty for which there was no foundation. It mightbe that a thought occurred to him in the midst of someof his irregular processes of dressing or undressing (Ishould say, some thought generally did strike him atthat time), and he would stop with his coat just takenoff or not put on, without stockings at all, or with oneoff and one on, and becoming lost in what grew out ofthis thought, he would work on for hours, hardly evennoticing the coffee, which was his chief support at suchtimes. In the midst of this absorbing work, wouldarrive visitors, of whom there were many, probably fromsuch a distance that they could not be turned backwithout sight of the object of their long pilgrimage;upon which my father, with the unaffected courtesywhich was one of the great charms of his character,would appear at once, rather than keep them waitingwhile he put on the other stocking, or whatever might bewanting, or, which was just as likely, in the wrong place,362 De Quincey's Life and Writings.giving rise to awed impressions of poverty with some,while those who could withdraw their unaccustomedeyes from the nakedness of the land, as expounded byhis feet, might have seen in his surroundings such signsof scrupulous neatness, sufficient comfort and refinement, as must have reassured them on this point. For,not long after my mother's death, my father, feeling hisown singular incapacity for the management either of ahousehold or of young children, and always most willing,by self-sacrifice, to further any plan for their good, hadconsented to give up to the management of his eldestdaughter, still but a girl, a small fixed income, and byher admirable judgment and honourable economy, therewas from that time always a comfortable, cheerful home,wholly free from embarrassment, where he was anxiouslylooked for as giving us the best chance of gratifyingthose tastes which association with him had awakened inus. From this time I believe he had no fresh difficultiesto hamper him; those which remained being rather theremnants of previous mismanagement, the growth oftwo phases of extravagance, which, the more we think ofthem, the more they seem the result of some strangefailure of intellect-they were so purposeless, andbrought such unspeakable pain to his own highernature and to those he loved. From the first of thesephases, which can only be described as a wanton charity,no doubt he did gain some comfort for his own exquisite suffering for the suffering of others. Hispresence at home was the signal for a crowd of beggars,among whom borrowed babies and drunken old womenwere sure of the largest share of his sympathy; but herefused it to none, and he was often wearied by the((Snowed Up." 363necessity he laid upon himself of listening to all thewoes which were heaped upon him. This, of course,was that development of his keen sympathy with suffer- .ing which cost him least; there were others which becamevery serious, but which his own sanguine belief in hisown powers of work always led him firmly to believe heshould be able to meet; and indeed he was a hard andunceasing worker, but the character of his work pointsto the impossibility of his being able generally to produce it up to time."His other extravagance grew out of the morbid valuehe set upon his papers and their not being disturbed.He was in the habit of accumulating these till, according to his own description, he was snowed up,' whichineant, when matters came to such an extremity thatthere was not a square inch of room on the table to seta cup upon, that there was no possibility of making hisbed for the weight of papers gathered there, that therewas no chair which could be used for its legitimatepurpose, and that the track from the door to the fireplace, which had always to be considered, had beenblotted out, even for his own careful treading; then helocked the door upon this impracticable state of things,and turned elsewhere; leaving his landlady, if simpleand honest, fearfully impressed with the mysterious sinof meddling with his papers, but, if dishonest, with sucha handle for playing upon his morbid anxieties, aswas a source of livelihood. At his death there were, Ibelieve, about six places where he had these deposits, itmay be imagined at what expense."Such a thing has been known as his gradually in thisway ' papering ' his family out of a house, but in later364 De Quincey's Life and Writings.years his daughters in the home at Lasswade were wary,and the smallest deposit of papers was carefully handeddown into the one irrecoverable desert in which heworked when he left them after spending the eveningwith them, which he almost always did. These evenings were very pleasant. The newspaper was broughtup, and he, telling in his own delightful way, rather thanreading the news, would, on questions from this one andthat of the party, often including young friends of hischildren, neighbours, or visitors from distant places,illuminate the subject with such a wealth of memories,of old stories, of past or present experiences, of humour,of suggestion, even of prophecy, as by its very wealthmakes it impossible to give any taste of it. It was thehappiest flow of real conversation growing out of thecirc*mstances of the moment, in which the youngestand shyest of the party, encouraged by his gentlenessand power of sympathy, that made him catch in amoment what the stammering youth or maiden mightwish to say, took their part."He was not a reassuring man for nervous people tolive with, as those nights were exceptions on which hedidn't set something on fire, the commonest incidentbeing for some one to look up from work or book to saycasually, ' Papa, your hair is on fire,' of which a calm'Is it, my love? ' and a hand rubbing out the blaze wasall the notice taken. One evening a maid rushed inupon two quiet girls with a horrified face and in a burstof smoke to announce that Mr. de Quincey's room, bythistime on the point of being ' snowed up,' was on fire.Some important papers and a little money were secured,and then they descended to the scene of action to findAmerican Visitors.365that a hard frost had taken away all chance of helpfrom water; but the Mississippi might have flowed pasthis door, and Mr. de Quincey would have had none of it,as it would have ruined the beloved papers. He thereforedetermined to conquer the fire without water, or to perishwith them. All he would take in was a heavy rug; andhe locked the door in dread of the abhorred water beingpoured in, in spite of the injury the fire might cause.Presently we were assured that all danger was over,though, in the presence of occasional bursts of smoke,and a very strong smell of fire, it argued an extraordinary confidence in his power of manoeuvring with thatdread element that we all went to bed and slept."The fascination of my father's presence must have,in some measure, conveyed itself into his writings, forfrom the days of my girlhood I recall the difficultiesthat sometimes arose from a surplus of visitors, andhis concern lest any of them-those from a distanceespecially-who desired to come and see him, mightsuffer inconvenience or the appearance of being treatedwith discourtesy. Many were the Americans who favoured us with their society, particularly during thelater years, but I do not remember a single instance inwhich anything but pleasant recollections were leftbehind. And often, when we were away from home,we met with unexpected attentions, simply and solely,we believe, on our father's account, from those who hadmet him or had become interested in his works. Oneof the most memorable cases of this kind was our meeting Mr. W. S. Landor in Bath in 1847, when we werepaying our first visit to our father's relatives in the south.My sisters and I were then with our aunt at Weston;366 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and Mr. Landor having heard we were there, called toinvite us to his house. We found him delightful company, as did my aunt. She was fond of gardening, andhad a very fine garden, which Mr. Landor particularlyadmired; and this led to an expression so characteristic,that I risk a slight digression in order to record it. Onhis noticing some fine trees, my aunt remarked thatthey were not so beautiful as they were, as they hadrecently been lopped. On this Mr. Landor immediatelysaid, ' Ah! I would not lop a tree; if I had to cut abranch, I would cut it down to the ground. If I neededto have my finger cut off, I would cut off my whole arm! 'lifting up that member decisively as he spoke. Landorwas then living in St. James' Square, and we visitedhim there."As expressions of my father's great concern lest visitors should have cause to feel in any way slighted, I maygive here some illustrative letters. They will, I think,speak for themselves:-TO MR. JOSIAH QUINCEY.Tuesday Morning, June 19, 1855.MY DEAR SIR,-I am concerned to learn that you have hadso much trouble and so little success in seeking for my scatteredhousehold. My two sons are in Brazil and India; my twoyoungest daughters are visiting at Boston in Lincolnshire; myeldest daughter is transplanted by marriage to Tipperary inthe south of Ireland; and I myself am in lodgings for themoment in Edinburgh. I received your obliging note onSaturday night. On the next day, being Sunday, I forboreto call upon you; because, though I for my own part do notscruple to pay and receive visits on a Sunday, I was notentitled to assume that you took the same view on such asubject as myself. Throughout yesterday, from an early hourin the morning, I was unavoidably occupied by a troublesome"Hobson's Choice."367law affair relating to a guarantee for house-rent which I hadbeen imprudent enough to give. To-day, I am altogether atyour service; and as I should most unwillingly miss any opportunity of seeing a member of your distinguished family, Iwould request of you to inform the bearer orally-so as toevade all trouble in writing-at what hour of the day I shouldbe likely to find you at home. —I remain, my dear sir, yourfaithful servant, THOMAS DE QUINCEY.Sunday, June 24, 1855.MY DEAREST FLORENCE,-Last night, -viz, Saturday night,and the clock being on the stroke of ten, when every successiveminute was bringing Hobson's choice into wider empire,-Iremembered that I had no paper; and seeing at that momenta solitary stationer's shop-" the last rose of summer "—stillopen, I went in and bought a slip (which means 12 sheets, orhalf an English quire) of this strange-looking note-paper. FromBrobdingnag it must have been imported; and might beused appropriately in writing to the children of Anak, butseems as affronting when used in addressing a young lady, as itwould be to send her a ledger two feet high by way of pocketsouvenir. So, to heal the affront, I rehearse the history of thecase. The letters of the Anakim, meantime, will not necessarilypay extra postage; a tall letter is not, therefore, a heavy letter.But a worse fate may possibly threaten this letter, -viz. , that itmay founder in attempting to enter the narrow port of anordinary envelope.But stop! Suddenly at this point it occurred to me that itmight be as well, before embarking more words upon my frailsheet of paper, to settle the question whether any envelope inmy possession would meet the extra demand upon it. Wouldthe port receive the ship? Naturally, therefore, I directed amore considerate and searching eye upon my letter, and foundto my astonishment that I was—whilst supposing myselfwriting upon a sheet of Cyclopean dimensions-actually halfway through a letter of very commonplace quality upon avery commonplace size of paper. Heard ever man or womanthe like of that? Starting with the strong preconception that

1. 66 Brobdingnag," people generally write Brobdignag; but

that is a faulty spelling.368 De Quincey's Life and Writings.I had no paper but that one forementioned slip of pre- Adamiticproportions, I had persisted unconsciously in viewing my actualpaper through a visionary magnifying glass. It turned outupon examination that exactly one sheet remained of a commonsized slip purchased some ten days ago; and this slip beingaccidentally of the same thin quality as the mammoth slippurchased last night, naturally enough, when stumbling bymistake upon this remainder unit of a vanished flock, I wasmisled by the thinness into supposing myself ranging over thevast Asiatic steppes of the last night's purchase-huge Megatherium heaths or chases, where one has room to misspell overhalf an acre, and yet to redeem one's credit along the amplespaces in the rear-room to talk enormous nonsense for hours,and yet to have it all forgotten before the ending-room forbeing a baddish fellow, and for sowing one's wild oats, in thefirst page, and yet long before cutting into p. 4 room for ahugesweep round into repentance, and for wheeling into the characterof a saint. Now, that I should have made this mistake, andshould unconsciously have submitted to it so long as nothingarose to force any keen attention upon the true proportions ofthe paper, is such an oversight as may be pardoned to humanstupidity, and especially on a sultry day. But that, after myconsciousness in a bright magnetic current had been forcedupon the realities of the case, I should continue to read in theobject before me the features belonging to the imaginaryobject, seems to me a preternatural stupidity, and perhapsworthy of being advertised in the London Gazette. I fancy tomyself at this point Miss Mary Gee, whose fine sense in timespast sometimes wore a satiric aspect, saying, " Now, if not byhimself, but by us, this oversight had been charged upon him asa stupidity, he would have been angry." No, he wouldn't. Omy dear Florence, I rattle in order to beguile my deadlynervousness. But I suffer what I cannot describe. Not theless I strive, to the utmost of what I know as practically useful,and fight continually against it. This very day, though annoyedby the crowds of people rushing to or from their favouritepreachers, I have just returned from my daily walk of sevenmiles; not much certainly, but as much as I can find spiritsfor. And, by the way, this walk lying by accident throughMorningside, on returning about 4 P.M. I met--Whom?This question, for fear you should think my story about theMr. Josiah Quincey. 369mammoth slip of paper tending to the fabulous, I will answer ona sheet from that same slip; for indeed I am now left withoutany other.I -Who was it that I met in Morningside? It was a person whom, I think, you know by sight, and certainly our Tipperary M. does―viz. , Mr. Watson of Princes Street, the bookseller,so famous for his unrivalled series of autographs, stretching (Ibelieve) through forty or more folios. But what do you carefor this man of forty folios, or for the forty folios themselves,any more than for the forty thieves of " Ali Babi? " True; andpity 'tis 'tis true. But why I mentioned him is, because he recalled to me a fact which perhaps I ought to have reported.Saturday last but one, or (more briefly) on the penultimateSaturday-viz. , Saturday the 16th of June-on returning frommy seven miles, I found on my table a note from Mr. JosiahQuincey, jun., mentioning that he had gone over to MavisBush for the purpose of calling on you and Emily; that, onreturning much disappointed, he had fallen in with Mrs. Chambers, who communicated my address, and that, of course, hewas languishing to see me. What could I do? Ranging, as Ido so often, amongst people eaten up with Sabbatic scruplesand superstitions, I could not venture to call on a Sundaywithout special permission. So I staid till Monday. But ouMonday came a point- blank necessity for attending to a matterof pressing business. Seldom comes such a day to me; butnow it really did. On Monday night, with dolorous apostrophes to you two in Lincolnshire as agents indispensable tothe conducting of my correspondence, but mysteriously absent,I scratched out a note as friendly as was due to the brother (ornephew is it?) of our old and most obliging correspondent, MissQ. These Quinceys, you are aware, compose a most distinguished family in Boston. I sent an intelligent messenger withthis note, able to give discretional answers upon any questionor difficulty that might arise. But all was labour lost. At theRoyal Hotel, all that could be told of Mr. Josial's movementswas, that at nine o'clock on Monday morning, being the deathless day of Waterloo, he had departed this life—no, what nousense I amtalking! —not this life, but this city, for a better-no;not for a better, but for a worserer-viz., Greenock. This seemedto imply embarkation for America. And so, in fact, it did , asI learned just now from Mr. Watson. Upon him did Mr. Josiah,2 AVOL. I.370 De Quincey's Life and Writings.jun. , call; and I am bound to speak gratefully of the lamentations which he uttered to Mr. Watson, and thought it worth hiswhile to reiterate more than either once or twice, upon the badluck which had caused our household to be so widely scattered—viz. , one in Tipperary, two in Lincolnshire, one in Edinburgh,one in Brazil, and one in Lahore (is it not? ), or in that neighbourhood. On the whole, therefore, if either of you ever speculated on becoming Mrs. Josiah (or Jeremiah, for by the glory ofhis lamentations that must be his true name), I hold that yourticket has sunk in the market by 50 per cent. But, lastly, andvery seriously, I am sorry, and most sincerely so, that we alllost this opportunity of showing civilities to the representativeof a family so advantageously known in America by patrioticservices, and to ourselves in particular known by so continueda series of most obliging attentions.II . Having thus been led casually to report one article ofnews, I am led by the contagious spirit of gossip into telling asecond. I have received of late several letters from strangers ofthe old fashion so well known to you, but from new people. Ithink I cannot have mentioned them to you. But one I willmention, which I received last Wednesday from a fair incognita.She gives me an address in Sloane Street, Chelsea, and I amalready gratified by the interest she expresses in some part of mywritings, so amiably is it expressed, with so much fervour andsimplicity, and wearing all the marks of sincerity.Love to Miss Gee and to Emily.I should pity you for having such a task of reading beforeyou as this long, long letter offers, only that it is really withinthe power of people with the half of your deciphering skill toread my writing fluently and without checks.I have several things to say, and will write again immediately.-Ever most affectionately yours, THOMAS DE QUINCEY.It is now 9 P.M. on Sunday night. My letter is going to theGeneral Post-Office, but I doubt its going to-night.Sunday Night, June 6, 1858.MY DEAR EMILY,-I forward to you Mr. Prof. Alexander'snote to myself from the Coburg Hotel, in that tip-top quarterof London West, Charles Street, Grosvenor Square.I shall write to- morn's morn to our new friend the Coburg-aProfessor Alexander. 371theatre of that name I once knew, but never yet a hotel. Indeed, I knew the theatre only too well-viz., by living in tooclose neighbourhood to its savage nightly uproars, and especially in those days to the midnight explosion of the Kremlin.To return, however, from the Kremlin to the note of to-morn'smorn, I shall sayto Mr. Alexander, that according to your originalplan, if not miscalculated by me, your return to Lasswade wouldat anyrate fall upon the longest day (June 21 , 22) or thereabouts.To-morrow completes the first ephthemeron, or series of sevendays in June. Nowin twenty-one days there is a first, a second,a third such phenomenon. One is gone, and pretty nearly irrevocable. A second would reasonably be consumed in exchanging kisses, summoning the washerwoman, and paying our " littleaccounts. " So that the total controversy and polemics wouldsettle upon thethird ephthemeron, and that only-namely, frommidnight on the 14th of June to midnight on the 21st. Withinthese two limits lies the whole range of your possible sacrificeson behalf of Mr. Alexander. And of course you would firstchoose to ascertain from Mr. A. himself whether any sacrificeat all would promote bis convenience. I will hold myself inreadiness according to what I hear onthis great argument fromBoston.The next is a letter of somewhat similar character:-42 LOTHIAN STREET,Friday, December 10, 1858.MY DEAR SIR, -I was sorry to hear-which, until Wednesday night, I had no opportunity of hearing-that you hadcalled upon me, and had sent messages (one or more) ineffectually. My landlady's sister could inform you that I had goneout, but not the whither; and if, upon her suggestion, any letterwas addressed to me at Lasswade, it will have travelled in thevery opposite direction to the true one.I write, move, do all things under a most distressing bodilyaffection, one which is properly a surgical case; intermittingly itgives me much pain, but (which is more relevant to the purposebefore me) much nervous impatience. The shortest letter is anoppression to me; and for the last four months I have feltmyself compelled to retreat from all conversation or personal372 De Quincey's Life and Writings.communications with visitors. Pardon me my apparent discourtesy, and I will endeavour to make amends by the circ*mstantiality of my written explanations. Even this mode ofcommunication has its own separate irritations, for the pensthat one is now forced to use-any at least that fall in my way-are as flexible as the poker-not more so certainly in any case,but (when specially good) not less.I presume that the call with which you favoured me hadreference to the " Pope " paper in the " Encyclopædia Brittanica." In a brief note of yours several months back, thoughnot at this moment before me, I remember that you alludedinter alia to the case of the Blounts as a chapter in Pope's lifeabout which much scandal had gathered, much maliciousguessing, and (of late years I suppose it has been proved)much downright misstatement. Without pretending to anyminute acquaintance with the successive stages of research anddiscovery amongst the students of Pope's biography, I have avague impression that Mr. Carruthers of Inverness has established the fact (has he not?) of two separate Blount familiescontemporary with Pope, and I believe more or less connectedby friendship with Pope; and such a fact, interesting for itself,but more especially if it has led to any of the conjecturalscandal disfiguring his memory, is certainly entitled to apointed notice. Other questions connected with Pope andPope's era, and useful towards a full appreciation of the man orof the author, might take their place reasonably enough in afew supplementary paragraphs to the paper as it now stands.But, as an addition, by its nature and its urgency outrunningany other, I should propose to close with about a single pageindicating and appraising Pope's place in the long developmentof literature, and the memorable stage which he reached forhimself, and suggested to others, of a poetry pretending to noaltitudes of inspiration, but dwelling and abiding within thetents of ordinary life.That the functions of Pope have never been truly understood,not even by himself, seems to me attested by expressions in useamongst us having the currency of proverbs. One thing letme add: such a winding-up, assigning to Pope his true place inthe evolution of our literature, would reflect upon the articlea colouring of meditativeness and deliberation which (if Iremember) at present it wants.A Geographical Novelty.Remains to ask1. What space is disposable for this addition?2. time373As to the first, my wishes are moderate enough-three pagesof the " Encyclopædia " size will suffice. But as to time, Ishould wish to hear your own estimate of what is possible. Ihave never been able to write fast, and am now less able thanever.-Pray believe me, ever very truly yours,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.The following letter to the Rev. Francis Jacox alsobears so far in illustration of the characteristics ofmy father just dwelt on, that it may perhaps be notunfitly inserted here:-December 20, 1851.MY DEAR SIR,-I am not much better able to write lettersnow than when heretofore I delegated to my daughter Florencethe duty of replying to your kind communications. But thepersistency (to speak neologically) of your kindness, and of yourdetermination not to be offended at what, under ordinary circ*mstances, would have seemed slights, absolutely coerces meinto writing with my own hand.66 "I observe by your reference to Gombroon, an island aboutwhich that wretched Dane, Malte Brun, lived and died in thegrossest ignorance (what Lord Brougham would describe ascrass ignorance), that you have been looking into Mr.Hogg's " Instructor." If you are in search of geographicalnovelties, be assured that it is the best of guides. I doubtwhether anywhere you would find the ubi of Gombroon indicatedwithin a thousand leagues. NowHogg at least shows on whichside of the equator it lies, which really is more than can befound in the very best charts authorised by the Admiralty.Yet, and except always for these geographical merits, do Iotherwise ratify with my sanction the papers of mine in the"Instructor," or rejoice that any friend reads them? Really Ido not know. I compose with prodigious difficulty at this time;and with still greater difficulty I come to any judgment afterwards upon what I have written. But this I do know, thathere, as always, I have written my best. That is , given theconditions under which I wrote, which conditions might chanceto be very unfavourable-hurry, for example, exhaustion, dis-374 De Quincey's Life and Writings.satisfaction with my subject, &c. , and latterly overwhelmingnervousness-these allowed for, always I have striven to writeas well as I could. And in this case, dreadful as are my nervoushindrances, there are two pointed advantages. I write aboutfacts in the first place; and secondly, the narrow limits of thisparticular journal enforce brevity; and, where there is no choice,that makes one anxiety the less. The act of choosing bringswith it a dreadful nervous distraction.Well, I have thus written a letter, which so rarely I do.And the fault of it being that it is too exclusively about myown concerns, let me mend that fault, or balance it, by sayinga word or two on a matter concerning yourself. We (that ismy three daughters and myself) were all sorry to find that youhad formerly visited Edinburgh, and perhaps (if we read yourightly) even Lasswade, without calling on us. You will notdo so again; for now, so far from needing an introducer, youhave power to introduce others. If you like music and laughter,you will hear a good deal of both from my daughters. We canalso show you Roslin, not two miles distant; and take you onSunday to a pretty little Episcopal Chapel at Dalkeith (if youdo not object to a soupçon of Puseyism); and we can introduceyou to the famous grounds of Hawthornden on any day, whereas the base public, that has no wedding-garment to show, canenter only on Wednesdays, in company with Jews, Pagans,Pariahs, Radicals, Red Republicans, and other canaille. Finally,which may be of even more importance, we can offer you abed.Ever your faithful and affectionate servant,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.My father's unfailing courtesy has been pleasantlynoticed by several of our American visitors, and, amongothers, in the " Baltimore American," by Mr. OliverWhite, who, in recording his impressions of a visit paidto us in 1854, amongst other things, made reference tohis consideration for the feelings of those for whomsometimes it may be that too little consideration isshown:-There was a few moments pause in the " table- talk," when"Awfu' like Language." 375one of the daughters asked us our opinion of Scotland and theScotch. De Quincey had been in a kind of reverie, from whichthe question aroused him. Turning to us, he said, in a kindly,half-paternal manner, " The servant that waits at my table is aScotch girl. It may be that you have something severe to sayabout Scotland. I know that I like the English Church, butI never utter anything that might wound my servant. Heavenknows that the lot of a poor serving-girl is hard enough, and ifthere is any person in the world of whose feelings I am especially tender, it is of those of a female compelled to do for us ourdrudgery. Speak as freely as you choose, but please reserveyour censure, if you have any, for the moments when she isabsent from the room." Un gentilhomme est toujours un gentilhomme, a man of true sensibility and courtesy will manifest iton all occasions, towards the powerless as well as towards thestrong. . . For half an hour, at least, he talked as we neverheard another talk. We have listened to Sir William Hamiltonat his own fireside, to Carlyle walking in the parks of London,to Lamartine in the midst of a favoured few in his own house,to Cousin at the Sorbonne, and to manyothers, but never have weheard such sweet music of eloquent speech as then flowed fromDe Quincey's tongue. To attempt reporting what he said wouldbe like attempting to entrap the rays of the sun. Strange lightbeamed from that grief- worn face, and for a little while thatweak body, so long fed upon by pain, seemed to be clothed withsupernatural youth.On some occasions, however, we used to think, withsome little amusem*nt, this courtesy was not alwaysappreciated, as in the case of an ignorant young girljust out of her village home, who, after a short time,left us for no assigned reason, but, on being questioned,confessed she was " feared o' Mr. de Quincey, he usedsuch awfu' like language "-the awfu' like languagebeing his gentle and quite needless explanations of whyhe wanted a scuttle of coals or a cup of coffee, whichwere given in language to which she certainly was notaccustomed. To balance this, there was offered on one376 De Quincey's Life and Writings.occasion by an admirer in the same condition of life,the following tribute: " Ah, Mr. de Quincey, you are agreat man, a very great man; no body can understandyou! "Many stories are told of the impressions that his careless, poverty-stricken attire and his odd ways made uponstrangers —sometimes to his grievous inconvenience.This is one instance, which a friend recalls, relating toan invitation which Dr. R. had given to De Quincey whenin Glasgow to visit him in Ayrshire: —Without sending notice, the Opium-Eater arrived one day atthe minister's lodgings when the minister was from home. Thelandlady, an old maid, very particular in her habits, was shockedby the aspect of the visitor, and still more when he insisted onbeing shown in that he might wait till Dr. R. returned next day.The old lady, who took him for a wandering vagrant, refusedpoint-blauk, and would not even let him cross the threshold towrite a line telling Dr. R. that he had called. She offered,however, to bring, or rather to allow the lass to bring, theminister's writing-desk to the doorstep that De Quincey mightpen his note there. When Dr. R. came home, it was to receivean indignant note from De Quincey, and to be horrified by thetale of how his illustrious visitor had been ignominiously turnedaway from his door.His contributions to " Blackwood " and " Tait "were continued intermittently at all events up to1849, the " Mail Coach " and the " Vision of SuddenDeath " having appeared in the former in that year.During this Edinburgh period, too, he contributed atvarious times to " Blackwood " the following articles:" On Milton, " " On the Philosophy of RomanHistory," " Dinner, Real and Reputed," " TheOpiumQuestion, " " Ricardo Made Easy," and others, which,to the honour of the readers of " Maga " let it besaid, they knew well how to appreciate.A Scene of Martyrdom. 377The remark already made by Professor Masson on theskilful manoeuvring necessary in order to get De Quinceyinveigled out to dinner, suggests our introducing here aconfession on that subject from amongst his papers:-In general, and I confess almost unavoidably, a dinnerparty is made into a regular scene of martyrdom. First comesthe distress (to which all my experience has not quite reconciledme) of hearing one's own name carried forward by repeatingfootmen from station to station, as by some allegoric trumpetof fame, up flights of echoing stairs until it reaches a well- bredbut slightly censorious drawing-room. Well, that may be borne,and by practice one learns even to view one's self as a phantomamongst phantoms; and for my own part, I put my trust in mytailor as a man likely to execute a bad coat, so as to secure ahappy obscurity for one's mere personal pretensions. Oh, howoften in passing up a long drawing-room I have wished forthat benign cloud of concealment in which Virgil's Æneas wasshrouded by his mamma! But next comes the dreadfulquestion of precedency in going down to the dining-room;dreadful equally to host and guest. Dilemmas arise which notThomas Aquinas, nor Clarencieux sitting in council withGarter-king-at-arms, has any power to settle; so nicely balancedare pretensions when they are of the same sort or sometimes soincommensurable. If the lord lieutenant of the county isamongst the company, he takes precedency of everybody, evenof a man much higher in the peerage, because he represents thesovereign. That is a clear case; but a large majority of cominoncases would puzzle the Heralds' College. Now, what an invidiousoffice does such a perplexity throw upon the poor host! Hemust decide between two parties, and probably offend both.For the guest with no more than a quiet self-estimation maysee cause secretly to protest against the decision; and yet again,if a kind-hearted man, he is distressed by a preference whichmay inflict mortification upon others. Lastly comes the callfor conversing with your next neighbour, which may be easyenough if your neighbour is at all practised in the difficult artof conversation. But to keep a ball flying when your neighbourcannot toss it back-ah, what a sad destiny is that! Anotherinstance of a different kind are pretensions of a different sort.378 De Quincey's Life and Writings.A case from real life: scene, the Earl of Darnley's drawingroom; time, five minutes before the announcement of dinner;Coleridge and Sir H. Davy. Which of these shall go first? Apoet on the one side, a chemist on the other. Yes, says thecourt calendar, but Sir H. has a ticket from the Lord Chancellorcertifying that he has been presented at court. Coleridge hasnone. Besides, you say, " Davy has been knighted." No; Ibeg your pardon; not yet. None of these things have glorifiedhim. At this moment he is simply Mr. H. He is still simplya human being, with no need for a page to say, " Davy, thouart mortal!" " Well, but," says the attorney for Mr. H.,"you are to consider that he is not a mere vulgar operativechemist, tarnished with soot from the furnace, or inventingcosmetics for ladies' lapdogs. He is a great discoverer, whohas descended into the sublunary, who comes but rarely-alegislator, a philosopher. Whereas poets are common as fibs,endless as birds in spring, fugitive as fairs in autumn. ” Ay!but, on the other hand, the poet is also a philosopher. " Yes,"replies Ignorance touched with malice, " but bad poetry combined with bad philosophy, will that avail against goodchemistry combined with good philosophy? " No, my dearIgnorance, it will not, as you say. But then, how if the poetry(at that moment depressed) is really exquisite, and the philosophy (not then much known) so profound as to have a vitalpower securing for it a growing hostility and love thirty yearsafter, when the chemist's science is eclipsed by superseding,and his philosophy has gone to the wall? Come now, againwe are such and such, and there is a Rowland for every Oliver."Well, then, it will come to be a question of age." But themen can't make affidavit of their ages, and Lord Darnley cannot send down to Cornwall for the baptismal certificate ofDavy, nor to Devonshire for that of Coleridge. No; the soleresource is to send for a spelling-dictionary, when it will befound-oh, the varlet!-that C. ever was and will go beforethe D.'s.To the Rev. Francis Jacox we are indebted for somegenial glimpses of the Lasswade life, which we havemuch pleasure in inserting at this place:—"It was on the 13th of July 1852 that I saw Mr. deMr. Facox's Recollections. 379Quincey for the first time; but the welcome he gaveme at this first meeting was that of an old friend.""He showed interest in learning from how earlya date my interest in him had been cherished. It musthave been in the first year of my teens that I becameacquainted with his name, as a youthful prodigy inGreek, whose feats of scholarship were commemoratedto a class of very different scholars, in KensingtonGrammar School, by the head-master (in my time),the Rev. W. H. Whitworth. For particulars we werereferred to the Confessions of an English OpiumEater; ' and that author's consummate mastery ofthe English language, especially in the range of impassioned prose, was impressed upon us with admiringsympathy. It was not my good fortune to lay handson the memorable volume until my school career wasending or ended; but when I did, there were mingledwith the reading grateful memories of the man whocommended its writer, and of the manner of the commendation. Between that time, however, and the periodof my summer visit to Mavis Bush, Lasswade, myappetite for the author's opera omnia had been constantly growing by what it fed on; and when, a yearor two before my becoming his guest, he had forwardedto me a list of his remembered and recognised contributions to periodical literature, with a view to collect andreprint them, or at least a selection from them, requesting me at the same time to make any additions to thelist, if, from internal evidence, I could, -it was in mypower to more than double the total. Many of the bestand most characteristic of his anonymous essays he hadclean forgotten, but there was no mistaking his sign380 De Quincey's Life and Writings.manual; and he was amusedly surprised at the voluminous expanse of his authorship."And now I was seated beside the author himself, alistener to the dulcet tones of that earnest but softlysubdued voice, often tremulous with emphasis, andmost musical when most melancholy. Gladly andgratefully would I have compounded for listeningonly. But Mr. de Quincey * was himself jealous of hisrights as a listener too, even where, as in my case, thoserights might have been absolutely renounced to ourcommon advantage. Nothing could better manifest theinnate courtesy, the even sensitive considerateness oftheman, than his conduct in this respect. A master of theart of conversation, this he is on all sides known tohave been; but I do not remember to have seen justicedone to his surpassing attainments as a good listener.He was always for giving way; scrupulously on thewatch for any, the slightest, token of interruption,objection, comment, assent, question, or answer, nothingcould exceed the tone of unaffected deference with whichhe gave heed as well as ear to whatever his companionmight have to say. Whether his talk was equal to thatof Coleridge, or even was superior to it, may be a question that very few survivors now are competent todecide, or so much as to discuss . But if Madame de

• His name I write with a small d in the de, as he wrote

it himself. He would not have wished it indexed amongthe D's, but the Q's. With all his sincere and pronouncedregard for and admiration of Sara (Mrs Henry Nelson) Coleridge, he would have entirely declined to countenance heruniform style of writing and printing him, all in one word, orat one fell swoop, " Mr. Dequincey."His Capacity of Listening. 381Staël was right in characterising S. T. C. as ' demonologue, ' and so in implying his incapacity to listenpatiently, his monopoly of the prerogative and privilegesof harangue, then was Mr. de Quincey the flat oppositeof that other ' old man eloquent' in this defect or effect,or, as Polonius might word it, effect defective."The same inborn and inbred spirit of benignantcourtesy was perpetually cropping up in other ways-byways some of them, but leading to the same conclusion. His manner to his three daughters, for instance,was the perfection of chivalric respect as well as affection. Very noticeable was his unfailing habit of turningcourteously to them and explaining, in his own choicelyfinished and graphic diction, any casually employed termfrom the ' dead languages,' which presumably might lieoutside the pale of ladies' lore. When I chanced, atdinner that day, to recall the pronounced preference ofhis sometime friend and almost neighbour, the selfstyled Robert the Rhymer, who lived at the Lakes,'But gooseberry-pie is best,'—at once the father turnedto the daughters to remind them that Southey was herepleasantly parodying a line of Pindar's, which mightfurnish water-drinkers with a plea for all occasions, andTemperance Societies with a motto for all time."While sitting with him alone after dinner, he gaveme an account of the lets and hindrances which impededhis design of republishing select volumes of his miscellaneous works-a design which was mainly strengthenedand justified by the success of the American edition,published by Messrs Ticknor & Fields, eight volumesof which he showed me with obvious gratification,qualified though it might be by his too conscious ex-382 De Quincey's Life and Writings.clusion from actual editorial supervision. Grateful henevertheless was to the enterprising Boston firm forcollecting what he had hitherto lacked energy tocollect. 'I must explain to you,' he said, ' that Ihave suffered for the last ten years and more froma most dreadful ailment, to an extent of which I neverheard in any other instance '-—a stagnation of blood inthe legs, resulting in an effect upon the system of' intense, intolerable torpor,' during which it was impossible to hold, or at any rate to guide, a pen; thetorpor being, however, compatible with a ' frightfulrecurrence of long-ago imagery and veriest trifles ofthe past.' The tendency to sleep was irresistible, butthe waking sensations made up a crisis of torture.Relief he found, but slight relief only, in walking fromsix to seven miles on an average daily. But then theweariness of having to walk so far for a relief so slight!So many literary schemes he had in contemplationan elaborate history, and a historical novel among thenumber-some of which, if not all of which, he wouldfain finish before he died. Yet of these not one wasso much as begun. Could he but begin at once! Referring to Wordsworth's happy immunity from distracting anxieties and carking cares, his lettered easeand tranquil surroundings, Mr. de Quincey exclaimed,' Heavens! had I but ever had his robust strength,and healthy stomach, and sound nerves, with the sameglorious freedom from all interruptions and embarrassment! ... But, in point of fact, never have I writtenbut against time, pressed by overbearing anxieties, andlatterly more especially pressed down by physicalsuffering. ' For the last six months he had revertedExplosion ofthe Kremlin. 383to the use of opium in small doses; but any mitigationof his malady it might afford was avowedly counterbalanced by the specific suffering that it in turn inflicted .As to the suggested employment of an amanuensis,he replied that he never could dictate, and that hissuffering would be increased by the sense of implicating another in the imbroglio of his nervous vacillations."Of current literature, and of men of letters past andpresent, he talked on that day, and on subsequentones, with freedom and vivacity. With interest heheard that Professor Wilson, ailing as he was, had beendriven into Edinburgh expressly to record his vote forMacaulay; and much he had to tell me of ChristopherNorth and his ways, and of their joint association withthe Lakes and with ' Blackwood.' One quarrel he hadwith his old comrade-in-arms-for that magazine waspolitically a militant one-was his trick of spoilinga story in the telling. For example, when I hadlodgings over Waterloo Bridge, near the Surrey Theatre,in 1814, every night towards twelve o'clock a terrificdin was caused in and around the playhouse by theexplosion scene in a piece that involved the burning ofthe Kremlin; regularly, to a minute, that explosionawoke a contiguous co*ck; this co*ck, in full crow, awokeanother; the second co*ck a third, and the definite threean indefinite chorus, or antiphony, of others; whichchorus, again, awoke and provoked a correspondingseries of dogs; and so on with other clamorous voicesin succession-gradually swelling the aggregate oftumultuous forces. Now when Professor Wilson, whofound my story of the midnight din amusing, retold it384 De Quincey's Life and Writings.·in his own vigorous but inaccurate fashion , he spoilt theeffect by making the uproar synchronous, instead ofgradually successive.' John Galt was another of the'Blackwood ' staff discussed, and my host spoke withlively appreciation of the Annals of the Parish,' thepeculiar interest of which he ascribed to the characterof the narrator, as in Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield,'where we are entertained by Dr. Primrose's shrewdinsight into his wife's weak points, while he seems tohave no inkling of his own absurdities in the polemicsof deuterogamy. Of another contributor, the lateR. P. Gillies, he spoke with wistful regret, feelinglydeploring the straits and shifts to which that ill- starredscholar had been reduced. This, probably, may havebeen the friend who wrote from the precincts of Holyrood to Mr. de Quincey, to announce his enforced sojourn in that sanctuary, and to whom the reply came,in a style that savours of Charles Lamb, ' I will bewith you on Monday, D.V.; but on Tuesday, D.V. ornot.' Of Sir William Hamilton much was said,and the strain then heard was in a higher mood. Buthis friend and critic deemed him less subtle than Ferrier, though more comprehensive, and took exception tohis ' unnecessary display of erudite quotations ' all toback up a truism. Dr. Chalmers came in for a word ofadmiration, on the score of his broad spirit of liberality,and his tolerance of that German theology which, saidMr. de Quincey, ' I studied at my peril thirty or fortyyears ago.' Admiration was expressed, too, for the'Christian Year.' Isaac Taylor's works had been read,but without much sense of a remunerative return. ' Itis one of the afflictions of life ' (said he, with a gentleDickens and Thackeray. 385smile) , ' that one must read thousands of books only todiscover that one need not have read them.'"Of Talfourd, Mr. de Quincey spoke with evidentregard, but thought his ' Ion ' considerably overrated.He was emphatic in praise of Harriet Lee's ' The German's Tale,' as being almost unequalled in narrativeskill, so artistic is the arrangement of the story, and soexquisite the delineation of Josephine's character. ' Ihad believed Miss Lee to have been dead long since, orI should certainly have called upon her in Bath, to offerher my personal respects and to express my gratificationat her intellectual prowess.' As, to his own regret,he had assumed Miss Lee to be dead, equally so, inanother case, he had assumed Mr. Gillman to be alivewhen the review of the Life of Coleridge ' was contributed to ' Blackwood.' ' Lockhart wrote to Wilson,"What does De Quincey mean by attacking in that sortofway a man in his grave? " Now this, when told me,was the first intimation I had of Mr. Gillman's death .'·"He owned to a decided disrelish for Miss Edgeworth'snovels, assuming, as they seem to do, the existence ofno higher virtues than prudence, discretion, and thelike sober sisterhood. Both her and Lady Morgan hereckoned inferior in racy Irish portraiture to Maturin(the Wild Irish Boy') . Dickens he complained of asrepeating himself in ' Bleak House, ' then in course ofpublication; and a heavier cause of complaint lay inthe popular author's dead set against the ' upper classes,'as such, and his glorification at their expense of theidealised working-man. But Dickens he unhesitatingly preferred, because of his genial humanity, toThackeray, whom I in vain tried to vindicate from theVOL. I. 2 B386 De Quincey's Life and Writings.charge of a prevailing ' spirit of caustic cynicism .' Mr.de Quincey appeared to regard as simply a crotchetyillusion or a blind partiality my remonstrances infavour of the author of ' Pendennis,' when for him Iclaimed the merit of supreme tenderness and benignityof heart, as well as sarcasm in its severest and irony inits most subtle forms. It has always been a puzzle tome how such a gracious nature, so delicately responsiveto every fine touch, so acutely predisposed to the appealsof genuine pathos, should have missed the force andbeauty of what is tender in Thackeray."I have a note of a sauntering to and fro withMr. de Quincey in his garden on the forenoon of the22d, when more than once he was asked for alms bysome passing mendicant, and each time with success.There was something at once deprecating and deferentialin the tones with which he accosted the applicantsseverally, whether man or woman, as though he were infear of hurting their feelings by putting them under anobligation. It was the same when, in my walks withhim along the country roads, he was similarly besetIn every case he gave at once, and without inquiry orinspection. He had in former years been shocked bythe vehemence with which Edward Irving, as they werewalking together in London by night, upon one occasionrepelled and reproached a street-beggar. He wouldprobably have owned to being equally shocked by Archbishop Whately's sternly systematic repression of anyweakness for such casual relief. But with Whately hewould have had very little in common."During the days that I was his guest, I could not buttake note of the vicissitudes of temperament and spiritsVicissitudes ofTemperament. 387to which he was subject. For some time in the morningof each day he appeared to be grievously depressed andprostrate; the drowsy torpor of which he complained sokeenly was then in fullest possession of him, and futilewere all endeavours to rouse or to interest him untilthat tyranny was overpast. Sometimes it extendedfurther on into the day; and more than once, when therewere visitors at his table, he appeared to be utterlybaffled in every effort he made to shake off that oppressive lethargy, as certainly the most persistent and adventurous of those visitors were baffled in their endeavours to cheer him up and to draw him out. In fact, hadI seen him, at this period of his life, only in company, Ishould not have seen him at all. It was when alone withhim that I learnt to know him. A walk in the freshair would by degrees revive him; but nothing could Iobserve so effectual to refresh and reinvigorate him, nospell so potent to disperse his languor, as a cup of goodcoffee. I have seen it act upon him like a charm, bracingup his energies, clearing up his prospects, acceleratinghis speech as well as the march of his ideas, and inspiring him with a new fund of that eloquence which heldthe listener rapt, yet swayed him to and fro at its ownsweet will. The eye that had been so heavy, so clouded,so filmy, so all but closed-the eye that had looked sovoid of life and significance, that had no speculation init, nothing but a weary look of uttermost lassitude anddejection-now kindled with lambent fire, sparkled withgenerous animation, twinkled with quiet fun. Theattenuated frame seemed to expand, and the face, if stillpallid, revealed new capacities of spiritual expression,the most noteworthy a dreamy far-off look, as though388 De Quincey's Life and Writings.holding communion with mysteries beyond our ken, withrealities behind the veil." In his hours of languishing, when ' drooping wofulwan, like one forlorn,' his utterance reminded me ofWordsworth's lines:-"His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,But each in solemn order followed each,With something of a lofty utterance drest—Choice words and measured phrase, above the reachOf ordinary men; a stately speech. """Music he spoke of as a necessity ' to his daily life.Ifever again he visited London, it was his hope to frequent the opera, though as to the theatres, he felt nokind of attraction in anything they could promise him.The idea of seeing Lear ' on the stage, environed bythe surroundings of mere pleasure- seekers and frivolousplaygoers, seemed to him profanity outright. He adverted, however, with cordial admiration to the' Antigone ' of Miss Helen Faucit, of whom, and of herdistinguished husband (Mr. Theodore Martin) , he spokein terms of personal regard. The latter he had recentlymet, I think he said at Mrs. Crowe's, one of the mostintimate, at this time, of his literary friends in Edinburgh. To Mrs. Henry Siddons, too, as a graceful,aerial actress, he referred in terms of lively appreciation.Fond as he was of music, he was not often in the roomwhile the two younger of his daughters played or sangduring my stay; but he was a good listener, for all that,in his ' den ' downstairs, and would comment on hisfavourites among their pieces when he rejoined us.Devout was his reverence for Beethoven, who alone, Iused to think, was capable, among the great composers,Love of Music."389of setting his dream fugues to music, or of interpretingtheir hidden mysteries and complex transitions in strainsof some choral symphony. Mendelssohn he had not asyet come really to admire; not even the ' Songs withoutWords ' seemed to speak home to his heart of hearts; andalike to ' May-bells ' and ' Oh, wert thou in the cauldblast, ' warbled by sweet sister-voices, he could listenwithout a thrill. Bellini was so far a favourite with himthat he often asked his daughters Florence and Emilyto give him the well-worn ' Deh Conte; ' nor would hetire of gems from the ' Don Giovanni,' or of ' QuestoSemplice, ' or of such time-tried strains as Time hathnot thinned,' ' O lovely peace,' ' In chaste Susanna'spraise,' ' Down the dark waters,' ' By limpid streams,'' And will he not come again, ' ' Birds blithely singing,'&c. He exulted in the fervour of expression and themusician-like touch and facility of execution with whichhis youngest daughter, still under professional instruction, rendered Beethoven's ' Sonata Pathetica, ' Weber's' Invitation,' and Pergolesi's ' Gloria in Excelsis. 'When he had written to invite me to visit him, he hadpromised me, if I liked such things, music and laughterin abundance, on the part of his three daughters. Andwell was the promise kept. Yet did he not promise metwo things-music and laughter? In effect I found itto be all one, for the laughter itself was music."His eldest daughter's delicate health was at thisperiod a matter of grave anxiety to him; and the doctor'sreport of organic mischief in progress at the lungs overwhelmed him with solicitude and misgivings. She kepthouse for him, and he expressed to me, with the mostcharming naïveté and innocent candour, his supreme390 De Quincey's Life and Writings.amazement at the economical tact with which, whileexercising all the year round a quiet system of modesthospitality, she contrived to make both ends meet.Comfortable as she made his home, and happy as sheand her two sisters made himself, he yet lamentedpiteously the inroads on his time caused by visitors.His only salvation, he said, for this chronic curse ofdistracting interruptions would entail the loss to hisdaughters of their only relaxation. He lamented, too,the smallness of his ' den,' overcrowded with books andpapers. In this room he had left himself space only toslide along to his table through piles of volumes. Hisdaughters told me this was the first house he had notbuilt them out of, with these ever accumulating books.Thrice in Westmoreland had such been their fate; andthey laughed at their own imprudence in leaving a bathin this room of his, which he instantly utilised past recovery as a receptacle for literary matter, heaped up,pressed down, shaken together, and running over. Theylaughed, too, over his quaint trick of carrying off everyscrap of paper he could lay his hands on, any old envelopeor newspaper-not unfrequently on the bland pretextof burning it for you,' in that fire of his which was neverallowed to go out the whole year round, and which, in alittle room so densely charged with combustible matter,was to them a source of some natural anxiety.66' It was on July 22d, that I repeated my visit, remaining with him at Mavis Bush until the 27th. Meanwhile,he had been gratified by a visit from Mr. Fields ofBoston, U.S.A. , who, on leaving, had put into Miss deQuincey's hands a cheque for a part of the profits accruing from the sale of the American edition of hisVisitfrom Miss Martineau. 391works-to be kept from her father's knowledge till heshould have returned home from seeing his Americanguest to the coach. Miss Martineau had spent the afternoon with him the day before, and he spoke of her withreal liking in his words and manner. If her size hadimpressed him, so had her quietness of demeanour, and,adopting Elia's phrase, he designated her the gentlegiantess. She, on her part, had been pleasantly impressed by his voice, and had exclaimed to his eldestdaughter apart, alluding to her own deafness, Oh, whata voice! so clear, so soft, so sweet! so delightful a contrast to the way people have of bawling to me.'8"On the 25th, he hoped to have taken me to morningservice at the Episcopal Chapel on the Duke of Buccleuch's grounds, Dalkeith, but was not well enoughat the appointed hour, and I accompanied his threedaughters to the chapel, driving through Bonnyrigg, andLowton, and coming within view of co*ckpen Tower andof the Lammermoor hills by the way. He talked ofthe service on our return, and showed how far his sympathies went with a moderately ornate ritual. SoundChurch of England man as it was his great right and hispride to call himself, he avowed that his antagonism toRome was mainly as a political system. On this Sundayafternoon he avowed the vehement hatred he had alwayscherished for the Judaic continuance of a Sabbath inthe Judaic sense. Sabbath he hailed as a sublime word,but its exclusive beauty and significance were ruined,to his sense, by the ' base universal usage of it on themost trivial occasions. ' For some Presbyterian ministers,notably Dr. Hanna, with whom he had agreeablerelations in contributing to the North British Review,'392 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Ashis regard was unaffectedly cordial. It must be remembered that a Scottish Broad Church party, such as couldbetter have claimed his sympathies as a party, was hardlythen in existence. The Norman Macleods and the TulLochs, as a power in the Kirk, were yet to come. Hewas curious to know more about Professor Maurice, who'has been talked of to me as the greatest man in theChurch of England, '-but who thus far had failed toimpress him with a sense of real or definite power. Allseemed so indefinite when looked closely into. Whatseemed firm ground gave way beneath your tread.to Charles Kingsley and the Christian Socialists,' ' Iam puzzled to know what in the world they would beat.' Mr. Gladstone's splendid powers had a charm forhim: 'But what am I to think ( 1852) of his sympathieswith a party abroad which at home would be identifiedwith extreme democracy?' Not that extreme democracyin politics, any more than abstract atheism as such, wasto Mr. de Quincey otherwise than philosophically interesting. One of the periodicals of the daywhich he seemedto read with great zest was ' The Leader, ' of the editorof which, Mr. G. H. Lewes, he spoke with inquiringeagerness. During our walk together into Edinburgh onthe day of my finally quitting Mavis Bush, he expatiatedwith unprecedented animation on German theology ofthe advanced school, and freely recognised the ' enormity'of the difficulties which rigid orthodoxy had to confront.Passing on to speak of practical difficulties, he said,'Frightfully perplexed I am, to this hour, as to whatconstitutes the so-called appropriation of the benefits ofChrist's death. Never could I get any one to clear itup to me. Coleridge was utterly vague on the subject.66Theories ofthe Atonement. 393He talked all about it and about it, but never talked itout, that I could discover. Often have I discussed thequestion with my mother, a clear-headed and thoughtfulwoman, devoted to the Evangelical system, and a devout supporter of " The Record"-which paper I honour,as, in the other extreme, but for the same reason, I doThe Leader," for its candid and obvious earnestness inenforcing the views it has so sincerely at heart-but shewould utterly fail to comprehend my difficulties. " Mydear child," she would repeat, "you have simply totrust in the blood of Christ." " Very well, " I wouldreply, " and I am quite willing; I reverence Christ; butwhat does this trusting mean? How am I to knowexactly what to do? Upon what specifically am I totake hold to support me when flesh and heart faileth ,in the hour of death, and at the day of judgment? "Countless different schemes there are to expound thisdoctrine of trust and of appropriation; but they remindme of the ancilia at Rome, the eleven copies of thesacred shield or palladium: to prevent the true onebeing stolen, the eleven were made exactly like it. Sowith the true doctrine of the atonement: it is lurkingamong the others that look like it, but who is to saywhich of them all it is?'"After taking coffee with me that evening, Mr. deQuincey surpassed himself in copious eloquence andvivid variety of discourse, from grave to gay, from livelyto severe. He talked of the history he proposed towrite-a ' philosophical history of England, perhapsup to the period when Macaulay begins.' The novel hehad in contemplation was to be about two prisoners inAustria, in the time of Maria Theresa. He said of his394 De Quincey's Life and Writings.translated novel, Walladmor,' that it arose out of ahasty review of the German original inserted in the' London Magazine.' Taylor & Hessey being struckwith the extracts as he had Englished them, commissioned him to translate the complete work. Thecomplete work, he said, turned out to be complete trash;but he did his best, partly recast the story, and gavemore point to the conversations. It found a few admirers, among whom it was gratifying to him to reckonDora Wordsworth (Mrs. Quillinan)."As I walked with him along Princes Street to theMound on his way home, I noticed the nervous solicitudewith which he refrained from any gesture while passinga cabstand, that might seem to warrant any driver inconcluding himself summoned and engaged. Someunhappy experience of a mistake of this kind may havebeen the secret of his disquiet, for evidently he entertained a dread of the overbearing brutality of thesem*n. ' He spoke of his short-sightedness, which atOxford had been so marked, that he was rumoured tobe a bit of a Jacobin because he failed to ' cap ' theMaster of his college (Worcester) when he met him,only from sheer inability to recognise him by sight.Wepaused to look at the display of French and Germanbooks in Seton's window, and he would willingly havelingered there till sunset, glancing from author toauthor, with a word for (or against) each. Seeing inBell & Bradfute's window a copy of Hawthorne's'Mosses,' about which I had been talking to his daughters, I went in to buy it, he readily undertaking the lightporterage; and it led him to talk of Hawthorne's genius,and to mention a recent visit of Emerson's,-to neitherLike a Dream!395of whom could he accord quite the degree of admirationclaimed for them by the more thoroughgoing of theirrespective admirers. Our way lay through GeorgeSquare to the Meadows, and at the end of ' Lovers'Walk ' he insisted on my not incurring the fatigue ofaccompanying him further. It was between eight andnine on that lovely July evening that I took leave-mylast leave-of the man to whom I owed so much.the very moment of parting, all seemed to me like adream that we had ever met, that we were now parting.Could it all be but the baseless fabric of a vision, andwas this the break- up, to leave not a rack behind?"The old man still stood talking by my side;But now his voice to me was like a streamScarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;And the whole body of the man did seemLike one whom I had met with in a dream."At"The parting was over, and; he went on his way.Lingering, I watched that receding figure, as it dimmed in the distance. The last I saw of him, he hadopened Hawthorne's book, and went along reading ashe walked. In that attitude I lost sight of him. Hewent on his way, and I saw him no more."FRANCIS JACOX."In the year 1849, a new and fruitful literary connection had been opened up. As it led to the issue of the" Collected Writings -an enterprise in the circ*mstances as precarious as it was praiseworthy-we are

• Later than this, Mr. de Quincey read the " Scarlet Letter "

and other works of Hawthorne with great access of admiration.-Ed.396 De Quincey's Life and Writings.glad to be able to give an account of it in the wordsof Mr. James Hogg himself, in another chapter.This, however, seems the proper place to interjecttwo glimpses of visits to "the old man eloquent "at Lasswade, which have left their record. In theautumn of 1852, we find Miss Mitford thus writingto Mrs. Hoare, and bringing into momentary conjunction two great names in literature which suggestmore of a common interest than many others:-" Did I tell you that Mr. Fields expects to bringMr. Hawthorne to England with him in the spring?And did I also say that the last act of my excellentfriend, before leaving England, was to carry to Mr.de Quincey, in Scotland, the author's profits of theseven volumes of his collected works, which he (Mr.Fields) had collected with so much care and pains,and edited himself? This piece of generosity, unprecedented in any publisher, English or American,gave great pleasure to the ' Opium-Eater,' whom Mr.Fields describes as the most courtly gentleman thathe has seen in Europe. "Again, in the winter of 1853, Miss Mitford writesto Miss Goldsmid:-" Two or three of my friends have visited Mr. deQuincey at Lasswade, where he now lives (did MissCaroline see him with poor Dr. Mainzer?); andthey all say it is the strangest mixture, -of anappearance so neglected that he looks like an oldbeggar, of manners so perfect that they would dohonour to a prince, and of conversation unapproachedfor brilliancy. He confessed to one of my friends,who saw him on a bad day, that he could only quiethis nerves by opium-so that he has not left it off.Mr. Fields' Lecture. 397His daughter Margaret, my correspondent, whoseletters are as charming as her father's books, isgoing to be married to a young Scotchman who hasbought land in Tipperary, —a venture; but a genialyoung couple may, I think, find and make friendsamong the Irish. "Mr. Fields himself, in a lecture on De Quinceywhich he delivered in New York in November lastyear, spoke with fine appreciation of many traits inDe Quincey, and gave an account of the visit toMavis Bush referred to above. A few sentencesfrom the lecture, as condensed by an Americanjournal, we may be allowed to give here:—Pale he was, with a head of wonderful size, which served tomake more apparent the inferior dimensions of his body, anda face which lived the sculptured past in every lineament frombrow to chin. One seeing him would surely be tempted to askwho he was that took off his hat with such grave politeness,remaining uncovered if a lady were passing almost until she wasout of sight, and would get for an answer likely enough, “ Oh,that is little De Quincey, who hears strange sounds and eatsopium. Did you ever see such a little man? " Little he was,indeed, like Dickens and Jeffrey, the latter of whom had solittle flesh that it was said his intellect was indecently exposed.He evinced the double eccentricity of genius and opium, kepthis money in his hat and his manuscripts in a bathing-tub, andotherwise was guilty of strange things. It seems a littlesingular that one who was such a perfect master of the Englishlanguage as De Quincey should never have been heard of byM. Taine, should have been thought dead by people in Edinburgh when he was living within ten miles of the town, andshould have been otherwise ludicrously overlooked in his owntime. It was De Quincey who invented the word "parvanimity," as opposed to magnanimity; and the word deserves asmuch to be kept as Bentham's " international." It was whenDe Quincey was thirty-five years of age that the "Confessionsof an Opium-Eater " appeared in the old " London Magazine,”398 De Quincey's Life and Writings.simultaneously with one of Dickens's pieces, which lost,probably, some of its brilliancy by the contact. At this timeDe Quincey's fortune had just been dissipated through thefailure of a relation, and thenceforward he supported himself and his wife and children by his pen. He would go fordays without eating, supporting life on opiates.Mr. Fields visited De Quincey in 1852, when he was living ina little cottage ten miles out of Edinburgh. He had upon hisforehead the "alabaster shine " which Mr Fields had oftennoticed in the faces of opium- eaters. As he expressed hisfeelings, "It was as though there were a nondescript animalgnawing at his vitals," which he was powerless to subdue. Hetold of a row which Christopher North once had with a Frenchman in the theatre. The Frenchman was demonstrative, andattracted attention, so North told him to be quiet, and as soonas they got outside they would " settle it." " Yes," said Mr.Fields, "and what then?" " Then," returned De Quincey,gazing vaguely into the distance, "the Professor closed boththe little Frenchman's eyes, and, his vision being eliminated,the conflict ended." De Quincey insisted on accompanying Mr.Fields back to Edinburgh on foot, and did it, although it wasso late that they did not reach the town till morning.END OF VOL. I.

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN3 9015 042033269

CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.

CHAP.XVI. HOGG'S MR. REMINISCENCES ·PAGE1XVII. THE COLLECTED WRITINGSXVIII. LOTHIAN STREETXIX. CRITICISMS AND CHARACTERISTICS• 34• 80· · 146• 275294XX. CRITICISMS AND CHARACTERISTICS-(continued)XXI. THE LAST DAYSAPPENDIX.I. A MEDICAL VIEW OF MR. DE QUINCEY'S CASEBY SURGEON-MAJOR W. C. B. EATWELL, M.D. , F. R. S. , FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, LONDON; AND FORMERLY PRINCIPAL OF THE MEDICAL COLLEGE, CALCUTTA, AND MEMBER OF THE SENATE OF THE CALCUTTA UNIVERSITY.II. DE QUINCEY'S FATHER AS AN AUTHORIII. MR. DE QUINCEY'S FAMILY ·IV. MR. GRINFIELD AND HIS WORKSV. WESTMORELAND ARCHITECTURE• 309• 340· 341343• 344VI. MR. MALTHUS AND " THE MEASURE OF VALUE "• 349VII. ANGLO- GERMAN DICTIONARIES · 352VIII. MORAL EFFECTS OF REVOLUTIONS • 355INDEX · 357vi CONTENTS.LETTERS IN VOLUME II.Letters to Mr. Hogg and Notes to the PressTo his Daughter Emily Do. Do.To his Daughter FlorenceTo his Daughter MargaretTo his Daughter FlorenceTo his Daughter Emily (including " The Dream ")To his Daughters Florence and EmilyTo his Daughter Florence Do. Do.To his Daughters Florence and Emily Do.To Miss Agnes Duncan To his Daughter EmilyTo Miss Craig •To his Daughter FlorenceDo.To his Daughters Florence and EmilyTo his Daughter EmilyDo. Do.Do. Do. Do.Do.Do. Do.Do. Do.Do.Do.Do.Do.Do. Do.To his Daughter MargaretTo his Daughter EmilyTo Miss WidnellTo the Captain of the Manchester Grammar SchoolTo his Daughter Margaret Do.Do.Do.Do.Letter about the Fairy's GiftTo his Daughters Florence and Emily From Rev. E. W. Grinfield •PAGE• 1-79· 82· 8386878890• 949597• 99• 99• 101· 102· 103• 105· 105108• 109• 113· 115· 117• 119· 122• 125· 128· 129· 131· 133135· 137· 138141• 143• 269· 305THOMAS DE QUINCEY.CHAPTER XVI.:MR. HOGG'S REMINISCENCES.T was in the autumn of the year 1849 thatI first saw Thomas de Quincey. At thatperiod, much of my time was taken up inconnection with " Hogg's Instructor, " and owing toan accident that had occurred in our printing- office ,we had partially betaken ourselves to temporary andsomewhat out-of-the-way premises at Canonmills, inthe vicinity of Edinburgh. As I was attending to somematters in this office, I was informed that a gentlemanurgently wished to see me. Going down, I was confronted by a noticeably small figure, attired in a capacious garment which was much too large, and whichserved the purpose of both under and overcoat. Although I was well acquainted with the fame and writings of Thomas de Quincey, and had read accounts ofhis personal appearance, the figure now before me failedto realise the idea I had formed of the English OpiumVOL. II. A2 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Eater. It was some time before the extreme refinement of the face was noticed-not, indeed , till thevoice, gentle, clear , and silvery, began to be heard;when the eye ceased to be diverted by a certain oddityin the general appearance, and was attracted by thebrow which, from its prominence, gave an aspect ofalmost childlike smallness to the under face, and bythe eyes, which combined a singular power of quietscrutiny with a sort of dreamy softness that suggestedsomething of weariness.With an air of quiet good breeding , he told mewho he was, and the object of his visit, which wasto offer me an article for the " Instructor. " He expressed his satisfaction at the manner in which thatwork had been conducted; said he was pleased withits non-political and non-sectarian character; and,if there was a vacancy on the staff, he would like tobecome an occasional contributor.I was much pleased at the offer of the services ofso distinguished a writer. The contribution whichhe had brought with him was forthwith drawn fromthe capacious inner pocket of his coat; but, beforebeing handed to me, I was both surprised and amusedat a small handbrush being drawn from the samereceptacle, and the manuscript carefully brushed before it was handed to me. This operation was onewhich I afterwards found that he invariably performed.The contribution was then and there accepted.I remember asking him on this occasion how hemeant to return to Lasswade. He replied, " I shall,as usual , walk; -from this point it is only about tenmiles; it is now only six o'clock, and I shall reachhome about nine." This will show that on thisThe Collected Works Projected. 3occasion he must have walked twenty miles in hisjourney from Lasswade and back.One visit led to another, and before long the connection became so intimate, that I either saw him orheard from him at short intervals-an intimacywhich, I am glad to say, consolidated as time wenton, and remained unbroken till the last hour.ItThe project of the collected works was talked ofin the earlier stages of our acquaintance, and I remember well the remarks which reached me fromvarious quarters when I announced the series. *was said that I was engaging in an undertakingwhich I would never be able to complete-that othershad tried it and failed , and that I would succeed nobetter than they had done. I might, perhaps, geta volume printed, but that would be all. But Ipersevered , and, by dint of patience and a way ofhumouring him, I succeeded. I soon discovered ,however, that it was almost impossible to overrate difficulties his whole constitution and habit of mindwere averse from sustained and continuous work ofthe kind. He was constantly being caught with newplans, and when I was desirous of pushing on thepublication of the works, would entertain me withthe most ingenious devices and speculations-sometimes alighting on really practical needs, the supplying of which would have done something towards a fortune. I soon found out that it was

• It was well known, and had been publicly intimated in the

Eclectic Review, that no collection of his works revised by himself would ever appear, as the author, owing to age and ill health,had declined to accede to the request of several publishers thathe should prepare such a collection. - ED.4 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of no use to show impatience that the causes ofdelay were for the most part beyond his control;that he did not lack the will to make efforts, butthe power, and that the power was most amenablewhen he was left unharassed. A gentle reminder,an indirect suggestion , rather than an expression ofone's disappointment, was the most efficient spur tohis will; for he was sympathetic and appreciative ofgentleness beyond all men I have ever known. *In 1840, he had leased a pretty little cottage calledMavis Bush, at Lasswade, situated on the browof one of the declivities leading to the river Esk,where he lived with his daughters in quiet and comfort. Now that he was engaged on a work whichrequired his presence more frequently in Edinburgh,he began to discover manifold grievances, real orimaginary, in living at such a distance from thepress. For a time he persevered in walking in andout-the double journey being about fourteen miles.He was never inclined to favour coaches, finding himself thrown into companionships he did not relish. †

• The notes from Mr. de Quincey's own hand which appear in

the succeeding chapter will serve to show how the work progressed. These notes have been culled from many others of asimilar character.+ In that most exquisite and humorous piece of criticism onLandor, titled " Milton versus Southey and Landor," he thus, in throwing some ridicule on " Over- colonisation " as the lesson of"Gebir," interjects what is in reality an autobiographic touch: -" I, indeed, knew a case, but Dalica did not, of over- colonisation.It was the case, which even yet occurs on out-of-the-way roads,where a man unjustly big mounts into the inside of a stage- coach already sufficiently crowded. In streets and squares,where men could give him a wide berth, they had tolerated the"An Amusing Provision." 5He so often arrived at my place of business latein the afternoon, that it would almost seem as if hepreferred walking home from Edinburgh to Lasswadeafter dark—an impression confirmed by an amusingprovision which he hit upon for illumination at asomewhat perilous stage in the journey. The riverEsk, at certain parts of its course, runs betweensomewhat steep and craggy embankments. On theroute he preferred to take there was a small footbridge not very far from his own house, which wasso narrow that there was some risk in attempting tocross it in the darkness. He therefore procured asmall lantern which he lit before leaving Edinburgh,and carried in his pocket. But to his utter consternation , several times running it went out, as if bysome fatality, just as he approached the fragile footbridge. He, therefore, abandoned the lantern insome disappointment. He has himself given anillustration of the great distance practically betweenLasswade and Edinburgh in a playful introductionto one of his essays , published in 1852. But playful as it is , the miseries to which he was subjectedwere real enough, in his regard, as the reader mayguess:-" It is a fact that I can send a letter to Astrachan,iniquity of his person; but now, in a chamber so confined, thelength and breadth of his wickedness shines revealed to everyeye. And if the coach should upset, which it would not be theless likely to do for having him on board, somebody or other(perhaps myself) must lie beneath this monster, like Enceladusunder Mount Etna, calling upon Jove to come quickly with athunderbolt, and destroy both man and mountain, both sucubus and incubus, if no other relief offered. "-ED.6 De Quincey's Life and Writings.or even to Bokhara (and, indeed, I meditate a letterto Bokhara, filled with reproaches to the Sultan,whom I particularly detest) , much more easily thanI can plant a note in the hands of my publisher, orhis compositors. Once posted , the letter to Bokhara,like an arrow dismissed from a bow, will assuredlyfind out the Sultan , without further ' fash ' on mypart, and will cause a festering in his villanousheart; and he can have no pretence for complaining of me to the Court of St. James's, since I shallpay the postage to the last farthing. Fluent as the

Theflight of a swallow is the Sultan's letter; whereas ,the letter to my publisher describes a path that iszigzag, discontinuous , moving through harsh angles ,and intersected at every turn by human negligences,and by inhuman treacheries of coachmen.Sultan presents a point-blank mark to my bullet;but, to hit my publisher, I must fire round a corner,or, indeed, round three corners at once. ... Itseems to follow that, unless my publisher could beprevailed on kindly to ' flit ' to Bokhara, there is nogreat prospect of opening a direct or rapid communication with him. . . . By reason of his procrastination in fixing himself at Bokhara, thecorrespondence with him is in that condition ofcircuitousness and liability to rests (which are verygood in music, but shameful and disgusting in thepost-office), that three-fourths of the time otherwisedisposable for my paper, perishes in holes and•

• And all of us detest him reasonably, who remember his

treatment of poor Stoddart and Conolly , for no crime alleged butthat of trusting to the hospitality and justice of his savage land.Obstacles and Delays. 7corners amongst the embezzlements of the road;and every contraction in the rations allowed as tohours and minutes regularly shows itself, in a corresponding expansion of hurry and inevitable precipitancy, as regards the quality of the composition. "This fancied delay in communication led to histaking lodgings in Edinburgh, where he would benear to the press. I shall not soon forget the aspectwhich his rooms came to wear before they had beenlong occupied by him. Boxes of papers filled thecorners, and papers lay scattered on every available bit of flat surface; books and magazines piledindiscriminately tier on tier against the wall from thefloor; his very table so littered as scarcely to allowhim a corner to write upon-the available space forthis and other purposes being no bigger than a sheetof letter- paper. Soon obstacles and delays arosehere as at Lasswade, and all the old process ofhumouring and gentle hastening were again foundnecessary. His incapacity to stick to work was increased by his nervous dread of putting others toinconvenience, or causing them loss or suffering.Though he had little of the passion for fine bookswhich afflicts some scholars , he was pursued by aChinese-like reverence for written or printed paper.Newspapers and magazines, which reached him fromall parts of the world, he preserved with religiouscare; even his MSS. which had been printed hepreserved; and his habit of making notes on looseslips of paper in the course of his reading, and depositing them among the papers, rendered thoseheaps to be valuable in his eyes, though they wereso rather as containing thin veins of gold than as8 De Quincey's Life and Writings.being throughout golden. But only he himselfcould have told what was valuable, as the noteswere not seldom wholly unintelligible to any oneelse; and the laborious process of sorting wasoften deferred, while he clung to his gatheringsalmost with childlike pertinacity. Nay, he was wontto drag such heaps from place to place with him,whereby arose some of the oddest accidents perhapson record.On one occasion when he was about to pay avisit to Professor Lushington in Glasgow, he resolved he would do a great deal of work while enjoying the quiet and comfort of his esteemed friend'shome. Accordingly, he had two tea-chests filledwith such papers, and these he took with him, Onreaching Glasgow, he placed the chests under thecare of a porter to convey to his destination; he,apparently, proceeding with the porter to guard them.Having gone so far, the porter found that his loadwas heavier than he had bargained for; and eitherhe or De Quincey suggested that it would be well toleave the boxes in some place near at hand. A bookseller's shop was espied not far off, and to that thetwo betook themselves. The bookseller agreed toallow the two chests house-room for a short time, andthey were accordingly left with him. But De Quinceyhad omitted to note the name, the number of theshop, or even the name of the street, and was neverable to find the place. On his return to Edinburgh,he mourned over the irreparable loss of his valuablepapers; and after a considerable time, when hehad quite given them up as lost for ever, I wrote toa friend in Glasgow detailing the circ*mstances , andA Bundle of Papers. 9asking whether he would take the trouble to sendround to the booksellers' , inquiring if any such boxeshad been left with either of them. To my astonishment, my friend succeeded in ferreting out theprecious packages; and De Quincey's look of pleasedsurprise may be imagined when I directed his attention to them in my office, as I asked, " Do you knowthese boxes?" He stood for a moment as if petrified,and unable to say anything; and on my asking himwhat should be done with them, he said, " Sendthem to Lothian Street, " where probably they layunopened for another period as long, and whenopened at last, were not found to contain such valuables as he had fancied.I remember another occasion , when I accompaniedhim to have his daguerreotype taken. The studio ofthe daguerreotype artist was in Princes Street; and,returning by way of the High Street, we were overtaken by a severe thunderstorm, which drove us intoPaxton's Royal Exchange Hotel for shelter. Whilethere having a basin of soup, the waiter, after closelyscrutinising my companion, gently touched him onthe arm , and said, " I think, sir, I have a bundleof papers which you left here some time ago. " Aparcel was accordingly produced, which, sure enough,proved to be papers belonging to De Quincey.then turned out that my friend had slept at thishotel some twelve months before, and on that occasion had confided these papers to the waiter, askinghim to keep them till he called for them.ItApropos of this same daguerreotype, an engravingfrom which appeared in " Hogg's Instructor, " Ireceived from De Quincey the following humorous1Ο De Quincey's Life and Writings.letter, which was printed in the " Instructor " forMarch 1851 , but is , I think, in so rich and characteristic a vein as to deserve insertion here:-"" To the Editor of Hogg's Instructor.'6"September 21 , 1850." MY DEAR SIR, —I am much obliged to you forcommunicating to us (that is, to my daughters andmyself) the engraved portrait, enlarged from thedaguerreotype original. The engraver, at least,seems to have done his part ably. As to one of theearlier artists concerned-viz. , the sun of July—Isuppose it is not allowable to complain of him, elsemy daughters are inclined to upbraid him with having made the mouth too long. But, of old , it washeld audacity to suspect the sun's veracity: -' Solem quis discere falsum audeat! ' And I rememberthat, half a century ago, the Sun ' newspaper, inLondon, used to fight under sanction of that motto.But it was at length discovered by the learned , that' Sun ' junior, viz. , the newspaper, did sometimes indulge in fibbing. The ancient prejudice about thesolar truth broke down, therefore, in that instance;and who knows but sun senior may be detected, nowthat our optical glasses are so much improved, insimilar practices? in which case he may have onlybeen keeping his hand in ' when operating uponthat one feature of the mouth. The rest of the portrait, we all agree, does credit to his talents, showing that he is still wide-awake, and not at all thesuperannuated old artist that some speculators inphilosophy had dreamed of his becoming."As an accompaniment to the portrait, your wish"The Old Hackneyed Roll-call"IIis that I should furnish a few brief chronologicalmemoranda of my own life. That would be hardfor me to do, and, when done, might not be veryinteresting for others to read. Nothing makes suchdreary and monotonous reading as the old hackneyedroll-call, chronologically arrayed , of inevitable factsin a man's life . One is so certain of the man'shaving been born, and also of his having died, thatit is dismal to be under the necessity of reading it.That the man began by being a boy-that he wentto school-and that by intense application to hisstudies, which he took to be his portion in thislife, ' he rose to distinction as a robber of orchards ,seems so probable, upon the whole, that I am willing to accept it as a postulate. That he marriedthat, in fulness of time, he was hanged, or (being ahumble, unambitious man) that he was content withdeserving it—these little circ*mstances are so naturally to be looked for, as sown broadcast up anddown the great fields of biography, that any onelife becomes, in this respect, but the echo of thousands. Chronologic successions of events and dates ,such as these, which, belonging to the race, illustrate nothing in the individual, are as wearisome asthey are useless."A better plan will be to detach some single chapterfrom the experiences of childhood , which is likely tooffer at least this kind of value-either that it willrecord some of the deep impressions under which mychildish sensibilities expanded, and the ideas which atthat time brooded continually over my mind, or elsewill expose the traits of character that slumbered inthose around me. This plan will have the advan-121 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tage of not being liable to the suspicion of vanity oregotism; for I beg the reader to understand distinctly, that I do not offer this sketch as derivingany part of what interest it may have from myself,as the person concerned in it. If the particularexperience selected is really interesting, in virtue ofits own circ*mstances, then it matters not to whomit happened. Suppose that a man should record aperilous journey, it will be no fair inference that herecords it as a journey performed by himself. Mostsincerely he may be able to say that he records itnot for that relation to himself, but in spite of thatrelation. The incidents , being absolutely independent, in their power to amuse, of all personal reference, must be equally interesting [he will say]whether they occurred to A. or to B. That is mycase. Let the reader abstract from me as a personthat by accident, or in some partial sense, may havebeen previously known to himself. Let him read thesketch as belonging to one who wishes to be profoundly anonymous. I offer it, not as owing anything to its connection with a particular individual ,but as likely to be amusing separately for itself;and if I make any mistake in that, it is not a mistake of vanity exaggerating the consequence of whatrelates to my own childhood, but a simple mistake ofthe judgment as to the power of amusem*nt that mayattach to a particular succession of reminiscences." Excuse the imperfect development which in someplaces of the sketch may have been given to mymeaning. I suffer from a most afflicting derangement of the nervous system, which at times makesit difficult for me to write at all , and always makesComplaints Lodged.13me impatient, in a degree not easily understood, ofrecasting what may seem insufficiently or even incoherently expressed. -Believe me, ever yours ," THOMAS DE QUINCEY."This was followed by the first portion of what nowappears in the " Collected Works, " under the title of" Autobiographic Sketches. " After the second paperin the series appeared , an interval of eight monthselapsed ere the succeeding portion was obtained; andas the continuation was looked forward to with muchinterest by the readers of the " Instructor," numerousletters on the subject reached me. Some of these Igave to Mr. de Quincey, and this led to the followingcharacteristic introduction which preceded the third´section (" Hogg's Instructor, " January 1852 ): —6" I understand that several readers of my Sketchfrom Childhood ' (published heretofore in this journal) , have lodged complaints against me for nothaving pursued it to what they can regard as a satisfactory close. Some may have done this in a gentletone, as against an irreclaimable procrastinator,amiably inclined perhaps to penitence, though constitutionally incapable of amendment; but othersmore clamorously, as against one faithless to hisengagements, and deliberately a defaulter. Themselves they regard in the light of creditors, and meas a slippery debtor, who, having been permitted topay his debts by instalments-three, suppose, orfour-has paid two, and then absconded in order toevade the rest. Certainly to this extent I go alongwith them myself, that in all cases of a tale or storymoving through the regular stages of a plot, the14 De Quincey's Life and Writings.writer, by the act of publishing the introductoryparts, pledges himself to unweave the whole tissueto the last. The knot that he has tied, though itshould prove a very Gordian knot, he is bound tountie. And if he fails to do so, I doubt whether areader has not a right of action against him forhaving wantonly irritated a curiosity that was nevermeant to be gratified-for having trifled with hisfeelings and, possibly, for having distressed andperplexed his moral sense; as, for instance, by entangling the hero and heroine (two young peoplethat can be thoroughly recommended for virtue) inan Irish bog of misfortunes, and there leaving themto their fate the gentleman up to his shoulders ,and the poor lady, therefore, in all probability, upto her lips. But in a case like the present, wherethe whole is offered as a sketch, an action would notlie. A sketch, by its very name, is understood tobe a fragmentary thing: it is a torso, which maywant the head, or the feet, or the arms, and stillremain a marketable piece of sculpture. In buying ahorse, you may look into his mouth, but not in buyinga torso, for, if all his teeth have been gone for tencenturies, which would certainly operate in the wayof discount upon the price of a horse, very possiblythe loss would be urged as a good ground for an extrapremium upon the torso. Besides, it is hard to seehow any proper end could be devised for a paper ofthis nature, reciting a few incidents, sad and gay,from the records of a half-forgotten childhood, unlessby putting the child to death; for which dénouement,unhappily, there was no solid historical foundation.66 Right or wrong, however, my accusers are en-An Absconding Sketcher. 15titled to my gratitude; since in the very fact of theiranger is involved a compliment. By proclaimingtheir indignation against the procrastinating or absconding sketcher, they proclaim their interest in thesketch; and, therefore, if any fierce Peter Peeblesshould hang upon my skirts, hauling me back towork, and denouncing me to the world as a fugitivefrom my public duties, I shall not feel myself calledupon to contradict him. As often as he nails mewith the charge of being a skulker from work inmeditatione fuge, I shall turn round and nail himwith the charge of harbouring an intense admirationfor me, and putting a most hyperbolical value uponmy services; or else why should he give himself somuch trouble, after so many months are gone by, inpursuing and recapturing me? On this principle , Ishall proceed with others who may have joined thecry of the accusers, obediently submitting to theirpleasure, doing my best, therefore, to supply a conclusion which in my own eyes had not seemed absolutely required, and content to bear the utmostseverity of their censure as applied to myself theworkman, in consideration of the approbation whichthat censure carries with it by implication to thework itself. "I have mentioned the cases of the tea-chests andthe parcel of papers to illustrate his absent-mindedness and simplicity, which, however, sometimes ledto his being sadly imposed upon and subjected togreat annoyance. I know of one instance, in whichpeople who had become possessed of papers of his,and who got money from him on delivering them,came professing to have found more papers of great16 De Quincey's Life and Writings.9value, and who, after getting the sum demanded , lefta worthless packet, mostly of straw neatly done up inmany folds of paper! Indeed, it may be said that,from his peculiar habits of gathering, and his incapacity to make practical arrangements, he leftpapers and packages of a somewhat mixed naturebehind him in most places where he had stayed;which circ*mstance caused him to be sought outand followed in after years by those who probablywould not else have borne him so long in mind.I believe that during these last years I was onsuch a footing of intimacy with him that I heardsomething of every landlady he had ever lived within Edinburgh. Putting aside the case of Miss Mwho presented an exorbitant claim for ordinary rentwhen she had merely given house-room for a period.of time to some papers, there were only three instances of landladies following him; and it may notbe out ofplace to mention them here. There was, first,Miss with whom he had lodged for some time.When she heard that the " Collected Works werebeing published, she came to me, and begged me toreceive some papers which she had carefully kept forseveral years. She always believed that they wereof great value, as De Quincey had told her, andasked me to relieve her of all responsibility respecting them. I accordingly did so; and at the firstopportunity restored them to Mr. de Quincey.no claim whatever was put forward by Misssimply a desire to deliver into the proper hands whatshe understood was valuable. De Quincey, I learned ,had, however, left the house under some hallucinationas to indebtedness to her.""But9Edinburgh Landladies. 17The next case was that of Mrs. , from whomDe Quincey had rooms for a considerable period ,though I know that on one occasion he went out, asthough for his customary walk, but did not return athis usual time. The truth is , he had gone to see afriend, under whose roof he stayed for some months;but, returning, he walked into the rooms as thoughhe had only left them that morning. In this instance,also, he left papers behind him; and, as in theformer case, Mrs. came to me and requestedme to take charge of them, which I did.These were instances of people of good principleand good feeling. But there was one case of personswith whom De Quincey had come into contact as alodger who did not act in the same way. Hereagain he left papers behind him; but in this instancethe opportunity was seized to make something bythem. Knowing the value-whether real or imaginary—that De Quincey always attached to hispapers (and indeed sometimes it would have beendifficult, as I have already said, for himself to telltheir value) , Mrs. , with the aid of her family,resorted to various devices to harass and extortmoney from him. I will not disguise that it wasto this family I referred when I spoke above ofthe " bogus " packets on which they endeavoured toraise money. They never had and never made aclaim for arrears; but pled poverty, and by promising to bring valuable papers they over and over got small sums of money. But only sometimes did thepromised papers come. Of the characters of thesepeople and their transactions I have good reason toknow; for after having been again and again vic- ^VOL. II.B18 De Quincey's Life and Writings.timised by them in this way, De Quincey was at lastcompelled to refuse to see them any more, and askedme, as a great favour, to take them in hand, and tosee whether they really had anything of value, as heacknowledged he was unequal to deal with them.This I willingly agreed to do, and luckily I stillhave in my possession private documents that wouldsuffice to show not only that they had no claimwhatever upon him, but that they added to theirpretence of holding valuable papers appeals to hischaritable sympathies. In fact, they went so faras to try to touch his feelings by feigning death inthe family, the more readily to get advances fromhim on the promise of the delivery of papers. Inthe last resort, I arranged with De Quincey to paya small sum, if I was satisfied that the remainingpapers they had were of such value as was represented, and that they would be delivered to me aspromised. I feel it necessary, in corroboration ofthese statements, to produce here a letter which Iwould not otherwise have felt at liberty to print,and do so now only under a sense of justice to thememory of De Quincey:-EDINBURGH, 2d Sept. 1854.MR. DE QUINCEY, SIR, -In accordance with your request, Ihave made out the enclosed items, money for which I wouldwant for my mother's funeral. She is to be buried to-morrowat four o'clock, and would like things settled as early as possible to-day. All the responsibility rests with me.66 This letter was immediately forwarded to me(marked to be returned, " which words were struckout, and " please to keep this " inserted in theirstead) with the following comment: —His Charitable Feelings.MY DEAR SIR, -I ampretty sure that Mr.19willcall on you in consequence of my failure to call on him at twoo'clock. Would you have been so kind in that case as toadvance him the additional £1 , which you gave him reason toexpect, he pledging his word to bring the remaining papers on Monday. * At the same time, would you also give him theenclosed sum of 25 shillings. And in any extreme case, perhaps,you would use your own discretion as to advancing him a triflemore, which, of course, I will make good.Considering the footing on which I stood with Mr.de Quincey during the last ten years of his life , -being admitted to him at all hours and in all moods,66 grave and gay, " I believe I had opportunities ofknowing more about his affairs than any one, excepting his own family, —it is quite impossible, from whatI have related, that if there had been a "trackingfrom lodging to lodging," and persistent purloiningof papers on the plea of arrears of rent, as has beenrecently represented , I should not have heard of it.During the time that he lived in Lothian Street,I can say that he was attended to by his landladyand her sister-Mrs. Wilson and Miss Stark, withwhom he had lodged at a former period-in sucha manner as to have called forth from him theutmost respect, consideration, and sympathy. Inproof of this I need only mention that, during hislast illness, Miss Stark was the attendant who isso touchingly spoken of by Dr. Warburton Begbiein his account of the last days , which appears atthe end of this volume.Suffering he could not see without making someeffort to relieve it-if he had money there was noThe italics here are mine.-J. H.20 De Quincey's Life and Writings.-calculation of results (in this certainly failing toillustrate some of his ideas in political economy) .In spite of his shrewd discernment of character, Iam not sure that he was not victimised by those whocan whine at all events, he was utterly indifferentto money, and was not seldom himself in straitsfrom his unstinted, if not reckless, liberality. Imention these matters as I cannot well otherwiseexplain one very beautiful trait in his character asexhibited in my contact with him. If he came tome with an unfinished paper-which he often didit was my habit to give him the money he wishedfor it, and patiently to wait his own time for theremainder. His utter honour and honesty were seenin this, that these papers were, with a solitary exception , ultimately finished and given to me. And theunderlying sense of his own helplessness in practical matters was sometimes brought out with apeculiar mixture of the pathetic and the humorous.He did not care for receiving large sums of moneyat once-preferring it in small sums as he requiredthem; and he was positively put about by havinganything to do with cheques. On one occasion whenI had given him a cheque for some £30, to balancehis account to a particular date, he put the chequeinto one or other of his pockets and went away.a short time he returned, in great concern, sayingthat he must have dropped it, vigorously re- performing the labour of search as he spoke, by turning hispockets inside out. I said to him, " It doesn't matter,I shall at once send over to the bank and stop payment -on which assurance he looked greatly relieved, and went away. But in a few minutes heInInterest in Topics ofthe Day 21returned again to tell me, that, after all , he had foundit at the bottom of that capacious side- pocket of hiscoat already referred to; and he urged me to takeback the cheque, and give him a portion of the sumin cash—the remainder to be paid to him as herequired it.It has been said that he had no interest in thepassing topics of the day. No greater mistake thanthis has ever been committed in the description ofthe character of Thomas de Quincey. It is true thathe took little or no interest in purely political partysquabbles; and it may sound surprising to say thata man who lived almost the life of a recluse, andwho showed in many practical matters so much of achild-like simplicity and incapacity, should take notonly a lively interest in great questions, but speakof them with deep enthusiasm, and with shrewdestinsight, and often bring great principles to bear onbewildering details in a most original way. In allgreat questions that affected the welfare of thecountry, his discernment as to what might be theresults of any given course was truly wonderful.Indeed, in many smaller matters , from a boxingmatch to a murder surrounded by mysteries, he wasequally at home. I recollect cases of the latterdescription , where long before the messengers ofjustice had tracked out the missing links in the chainof evidence, precisely the same thing had previouslybeen pointed out to me by my friend. I need onlyrefer here, by way of illustration , to his essay on" Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts. "I remember, too, the chronic excitement in which,as I may say, he lived throughout the period of the22 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Indian Mutiny, surrounding himself with piles ofdocuments of all sorts on the subject. He had ason engaged in it, and his son-in-law, Colonel BairdSmith, was the chief of the Engineer staff at Delhi;and ties of that kind could not have failed to quickenhis interest. During the many years that I was soclosely associated with him, this was the only occasion on which I ever saw his gentle nature roused toindignation. I recollect how intently he watchedfor the arrival of fresh tidings, and the horror heevinced at the massacre of innocent women andchildren. For a time, indeed, he was so thoroughlyabsorbed in the progress of the Mutiny, that hecould not well apply himself to anything else.His writings, as dealt with in this Memoir, musthave shown how anxiously he viewed the great crisesthat arose during his lifetime in the history of hiscountry. Some passages in his Essays-full of energy,originality, and character-were thrown out of the" Collected Writings," simply because they passedinto the discussion of purely temporary questions.His conversational powers were truly wonderful.He would start away from the most ordinary andcommonplace point or fact, and by a process gradual,yet not to be traced out fully to one's satisfactionafterwards, he would rise to the highest poetry.This characteristic has been often noticed; but therewas another which I do not remember to have seenso prominently pointed out. It was this: that oftenin conversation with him, you were seized with doubtwhether he was not hoaxing you and hoaxing himself at the same time, so absurd were many of thepropositions propounded with an air of gravityThe "History of England." 23and assurance of conviction unparalleled. Suchprojects were so deliberately referred to again andagain, that, though at first you humoured him by akindly acquiescence, feeling that they were meredreams and half hoaxes, yet a certain element ofseriousness arose from the very persistency withwhich he pursued them. I will give one example.Though he was now over seventy years of age, andwas engaged with the " Collected Works, " of whichsome three volumes were still to do, he would entertain me with details of a magnificent project to dothe greatest work that had ever been done—the"History ofEngland " in twelve volumes. The historyof England, he said, never had been written as itshould be written. Froude's History was the onlyone that approached his ideal; and he gave theimpression that several popular histories were notof much account in his mind. When I asked him.about the time we should need to live to see thisdone, he would say: " The Collected Works ' will befinished by such and such a date; I shall knockthem off quickly so as to let me begin. Providedthat you undertake the narrative portion of the work,I will follow up with the pictorial description of allprominent characters. We can thus easily producethree volumes in a year, so that it could be done infour years at furthest. " And so, with persistentrepetition, he would dwell on his great scheme, andgo over and over its details , adding another themeto that endless subject- " Memoirs of the Unborn, "which he himself once thought of writing. It istrue, we never proceeded so far as to fix the size orstyle ofthe volumes!24 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Unlike most authors, Mr. de Quincey rarely hadoccasion to consult the authorities from whom hequoted. Had he required to do so, what he conceived to be insurmountable difficulties would haveappeared before him, as the chief portion of hislibrary remained at Lasswade, while those bookswhich were beside him were either stowed away inboxes , or were immured amidthe debris which surrounded him. These obstacles, I believe, muchintensified the powers of a naturally marvellously retentive memory. When any question arose as tothe accuracy of a quotation, he was in the habit ofthrowing back his head on his chair, shutting hiseyes, and remaining for a time perfectly motionlessas if asleep. In such cases I found myself thinking," Nowhe is engaged in overhauling the contents ofthat wonderfully capacious memory. " If it was aline of poetry on which the doubt had arisen, heusually, as it were, awoke quoting the stanza complete in which the line occurred. With the Greekpoets he was as familiar as with the English, andwhen in the course of his reading he came upon aGreek quotation with an accent misplaced or awanting, he at once detected it. Even in cases whereauthors disagree as to the spelling of words, hereadily referred to where these differences occurred.As an instance, take the following in reply to aquery by the printer as to the word " caligraphy "being found with one " 1 " and again with two,which also may serve to show the trouble he took toverify everything:-66" According to all analogy I should have expectedthe word to be written with a single " 1," the adjectivePhilological Questions. 25kaλos being so uniformly spelt with a single λ; andresting upon this consideration I had in one of theproofs, and in one single instance, altered the wordto caligraphy. But, feeling some doubt, I consultedthree or four different lexicons, all of which doubledthe λ. And I have since met the word writtencallig. in a most carefully edited MS. of Porson. ”Here is another instance of the same character:-" I am very sorry that the question about porticoes,at p. 170, having been laid down on the table closeto some letters brought by the Irish post, did notmeet my eye for more than two hours after it musthave been brought. In answer, I should myself bedisposed to decide for porticos without the e. "999

-

At p. 112 of the " Confessions " he had written:" Any larger allowance, most reasonably she [ hismother] urged, what was it but to make proclamation to my two younger brothers that rebellion borea premium; and that to mutiny was the ready roadto ease and comfort; and on a query being madewhether the verb "to mutiny " here was not a mistake for a noun substantive, and whether the " toshould not be deleted , he replied thus, with readyinstance " Yes; it was intended to use the verb;that is, according to common usage of treating aninfinitive as a noun substantive , as , e.g.-' For not to have been dipt in Lethe's streamCould save the son of Thetis from to die.-Spenser."Immersion in Lethe , i.e. , could not save Achillesfrom death. But, on the whole, perhaps better todelete the to. "26 De Quincey's Life and Writings.6On its being pointed out to him that at p. 90 ofthe "Confessions " he wrote the groom, when thatindividual had not been mentioned before, and thatthe expression was not clear, he replied:-" This isa just remark; and I am greatly obliged to theauthor of it. The best way to remedy the fault,without making a necessity for too large a disturbance of the text, will be-1 , to substitute for thegroom, a groom of Mr. Lawson's;' 2. (in order togain space corresponding to this change), to deletein the line immediately following ' gloom and: ' itwill then stand, to throw despondency.' A groom ofhas numerically the same letters as the groom ( viz. ,eight) , only it has one more interspace. Again, ' Mr.Lawson's' numerically has nine letters; ' gloom and'has eight. The little difference, I presume, will notmuch matter.99The odd resources on which he would fall occasionally, to gain a little time for the writing of anote or addendum, is shadowed forth in this littlenote:8 P.M. now striking.MY DEAR SIR, ―The line of MS. on p. 320 arose in this way:I felt that an extract from Addison was required in strictnessto support the reference to him; but in my hurry, not havingthe passage ready, I fancied that this caveat might lay an adinterim arrest on the press, so as to gain the time requisite, orto cause an inquiry. But now-as I presume the time to begone—the citation ( not above half a page) might be introducedquite as seasonably among the supplementary notices of the Preface.De Quincey was very abstemious-a man of thesimplest tastes as I had ample opportunities ofobserving during the years that I was associatedHis Abstemiousness. 27with him. Often have I heard him descant upon thebeneficial properties of little delicacies that friendshad sent him-frequently things so utterly simplethat most people would not have deemed themworthy of remark, —a pot of black-currant jam, oreven a pea- flour scone, calling forth many words ofgrateful appreciation . As a stimulant, he preferreda particular preparation of brandy; and his maximum allowance of this during an evening on extraordinary occasions, when we would discuss at length,say, the Coming History of England, the IndianMutiny, the Chinese War, or the latest notoriousmurder, was measured in a manner peculiar to himself-two wine-glasses two- thirds full.His now much- reduced doses of laudanum he regularly took largely diluted in water. His reason for thiswas, that when taken as supplied by the chemist itcaused a very annoying and even painful itching in thenostrils. He seldom used a spoon or measure, as fromlong habit he could, by holding up a wine-glass to thelight, accurately measure out the required quantity. Thisglass was then filled to the extent of about two- thirdswith water. It has been erroneously supposed by somethat this mixture in the glass was quaffed as others didwine. So far from this being the case, I have seen thesame glassful stand on the table during a long eveningwith only occasional sips being taken out of it. Evenafter his long indulgence in opium, no one knew betterthan Mr. de Quincey the danger of a sudden increaseto his daily allowance. This was only to be done bydegrees, and if by any mistake or inadvertence his dailyallowance was suddenly increased, the effects were at28 De Quincey's Life and Writings.once felt. I may here recall an instance of this. Onthe occasion referred to, Mr. de Quincey had been complaining for some days, and in the evening, after partaking of his usual dose, went to bed, giving instructionsthat he wished to be called at a given hour in themorning. His attendant, on calling him at the hournamed, and getting no reply, entered the room, andfound him in a state of stupor, which caused some alarm.I was at once sent for, but in the meantime, from thesimple appliances which had been used, he had so farrecovered, that by the addition of a table spoonful ofbrandy he was soon in his usual state. He explained tome, that feeling exceedingly unwell and greatly painedduring the night, rather than disturb his attendant, hegot out of bed in the dark, and finding his phial containing the laudanum, applied it to his lips, thinking thereby to relieve his sufferings. He was afraid he hadtaken more than he intended, but an examination of thephial showed that after all he had not so far exceeded;the effect which the small additional dose had producedbeing probably increased by the enfeebled state in whichhe then happened to be.Many a time, whilst living at Lasswade, has hereached my office , utterly wearied out and fit fornothing for he would persist in his pedestrian exercises in very wet and trying weather; after taking oneor two opium- pills , in a short time he would becomelively as a cricket, " able not only to arrange thebusiness he had come upon, but to indulge in sprightlyconversation, which he would brighten up in quite apeculiar way with little jets of humour.66It has been noticed by others that, notwithstand-A First-rate Pedestrian. 29ing his apparent fragility of frame, he was wiry, andable to undergo a good deal of physical fatigue. Indeed, he was a first-rate pedestrian , and kept himselfwell in exercise. He considered that fourteen miles.a day was necessary for his health . When in Edinburgh,the quietude of the Meadows and Morningside made themhis favourite resorts. I recall the account which he gaveme of what befell him on one occasion in the courseof his daily perambulations at Lasswade. In his owngraphic words, delivered with an air of solemnity mingled with twinkling humour, the relation was to me asamusing as it was characteristic. Not far from hiscottage he tracked out a space of ground on twohighways, where comparatively few foot- passengerswere to be met with. These were connected by a crosslane, and having, by some process of his own, measuredoff a distance of three and a half miles, this multipliedbyfour made up exactly his fourteen miles. All seemedadmirably calculated for quiet reflection and exercisecombined. It so happened that at different points onthe two highways a number of men were employed inbreaking "metal " for the roads; but as these were allengaged on the side opposite to the footpath, and thehighways were a considerable breadth , no interruption,he thought, could arise from the operations in which thesem*n were engaged. He accordingly began his perambulations, and all went well for a few days. These stonebreakers, from seeing him passing and repassing sofrequently, and having ascertained who he was, thoughtit but respectful that they should, in their own fashion,pass the compliments of the day. These, with very30 De Quincey's Life and Writings.slight variations, consisted of, " It's a cold morning, sir; "" How are you this morning, sir?" " Are we going tohave snow, sir? " " I hope you are well this morning,sir; " &c.; such questions being continued during thewhole line of route. These inquiries, though monotonous,were kindly meant; and, of course, must be responded toin the same spirit. At first he began to call out hisreplies across the road, but as some of the men were,they said, rather hard of hearing, he found it difficultto make them understand. He was not a shepherd fromthe mountains, who was versant with all the approachingchanges of the weather, and besides, these men whowere always in the open air should know more aboutthe matter than he did; and in answer to the inquiryafter the state of his health, if he were to bawl acrossthe road, " Pretty well, I thank you," that might not becorrect, and he became quite puzzled what to do. Hethought of purchasing a dozen or so of weather almanacks, and by giving one to each man, leave him tounderstand that it contained all he knew of the subject. But as his own health was even more variablethan the weather, and as no Old Moore or Belfast manhad, so far as he knew, published anything on thatsubject, he was forced to abandon all hope in this direction. As a last resource, he resolved on his first outseteach morning to walk along the enemy's line, and thusget quit of all further inquiries during the day. Onmaking a start in this way, each man, thinking he hadcrossed the road to enjoy a " crack," stopped work, andresting on the end of his hammer, began accordingly.One, an old soldier, recounted his campaigns; anotherHis Activity even at Seventy. 31told him how much he suffered from rheumatism, &c.;so that by the time he reached the last of the file, hefound that he was half an hour too late for dinner, andhad lost half his day's exercise. In despair, he betookhimself to his own garden, and continued his exercisealong the gravel walks until he had made up hisfourteen miles.Even at seventy years of age, he was active andvigorous, and easily out-walked me, though I wasa much younger man. I remember on one occasion, when visiting him at Lasswade, on a particularly hot day in midsummer, I proposed thathe should accompany me to the house of an oldfriend, a paper-maker in the vicinity. To reach thepaper-mill we had to descend one of those ravines onthe Esk already alluded to. On returning from ourvisit, there was between us and Lasswade a steephill, which De Quincey ascended like a squirrel. Ifound myself at the top quite exhausted, while hehad all along kept up an unremitting monologue onthe Beauties of Herder-that being the particularsubject which he had then in hand. On my remarking on my own condition, he smiled, and atonce set off on a disquisition on the evils of city lifeas opposed to the freedom of rural life, as affectingphysical condition.Mr. de Quincey had a great dislike to all formalities.Visitors, many of them from long distances, werefrequent at his house. To all he was courteous, hospitable, and communicative; but invitations to dinner,particularly where strangers were expected, caused him ,as he said, unheard- of misery. I have sometimes fancied32 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that some of his occasional migrations to lodgings inEdinburgh may have been due to some threateneddining- out calamity. No one, perhaps, knew him betterthan his intimate friend, the late Professor Wilson.Meeting the Professor one day, nearly his first words to mewere, " Well, how is friend De Quincey? " I repliedthat when I saw him yesterday he was rather complaining, and that I was then on my way to visit him."Ah! " said the Professor, " I hope it is only caused byone of those small matters about which he is so frequently worrying himself, such as the loss of a manuscript or some other trifle." At that moment an opencarriage happened to pass, the occupant of which salutedthe Professor, who, after returning the salutation, continued: " There," said he, " goes one who cares nothingfor trifles; he makes no secret of being due thousands,and yet goes lolling in a carriage about the streets aswe see him; whereas if De Quincey were due a fivepound note he would be one of the most miserable menin existence, and would never be seen in public. Sayto him when you call that I would be pleased if hewould come and dine with me to-morrow at the usualhour. You know the difficulty of dragging him outto dinner. Say that we are to have no strangers, andthat I will see to a dish of hare-soup à la De Quinceybeing on the table."I could have added many anecdotes to these; whatI have said may help to bring some of De Quincey'scharacteristics nearer to the reader. He was mostingenuous, most loveable, -a delightful friend andcompanion, if you made the allowances which werein fact demanded of you, before venturing into hisVOL. II.Characteristics. 33society. I look back upon it as one of the pleasures and privileges of my life, that for so manyyears I should have been on such a footing offriendship with one who was so gifted, ingenuous,and noble.QCHAPTER XVII. ·THE COLLECTED WRITINGS.NCE engaged in the work of collecting andrevising his various articles scattered hereand there for upwards of a quarter of acentury, De Quincey had little reserve-strength fororiginal production. He dropped most of his oldrelationships. But now and then he threw off a mostcharacteristic article for " Hogg's Instructor," or,later, for " Titan; " making us wonder at the versatility and power he still possessed. As little did henow as in his earlier years confine himself to onegroove. We have learned articles on grave historical questions , —such as the guilt of Anne Boleyn,apropos of Mr. Froude's earlier volumes; acute discussions of the etymology wrapped up in local names,especially some of those of Westmoreland; articleson distant countries and their development, particularly on California and on China, in view of the warwhich was then progressing between England and it;on the opium trade and its influences, a matter on whichhewas well qualified to speak; " Hurried Notices oftheIndian Mutiny "-asubject which for a time possessed66Varied Interests. 35his mind; and bright little jeux d'esprit, glimmeringwith wealth of fancy, humour, and knowledge.In the practical work of the press, it is very touching to come on testimonies innumerable in the MS.notes and proof-sheets committed to our use, that hisvery regard for others, his dislike to seem peremptory,his delicate desire to show how fully he respected thehints or the feelings of others , often led him intodifficulties and gave rise to misapprehensions andmistakes. Added to this, was his habit of trustingto verbal messages in his general dislike of notewriting, and his occasional complete repulsion fromit. All was intensified by his inveterate incapacityto relieve himself of the débris of former undertakings; so that leaves and slips and magazines andbooks were constantly going amissing. Amidst all ,it is beautiful to see how the old man blames himselfalone, and shows nothing of a querulous or embitteredor repining temper. One instance out of many of themanner in which he ran the risk of obscuring veryplain and simple directions, by appending minuteexplanations on the margin of his proofs , we give infac- simile. The printers in the following sentenceof the " Confessions " had omitted to put a full pointat the word " Lakes," and, instead, after a comma,had run on with a small " t " at the word " that;giving of course a wholly different sense from thatwhich he intended:-" My plan originally had beento travel northwards , viz. , to the region of the English Lakes. That little mountainous district-lyingstretched like a pavilion between four well-knownpoints, viz. , the small towns of Ulverstone and Penrith as its two poles-south and north; between""ToConf.Thisimport endtoattend 6the.Accordingtothepuncti-ation as itnowstandsX herlith mountbishichwithhundredasputin apposition suchis the technical Frumusbymost quemmminingwithtothe beginPay. LahugI on thisconstruction simiplyinterpretsToutthatisnotataligmeening.ХіX is noming,cali nominyto he forme eventyfascin •atin.i... Yapansh. ask – What is therigin oftheGrey,Lakes.ansThatlittle m .dist.Butthis is quitewrong.Unavoidable Failures. 37Kendal again on the east and Egremont on the west,measuring on the one diameter about forty miles ,and on the other perhaps thirty-five-had for me asecret fascination, subtle, sweet, fantastic, and evenfrom my seventh or eighth year, spiritually strong. "But De Quincey did not, as most other experiencedauthors would have done (the wisest course, too) ,content himself with the plain correction of it, heappends a long and minute explanation. And notonly this; but he has over and over again to add an' N.B., " saying that the printer will understand that aline drawn through such casual explanations indicatesonly that these spider-like memoranda are quite unconnected with the text, and not to be printed.66Though he regarded his rooms in Lothian Streetas his workshop proper, he had his times for goingout to Lasswade, where he was then pretty sure to befound. Appointments were made for him to meetthere any person whom he desired to entertain. Wefind, for example, notices of visits from one withwhom reminiscences of old days could be exchanged,as in the close of this short note: -MY DEAR SIR,-My non-performances after circ*mstantialnotice have been so many, that I can hardly hope for anycredit, when I tell you that on Monday next [which is March3, I think] I shall be in Lothian Street with the MS. all readyfor the press. My endless failures in keeping the day fixed bymyself were really unavoidable under the nervous sufferings ofthe time. But now, and for a fortnight back, my health isgreatly improved under a great change of regimen and wereit not that Professor Lushington comes over to-morrow for avisit of two days, I should have come over to-day. -Ever yours,T. DE Q.

Even Mr. Carlyle is not above making permanent38De Quincey'sLife and Writings.record of "taxes and botherations; " and we caneasily believe that De Quincey had sometimes uncomfortable as well as pleasant ties to Lasswade in theseyears of labour on the " Collected Works. " The following notes attest this:-MY DEAR SIR,-For the last two days I have been besiegedby letters from Lasswade, relating to irregularities in the settlement of taxes during the last ten months, when my daughterhas been in Ireland, and also under a disputed point as to thelease of our house-whether in law to me, or to one of mydaughters -some annoyance I had on Thursday and Friday.But this morning's post brings me a letter which makes itnecessary for me to await the appearance of my daughter Emilyby an early hour, so as to concert with her (who only canfurnish the explanations) the settlement of this business.It is vexatious to stumble at starting. But, in spite of thisinterruption, I can certainly guarantee the entire article of 150pages by 9 A.M. on Monday. -Yours truly, T. DE Q.MY DEAR SIR, —The affair at Lasswade is more embarrassedthan ever. The several versions of facts are all contradictory,and I am now waiting for, I hope, a final explanation from Ireland.My agitation at the prospect of utter ruin past all repair, hasprevented me from paying any serious attention to the variousproofs lying here. But I will endeavour this morning to makethe requisite alterations. But I must mention to you that thepress has never sent me (according to the usual practice) theoriginal copies of the " Goethe. " Now, why should I need thisless than all the others which have been invariably sent? Thetruth is, I have a twofold want of it-first, for the ordinarypurpose of consulting in those places where I distrust theaccuracy of the compositor; secondly, for the purpose ofobliterating my own pencil marks, which I would not forall the world have on the margins.Surely the reason for not sending this is not to spare me themortification of seeing the book cut into fragments. So longas there was a chance of my saving the volume by my representations, I did all that I could. But now that the volume isAppreciation ofCriticism. 39destroyed as one of a series, I have no wish or right to interferefurther. You, doubtless, had consciously the right to destroyit, because you it was that, doubtless, undertook the responsibility of destroying it. -Yours truly, T. DE Q.MY DEAR SIR,- Exactly at this moment (not far, I suppose,from noon-day), I find myself first of all able to look with anyuse or benefit at the proofs of Goethe; and as all must be revised concurrently as a whole, it would be quite impossible toreview and to regulate the whole series of proofs within a narrower space than that of to-day and to-morrow. Early onMonday morning, therefore, the messenger will find them allready. There is a personal case of deep importance to myselfdepending upon it. But under any circ*mstances how couldthe press take upon itself to intercept my sole opportunity ofdealing with a case which the lapse of twenty-five years hasgreatly effected?—Yours truly, T. DE Q.The following shows the value he attached to fairand appreciative criticism. Mr. Hogg had sent himcopies of the " Athenæum" and " Scotsman " withnotices of the earlier volumes of the series , andhe thus replies:—MY DEAR SIR,—I am greatly obliged to you for your yesterday's communication of "The Scotsman " and " TheAthenæum. ”I should imagine that, amongst weekly journals, these two wereexactly the most extensively influential-the first in Edinburgh, or perhaps in Scotland-the other throughout the wholeisland. And the weekly journals, coming so early in the careerof a book, and from their low price being so extensively diffused ,I should suppose must tell for half the battle. Certainly thereis no other journal whose favourable verdict I should so highlyhave valued and wished for. I have kept " The Athenæum,"whose judgment is more than kind, for this day. Meantimewill you inform Miss Stark * where is the regular place of sale

[Miss Stark, the sister of his landlady in Lothian Street, wasmost frequently trusted with his messages, as other letters willtestify. -ED. ]40 De Quincey's Life and Writings.for "The Athenæum." After these two decisive and energeticreports, I am comparatively careless as to any unfriendly ones in narrower circles that may follow. - Ever yours, T. DE Q.But even critical journals did not always escape thedoom that visited bits of his own copy and proofsheets. They were mislaid before they were read,and were, for the time being, irrecoverable. Bookswhich he borrowed for the purpose of reference gotoverlaid, and had sometimes to be returned, inanswer to the urgencies of librarians, without hisends having been accomplished, as in this case: -MY DEAR SIR, -I return you Bentley's " Milton " and " Tait "for 1851 , according to your desire, and beg you to excuse thetrouble I have caused you. I was naturally anxious before returning them to accomplish the object of borrowing them.But this having unfortunately been found impossible, perhapsyou can at some future time borrow them again. Else I shalllose the whole benefit of my ample references to Bentley's"Paradise Lost." "The Economist," which you sent yesterday, was thoroughly and wilfully malicious. "The Lyceum "was more laudatory than the case deserved; and laudatory ina double way-virtually in the space assigned, and formally inwords. But also, which I most prized, was the closing referenceto a criticism of mine, not recent, in the article on Mdlle.Schurmann. I am greatly obliged to you for the two journals,which last night I returned.Though on more than one occasion he has tomourn that " no waste of time is more useless orirreparable than what is spent upon explanatoryletters; yet, having no intelligent messenger, Whatresource, " he asks , " is left? " The following willshow how earnestly he laboured to get to a thoroughunderstanding, which, however, was hardly to theend attained:-I am much afraid that, in consequence of the very imper-Links of Connection. 4Ifect means for communicating with the press which I now possess, or ever have possessed (being at all times reduced to thesingle resource of WRITING)—which, to evade misinterpretationand constant ambiguity, requires a redundancy of wordsand, after all that is done on my part, requires in addition areader that is not only singularly attentive, but also that has asurplus stock of leisure time. PREMISING all this, I am andhave been, at all stages of this nominal reprint (but virtuallyrifacimento) of the " Confessions," in terror of mutual misunderstandings; consequently of each party unintentionallythwarting or embarrassing the other by movements at cross purposes.Now, for instance, at the very stage which this morning(Thursday, September 18) we have reached, it seems to methat, from repeated calls on me to fix a time for the messenger's returning (calls reiterated through the last eight or tendays), the press do not apprehend my present position, and mywish as founded upon that position. As often as the messenger has asked, When was he to call again? I have replied, Callfor what? The press, if at all I comprehend the state of things,has in hand seventy pages or nearly of copy." Will not thisserve to proceed with? At one time this demur arose-viz. ,that in order to proceed, the types must be liberated . Well,this I understand; and now, so far as I am concerned, thetypes are liberated, are they not? The few trifling correctionssent this morning, once adopted, all is free, I suppose, up to theword LONDON, end of the Cambrian section. Why then, aftertaking down the types so far, cannot the press move on?However, to leave no opening for cross - purposes founded onimperfect explanations, let me close thus:—66Call the whole of the text up to London, A B C.text yet to come, X Y Z.This being settled , then I wish to explain that betweeen A B Cand X Y Z there is (not yet sent) a link of connection. Howlong? Originally not more than one sentence. But of late,i.e., whilst all this recent printing has been going on, this intervening nexus has swollen from a sentence to a page, or by'rlady, possibly two pages. Now question arises--Does thatmake any difference? To me the difference is great: it oftenhappens that at one moment I cannot write satisfactorily whatat another I can. If possible, therefore, if no reason unknownagainst me, I would desire to profit by the time (or part of the42 De Quincey's Life and Writings.time) spent by the press on X Y Z. Have I made myself understood? Could not the press go ahead, though with a rear wanting the last touch?This is another letter pressing somewhat helplessly in the same direction:-MY DEAR SIR,-You do not apprehend my meaning? One single illustration, or instance, will clear up the case. What Iwish is, to have a list of the articles already received by thepress. Why? Simply that I may thus know what articlesthey have NOT received.For instance: I count upon the paper entitled " Coleridge andOpium Eating " as upon one of the most effective articles; butI am utterly in the dark as to where this paper is -whetherchez moi? or chez la presse? (I speak French, simply as beingthe briefest way of conveying my doubt. )Now mark the difference to me according to the answer:1. On the assumption that the paper is in my possession,then of course I will seek till I find it; and there will be no labour thrown away. But,2. On the counter assumption that the paper is all the whilein possession of the press, the difference to me would be this—that I should be searching for perhaps half a day; and as it ismanifestly not on my table, I should proceed on the postulatethat it must have been transposed to the floor. Consequentlythe work would all be unavoidably a process of stooping andall labour lost, from which I should hardly recover for a fortnight. This explains to you my earnestness in the matter.Exactly the same doubt applies (and therefore exactly thesame dilemma or alternative of stoop, or stoop not) to the paperon Greece, and to some others.The next is more cheerful:-I have had two letters since Monday, which for different reasons I wish to showyou. But at this moment I do not see them.Oneis from Mr. Sylvanus Urban, whom I recall as amongst thevery incunabula of my literary notices. The other is from theWestminster Reviewer of Froude, a kind and really interestingletter from the just views (just in my eyes) which he takes ofEnglish history in that section.Mr. Froude's Volumes. 43.The following suggests a very odd error into whichDe Quincey somehow fell-no doubt vaguely confusing Mr. Anthony Froude with Hurrell Froude- andunder which he laboured at the time he wrote hisingenious notice of Mr. Froude's first two volumesin " Titan," a notice which that historian no doubtread with gratified feelings -notwithstanding thaton one or two points the writer was not wholly at one with him:-MY DEAR SIR,-1. Mr. Froude's death I do not infer fromthe expression late Fellow; for late in that position (both inOxford and Cambridge) is equal to the French ci-devant, notequal to the French feu. But on other grounds I am pretty sure that he has been long dead.2. The title, I fear, of Guilt of Anne Boleyn would promisetoo much. And the real object which I had by me all alongwas--the volcanic character of Henry VIII.'s reign. To me itappears that some title simply announcing a glance at thisstormy period would be best.Sometimes complications and delays arose fromhis partiality for footnotes. This is a frank confessionin reference to Professor Wilson:-MY DEAR SIR,-I have entangled myself in a far longer notethan I had intended; but I will extricate myself and end inhalf an hour. Meantime, being upon the subject of ProfessorWilson, it will be received with indulgence. I do not thoroughly understand what part I have not returned; but whilstI am searching for it, that the press may have something togo on with, I send the accompanying.This " accompanying was as likely as not toyield no more help to the press than if it had comefrom a man who had never before been in contactwith the practical exigencies of a printing- office.But helpless as he was to prevent such misunder-44 De Quincey's Life and Writings.standings and complications, he was most considerate for those inconvenienced by them. The following notes will show this:-MY DEAR SIR,-I am exceedingly sorry for the trouble I cause;and moreover I become painfully conscious that the articlemay not prove such as to justify being stayed for. But if it isstayed for, the rest will certainly be ready by 10 A.M. to-morrow.Being so overmastered as I find myself by nervousness,perhaps it will be better that I send myself to the press -tosave loss of time to the press runner. I am at present greatlydependent on Tea; and as soon as I have had that, I hope tobe a new creature....It disturbs me to find that I have been constantly workingat the wrong part. My notion was-an erroneous notion itseems-that, when at any point I could not satisfy myself inthe expression of a thought, then it was open to me to go forward, leaving a chasm to be filled up afterwards when itbecame necessary to make up the text into sheets.A strong conviction of distracting the printersinstead of aiding them by his lengthened notes sometimes forces itself upon him; and always his onerecourse is to the note- writing, which he so dislikes:-MY DEAR SIR,-It kills me to write notes. But this Iscratch out as containing the upshot. I am sunk in feeblenessand exhaustion. Yet still, and notwithstanding, if you leaveme three clear days-then, on Monday morning, the 6th ofJune, I will have prepared such an appendix of notes, as willin bulk and otherwise fill the vacant space. It seems as if tothe very last my destiny were to cause delays.But this quickly follows, the appendix of notesnot yet forthcoming:-MY DEAR SIR,—I had a far worse attack last night afterparting with you than on Sunday; but in one thing better -nodelirium. After fighting all night till nine this morning with"War in China." 45the torments of this sudden attack, I fell asleep, from whichsleep, being awakened by the press messenger, I said, Come atthree. But it is now three, and I have not been able to rise.Perhaps it will be better for me to send to the press. Or, ifthe press at a hazard would send down at six, I will endeavourto be ready. -Ever yours, T. DE Q.His exceeding desire to oblige and to aid thosewho were on a friendly footing with him is wellbrought out by the efforts he made to write articles.for the first numbers of " Titan. " He had just hada somewhat serious prostration; and, in additionto his nervousness, was threatened with a failureof eyesight, and had occasional visits of lumbago.A few letters will bring out his goodwill , whichprompted extreme efforts in a low condition ofhealth:MY DEAR SIR,-For some weeks my eyes had given me somuch pain, and consequently so much anxiety about the result,that at last I wrote to my daughter Emily-begging her to return to Lasswade. This she did last week. But now(through intermission perhaps of candle-light reading) myeyes are again better. What I wish therefore to do, beforereturning to Lasswade, is to make up one, or if possible two,volumes; the sixth and seventh.I was attempting to write a short paper of three pages-"Anticipations of the Coming War in China;" but I fear that forthe coming number of "Titan " any contribution is nowtoo late.I am also writing a paper on " Opium." In one fortnight or threeweeks I hope to have left the new volumes in such a state ofpreparation, that a very few trips of your press runners willsuffice to wind them up. -Yours very truly,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.MY DEAR SIR,-From your not sending this morning, Ibegin to fear that I am too late which will give me painhaving suddenly recollected (which until Sunday I had entirelyforgotten), that the remodelling of " Titan " commences next46De Quincey'sLife and Writings.month. This, indeed, I had often repeated to myself, with theidea that next month would be the call for something novel;forgetting, unfortunately, that the 1st of next month was the time.You, I imagine, will be likely to make one natural mistake—viz. , that this paper being about China, is simply the old story a little recast. Not so . When you have the whole, you willsee that it has nothing in common with the old article. -Yoursever, T. DE Q.This little note accompanied the article whensent:-I am far from being satisfied myself with the first part of China; therefore cancel it altogether without mercy, if you feeldisposed to do so. I am perfectly in earnest. In the secondpart I shall do better.And the following came along with the proofwhen returned: -" I am sure you will do me the justice to believethat I have done my best. But the result, I fear,is bad, and this from various causes. It is alsodreadfully too long. It is therefore with perfectsincerity that I propose as follows: -That the wholeshould be cancelled; and I will most cheerfullyundertake to write such another paper as will reimburse the loss which in that case you will havesustained by the costs of the press . Every man isliable to some failures , and this , I fear, is one ofmine; but a most unwilling one, and in part owingto lumbago, which at times prevents my rising frommy chair. "Shortly after, he began the article on the opiumtrade; but the difficulties under which it wasaccomplished are best indicated in the note we nextprint:-Closingthe " Confessions." 47MY DEAR SIR,-Through the whole of last night I sat up,and have the whole in a rough state. But very frankly I confess to you that from the extreme difficulty and delicacywhich I found in treating the subject of opium as it affectsour Chinese relations -unless you can be kind enough to allowme this coming afternoon, I do not see any way of windingup the whole properly. Want of sleep, and the laudanumwhich I was obliged to take, have reduced me really to a stateof perfect confusion. -T. DE Q.The labour on " The Confessions " proved particularly trying. Many letters before us bear thisout. We select the following:-MY DEAR SIR,—I am in a great perplexity. I have been forsome days engaged chiefly upon the closing passages of the"Confessions," which it is that tax my powers of every kindmost. But I have endeavoured also to keep up with thecurrent demands of the press; as part of which keeping upI send the two pages 16 and 17. But I am quite at a lossabout what it is that the press wants most-wants immediately.-Ever yours, T. DE Q.De Quincey himself, in the Preface to the editionin the " Collected Works, " makes us acquainted withthe process through which the whole work waspassed. It was filled up, detailed by means ofsecondary incident, and the close made far moreeffective by the introduction of several additionaldreams. We must give a short extract from thisPreface, as being the best means of indicating thegreat changes effected on the " Confessions intheir final form:""" By accident, a considerable part of the Confessions (all , in short, except the Dreams) hadoriginally been written hastily; and, from variouscauses, had never received any strict revision , or,48DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.virtually, so much as an ordinary verbal correction .But a great deal more was wanted than this.Themain narrative should naturally have moved througha succession of secondary incidents; and with leisurefor recalling these, it might have been greatlyinspirited. Wanting all opportunity for such advantages, this narrative had been needlessly impoverished. And thus it had happened, that notso properly correction and retrenchment were calledfor, as integration of what had been left imperfect,or amplification of what, from the first, had beeninsufficiently expounded. . . . . Meantime, this improvement has been won at the price of labour andsuffering, that, if they could be truly stated, wouldseem incredible. A nervous malady of a very peculiar character, which has attacked me intermittinglyfor the last eleven years, came on in May last,almost concurrently with the commencement of thisrevision; and so obstinately has this malady pursuedits noiseless, and what I may call subterraneous,siege, since none of the symptoms are externallymanifested, that, although pretty nearly dedicatingmyself to this one solitary labour, and not intermitting or relaxing it for a single day, I have yet spent,within a very few days, six calendar months uponthe recast of this one small volume. ”And after apologising for such blunders as mayhave escaped notice, and after confessing a fear that" sometimes a heavy or too intricate arrangement ofsentences may have defeated the tendency of what,under its natural presentation , would have beenaffecting; or that by unseasonable levity at otherDestruction of the Dreams. 49times , I may have repelled the sympathy of myreaders " he goes on to say: -" I have thus made the reader acquainted withone out of two cross currents that tended to thwartmy efforts for improving this little work. There was,meantime, another less open to remedy from myown uttermost efforts. All along I had relied upona crowning grace, which I had reserved for the finalpages of this volume, in a succession of some twentyor twenty-five dreams and noon- day visions, whichhad arisen under the latter stages of opium-influence.These have disappeared: some under circ*mstanceswhich allow me a reasonable hope of recoveringthem; some unaccountably, and some dishonourably.Five or six, I believe, were burned in a sudden conflagration which arose from a spark of a candle falling unobserved amongst a very large pile of papersin a bedroom, when I was alone and reading. Falling not on, but amongst and within the papers, the firewould soon have been ahead of conflict; and, bycommunicating with the slight woodwork and draperies of a bed, it would have immediately envelopedthe laths of the ceiling overhead, and thus the house,far from fire -engines, would have been burned downin half an hour. My attention was first drawn by asudden light upon my book; and the whole difference between a total destruction of the premises anda trivial loss (from books charred) of five guineaswas due to a large Spanish cloak. This thrownover, and then drawn down tightly by the aid of onesole person, somewhat agitated, but retaining herpresence of mind, effectually extinguished the fire.Amongst the papers burned partially, but not soVOL. II. D50 De Quincey's Life and Writings.burned as to be absolutely irretrievable, was the' Daughter of Lebanon; ' and this I have printed,and have intentionally placed it at the end, as appropriately closing a record in which the case of poorAnn, the Outcast, formed not only the most memorable and the most suggestively pathetic incident, butalso that which, more than any other, coloured —or(more truly, I should say) shaped, moulded, and remoulded, composed and decomposed-the great bodyof opium dreams. The search after the lost features.of Ann, which I spoke of as pursued in the streets ofLondon, was in a more proper sense pursued throughmany a year in dreams. The general idea of a searchand a chase reproduced itself in many shapes. Theperson , the rank, the age, the scenical position , allvaried themselves for ever; but the same leadingtraits more or less faintly remained of a lost Pariahwoman, and of some shadowy malice which withdrewher from restoration and from hope. Such is theexplanation which I offer why that particular addition which some of my friends had been authorisedto look for, has not in the main been given, nor forthe present could be given; and, secondly, why thatpart which is given has been placed in the conspicuous situation (as a closing passage) which it nowoccupies.66 November 1856."In midst of difficulties incident to the work itself,came others incident to domestic arrangements- suchsweeping and cleaning as students have from of oldbeen prone to regard as gratuitous. To De Quinceythe intimations of such intended visitations came likeMisfortunes. 51a voice of terror. It is in a tone of mingled pathosand resignation that he makes his publisher cognisantof his misfortunes:MY DEAR SIR,-I am concerned to tell you-- which untillast night I did not know-that a process of whitewashing orotherwise cleaning ceilings, &c. , which has been going on sinceMonday morning in other parts of the house, extends itselfnext to my room; and it seems that agreeably to a contractwith the landlord, this must be done in the course of the sameoperation; i.e. , it cannot be postponed . This will impose onme a most difficult process of shifting papers, whose connection,now marked only by local position, cannot be lost without confusion, and will, I fear, occupy me till night. -Ever truly.MY DEAR SIR,-There is a great confusion this day in Mrs.Wilson's lodgings, from the repairing, sweeping, painting, &c.And moreover the landlady's sister, who it is that chiefly communicates with strangers at the door, is deaf. . . . At the moment [I believe between 7 and 8 A.M. ] of appointing 12 as thehour for the return of your messenger, I was quite unaware thatbya mistake natural in the confusion of yesterday's sudden clearance, most of the papers belonging to the CONFESSIONS hadbeen placed within a set of drawers against which is nowreared the whitewasher's scaffolding. This will be withdrawn,I understand, so far as to give me access about 5 P.M. Butthat will be too late for me to have them in a state for the presstill to- morrow morning. I am exhausted by the twenty-fourhours' labour of the separation and sorting of such innumerablepapers. The sorting could not be evaded, under the necessityof removing them at all; else I should have been lost irrecoverably in the resulting confusion. I am just at the lastpoint of my innovations in the Confessions. After those I fallback into the old current, so that pretty nearly a mere reprintingwill be all. Except, however, as to the final Suspiria.It is needless to say that, as time went on, hedid not improve in matters of order and regularity.Sometimes, indeed, he was thrown into despair. He52 De Quincey's Life and Writings.is now at work on the sixth volume. Dr. Parrwould almost seem to have had his revenge forsome severe things De Quincey had said of him:MY DEAR SIR, -I am suddenly thrown into despair. All theParr proofs (on the belief that they were entirely used up)would have been by this time burned, but for the accident thatsome arrear of queries arose upon them. Hence, not burned;but so chaotically confounded with all other papers, that (if thepress finds them indispensable) I must spend this night insearching for them. I have already found two packets, butdiscontinuous. Miss Starke will learn what is the exact amountof aid that I separately can give in this awkward dilemma.MY DEAR SIR, -The act of stooping has for many yearscaused me so much illness, that in this search-all applied topapers lying on the floor, entangled with innumerable newspapers—I have repeatedly been forced to pause.I have found most parts of the Shelley article, but no moreof the Parr, for which, however, I am still searching.(1) Looking back, and ( 2) looking forward, I will state my own view.1. Having had no reason whatever for keeping the usedpages, I fear that the seventeen or eighteen missing may havebeen burned in suddenly lighting candles; and I am more surprised at finding so many than at missing so few.2. I suggest that, if you think the notes of any importance,the press should let me have the American copy of the notes,together with a copy of the text. In fifteen or twenty minutesI would mark the place of reference for the whole.The next note evidently has to do with the eighthand ninth volumes, and presents alternative proposalsfor the close of the eighth , and the opening of the ninth—the necessity for which had arisen from some partof the article on " Pope " having gone amissing:-MY DEAR SIR,-This occurs to me1. If the press could give me an idea of whereabouts theALucky Accident.53chasm lies, I might, in fifteen minutes, supply an equivalentpassage; unless only in the case that the missing part shouldhappen to contain verbal criticisms on verses.2. But in the alternative case that the press could not giveme any account of the substance-might not this Wellesley paper be laid aside in reserve for the latter end of the volume.The fact is, that I was otherwise going to have asked you if the paper on Schlosser, being much better than I hadimagined, and specially effective in its closing section, could not without much trouble stand first in the volume.He experiences perpetual interruptions from thingsgoing amissing, necessitating search. His energiesseem to be wasted in searching. Letter after letteris a mere apology for delay on that ground. Here isone little glimpse of his trials:--MY DEAR SIR,-It is useless to trouble you with the insand outs of the process-the result is, that, working through mostparts of the night, I have not yet come to the missing copy. Ihad fancied that when the press sent for the notes, this impliedthat the whole of the text was received. But as it turns outthat I was mistaken , I am going on with the search yet, —beingwalled in by superfluous furniture, in so narrow an area (notlarger than a post-chaise, as regards the free space), I writewith difficulty, and the stooping kills me. I greatly fear thatthe entire day will be spent in the search. Could not the press,in the interim, proceed with the paper on " Oracles," since thefilling up of the chasm would be ensured on Monday?But sometimes he can exult over a lucky accident,when Chance kindly does the shortening for him, as inthe case of this article on " Oracles ":-I had a particular wish to shorten this article on Oracles."Consequently the accident could not have fallen better thanwhere it has fallen. The rest goes on from page 257 to page283-quite enough of it. I send the next twelve pages corrected. Now if this is set up, I shall find it easy to connect.54 De Quincey's Life and Writings.this part and the coming. All of us will escape about a dozenpages of yawning; and you, separately, will escape the vexatiousness of writing letters for the purpose you kindly suggestof borrowing the journal where originally it appeared.His excessive fastidiousness as to phrase pursueshim; sometimes finds him out too late for theprinter's comfort; and we often find him thuswriting on returning proofs:-" These four slips, by the way, would have beenvirgin slips but for the accident that suddenly I discovered myself to have described Grassini's voicetwice at least, if not thrice in the very same words,as a contralto, and thus fell under the necessity oftroubling the press with a darning. "And scarcely has he recovered from one domesticavalanche of whitewashers, painters, and so on,when another is upon him of quite a different sort.People who can pay more liberally than he can takethe best suite of rooms over his head:-MY DEAR SIR, —I am obliged to tell you, with a certainty ofcausing vexation and annoyance both to you and myself, thatthe particular set of rooms in which you saw me last night,within half an hour of your departure I had a notice from Mrs.Wilson, would on this Tuesday morning be required for a Mr.M‘A——, resident for the moment near Bellingham, in Northumberland. He had, I know, been in treaty for the rooms;but his decision had been suspended, and then made suddenly.The result to me was, that, in order to remove papers, &c. ,without disturbing arrangements (cryptical, but intelligible tomyself) under my sofa, bed, and in other places, I was obligedto rise before 2 A.M., and without fire -a want which kills me-to make straight the paths of Mr. M‘A——. With all thisextra exertion, I have but just accomplished my transfer fromthe new set to the old one. And literally not one line have Ibeen able to contribute towards the liberation of the press.Now precisely [viz , near one o'clock] I am starting, standing, in:Concern for Others. 55.fact, exactly as I stood last night when we parted. This explained, no use in losing more time by letter- writing. I willmove with my uttermost speed.Amidst all this, his consideration for others isconstant, careful, descending to the minutest matters.The next few letters will abundantly show this:-MY DEAR SIR, —Miss Stark having been very unwell for thelast two or three days, and very weak in consequence, I feelunwilling to burthen her with both books on a hot day. Ihave therefore sent what struck me as the most urgent, viz.(the Advocates' Library), Bentley's " Milton. " Pray pardonthe trouble I cause you. In some way I will contrive to sendover the other book. - Ever yours.The following note was one which gave rise to amisunderstanding affecting a message-boyMY DEAR SIR, -If (as the boy thinks) nothing will be usedtill Monday morning, would it not be better that we authorsshould have the advantage from this delay? I have been nextto distraction all day long, having been up and writing allnight. I have just set fire to my hair. No pen will writemore legibly.His concern lest this printer's boy should incurdispleasure on his account leads him-though he dislikes note-writing beyond most men-to indite thefollowing:-MY DEAR SIR, -From the pure accident of my first-writtennote to you on Saturday night having been so entirely illegiblethat I was obliged to write it over again, I thus had and havea copy of that note; which, after sleeping through Saturdaynight, I found, and was shocked to find what nonsense it contained. This was owing to the absolute distraction caused bymy having sat up through Friday night. Want of sleep andopium combined rendered me partially delirious. But all thisdisturbs me little, by comparison with an unintentional injurythat I may have done to the boy who came for the copy. I56De Quincey'sLifeand Writings.mentioned to you what he had said about the MS. not beingwanted till Monday morning, and it might read as though hehad volunteered this explanation. But he said nothing at alluntil questioned by Miss Stark, —she and myself both thinking it unlikely that any more printing would go on so late atnight. I should be exceedingly sorry if through my own indiscretion or carelessness he had incurred your displeasure. Asan extra chance for obtaining a rest that had become urgentlywanted, I it was that committed any oversight that may haveoccurred the boy was quite unimplicated in any part of thecase, being, in fact, quite passive.

In 1858, as in 1853, his relations with the presswere encumbered with many misunderstandings; butthat he was still as ready to take the blame to himself and grieve over it, is seen from the following:-MY DEAR SIR,-It is most unfortunate, nor am I able toguess the cause, that I, who am rendered seriously unhappywhenever I find or suppose myself to have caused any loss oftime to a compositor, whose time is generally his main estate,am yet constantly doing so -unintentionally, and in most casesunconsciously. This morning, had I known what was the slipor column brought by Roderick, * I could have instantlyreturned it, for, in fact, I corrected it all yesterday [ I think by3 P.M., or thereabouts ]; and if any messenger had called, or ifI could have commanded the services of Miss Stark, it wouldundoubtedly have been at the press a full twenty- four hours before this date.In monetary matters, his excessive concern forothers, and his fear of benefitting at their expense,are as distinctly characteristic. The three notes whichfollow bring this out; and few would expect fromone who had had for so long a time to traffic with the

• Roderick was the boy who is referred to in the last letter,

and usually entrusted with the messages from the press, asbeing a favourite with De Quincey. —ED.Money Matters.57world, and had made experience of its hardness andselfishness, such a generous proposal as closes thethird letter:-MY DEAR SIR,-I am astonished at your enclosure -a thingwholly unexpected by me. What has interrupted my intercourse with the press, is not solely illness, but somethingwhich would be better explained in private conversation, andconfidentially. I will make an effort to come over to- morrow.But, being weak, and suffering from my late attack, I do notfeel absolutely sure of accomplishing so much.MY DEAR SIR,-I found no difficulty in understanding thethree documents sent to me yesterday afternoon. One states thehistory (as to cost, sale, &c. ) of each several volume from I. toV. Asecond states the succession and chronology of my draftsupon you. A third contains my acknowledgment of the sums received.So far all is so clear, that even an ignoramus like myselfeasily travels through its labyrinths . But one great perplexityoccupied me for an hour or more. I am made to give a discharge for the sum of £258, 19s. 7d.- -But, on the other handthe series of payments makes it manifest that I have receivedthe sum of £285, 5s. 7d. This puzzled me greatly: but at lengthI came to a solution of the difficulty thus::--285 has evidently furnished an inverted reading of 258.The 285 simply needs rearrangement; and the 19s. 7d. is anerroneous transfer from a neighbouring section of the account.The sum of £285, 5s. 7d. evidently leaves the exact balancestated if £32 were subtracted from £317, 5s. 7d.I had already signed the discharge before I became sensibleof the error. So I send it to you, that you may doctor itsecundum artem.Now comes another point on which to consult you. Ajoyful spectacle it was to me-that amiable balance of £32.But in the first place this demur disturbs me that balanceexisted on June 8th: elsewhere it is said on June 30th: elsewhereon July 1st. All those varieties I presume mean the same thing.But in July and August I have drawn more than once. Questions arising are these two-58De Quincey'sLifeand Writings.1. Howmuch?2. On the remainder (be it what it may) have I a right todraw?Saturday, April 23, 1859.MY DEAR SIR,-I am uneasy at receiving no communicationabout the thirteenth volume; fearing that this halt must beowing to some misconception such as I cannot even conjecture.At present, however, I do not write with any reference tothat subject:—what I have for some time back been wishingto speak about, is the position in which your payments are justnow waiting your decision upon my proposal in this note. . .It seems to me that some of the many conceivable changesin the commercial world, —such as houses, the best established,are liable to , —may possibly have occurred since January 23,1858, bringing along with it some corresponding call for altering the dates of payments, or their amounts. For instance,with regard to this particular payment, it might be a con- venience to substitute one for £50 instead of £100; or to alterthe date.This, you perceive, relates to the mere transfer of payments-making them fall at a later period than according to theirpresent tenor; but, secondly, if further experience has led youto think or to know that the total sum offered by you was toomuch, be assured that I will cheerfully agree to any alterationwhich you may propose. -Ever yours most truly,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.This is his report on a little article in " Titan "to which his attention had been called:-MACARONIC LITERATURE.This seems to me a capital paper, sufficiently comprehensiveas to the illustrations, and everywhere admirably expressed inall that concerns the history and the legislation of literatureunder this section. Pity but we had all the subdivisions ofliterature as well treated. —At the moment of taking leave ofit I observe 2 errata:•On p. penult. (viz. , p. 417) left hd. col. , in the Sapphics -1st stanza-Choosing Titles.Ille with ease can facere alba nigra,Rendere et lucem piceas tenebras:Ille can rursus piceas tenebrasRendere lucem.The colon after Ille can should to all appearance be deleted.On the last supplementary rag to p. 418-Puff duppos omnes humbuggosshould apparently be—Puff dupos omnes, humbuggosAll dupes of Puffs, all humbugs, &c.59His attention to minute details of a certain kind,which went along with all that tendency to confusionin other respects, was very noticeable; and in nothingmore than in the exceeding care he took to find titlesreally expressing the character of the various volumes.MY DEAR SIR,-Whether the fault is in some growing defectof my eyes, or in the badness of such lights as I can command,or how, I really do not know; but the simple fact is, that notuntil ten o'clock last night could I make out your letter.It saddened me when I did so, for I assure you that I wouldmore willingly undertake to compose two entire volumes denovo, than to weave a coherent whole out of critical fragments.As to the title of the new volume, I am in great perplexityabout it, chiefly on grounds which I am anxious to hear youropinion upon; but with the light, and with the pen that I nowhave, it would be impossible for me to explain myself fully.What I fear most is the raising expectations of something more pointed and effective than the book (unless upona larger scale of review) allowed. That is what makes mewish for as unpretending a title as possible. Could thetitle be made to promise a second, or a second and thirdsketch? This would break the effect of disappointment.MY DEAR SIR, -The letter on the title which reached me.about six P.M. , being unfortunately written in pencil, cost methree- quarters of an hour, under bad candlelight, to decipher.Hence it is that I still am short by two pages of the Preface60 De Quincey's Life and Writings.close. The objections to the title, I am sorry to say, strike meas strong; historic would, I fear, have the effect anticipated.At the same time, I feel the revised (and duplicated ) titlevery objectionable, and in a way that we should all dislike,viz. , as misleading, by promising too much-more than is fulfilled. But if I go on, I shall exhaust and spend upon the airall the energy I have left for winding up the Preface. I willthink and report in the morning.MY DEAR SIR,-In cases of so much hurry, and where themodels referred to are not at hand, it is almost impossible toavoid making one's self misunderstood.Historic, it seems to me, is indispensable to the mere intelligibility of the title, if Problem is retained. But the shortestform would be:STUDIESONSECRET RECORDS:WITHOTHER PAPERS....Perhaps better, if after Records, Personal and Historic wereintroduced, all the rest being left unaltered. . . To the wordHistoric there is the objection raised; but, unfortunately,without it the word " Problems " might mean scientific problems, &c. , &c.On the whole, in our difficulty my vote is for the title as lastmodified-spite of the Historic.MY DEAR SIR,-I wish to suggest a change in the title ofsome importance. I think you were quite on the right trackin striking out the items on the title- page, ( 1 ) " Protestantism,"(2) " Oracles," &c. But there is left by that elision a seriousobjection. Sceptical, it strikes me, cannot be used absolutely,but only in relation to some assigned object, known and indi- cated. If I took for a title the word Answers, or the wordRefutations, it would be asked at once, Answers to what?Refutations of what? And in the case before us it will be.said, Sceptical, i.e., disposed to doubt, or to suspension ofassent, but as to what?An Unexpected Visitor.61It is true that the word is used absolutely in one colloquialcase, viz. , when we say " Kant was a sceptic; Hume was asceptic. " But even there it is an elliptic expression, hardly(I should think) admissible into a title; for we all understandsceptic, or doubter on the doctrines of Christianity. But this isnot at all the meaning in our case. Nor again, if this couldhave been the meaning, would it suit the open and explicitpurpose of a title to express it otherwise than at length. WhatI propose, as a mode of surmounting the objection, is:ESSAYS,SCEPTICAL AND ANTI- SCEPTICAL,ONPROBLEMS NEGLECTED OR MISCONCEIVED.P.S.-Do not suppose me wedded to my own workmanship.Any title that evades the objection ( 1 ) of ellipsis, ( 2) of theconsequent irreligious sense emerging under that ellipsis, will suit me.This is how he celebrates a certain interruption hehad had:-66Tuesday, May 31 , 1859.• MY DEAR SIR, --1. How little you are entitled to count uponthe most ordinary chances of luck, you may judge by this.Yesterday afternoon you sent me 'The Bookseller," meaningthat I should read something in it relating ( I believe) to myself.At the moment of beginning to search for this passage, avisitor, female invalid, having made an express and difficultjourney, arrives. Six p.m., this visitor comes. Eight p.m., shegoes away. But by that time the hour had arrived, conformably to your request, for returning " The Bookseller." Consequently, whatever it might be that you wished me to read, Ihave not read it. And the opportunity of reading it has beenintercepted by an event quite as rare in the rolls of my experience as an earthquake.2. You suppose me apparently to have within my memoryall the heads for an appendix, but simply to be languishing asregards the energy for filling in their outlines or their entireproportions. On the contrary-with the single exception of62 De Quincey's Life and Writings.the reply to Peregrine*-I do not remember one item in theentire list of notices. If, therefore, you can furnish any ofthese heads, good: if otherwise, not good.One of the most interesting notes in our bundlefrom his hand, is the following in the beginning of1859, which will be read, we believe, with no slightinterest, on account of its giving his own opinion ofthat most ingenious essay on the " Toilette of theHebrew Lady; " and because of the reference it contains to the picture of Coleridge:-MY DEAR SIR,-Considering its Biblical relations, over andabove its interest of curiosity, I really think this HebrewToilette -with the exception always of some six or seven-thebest in the collection. But never had I such a tight-ropedancing effort of agility, as in the correction of the six pages(equal, I calculate, to seventeen or eighteen pages of thepresent types): absolutely the paper is unsized. Why, Ifancied such atrocities confined to trans-Atlantic (not evenheard of in Cis- Atlantic) literature.Is there a long foot-note (do you think? ), on the enthymemeas restored by Facciolati, † in the paper on rhetoric? Becausesuch a note I found myself walking over this afternoon; and,except by some oversight of mine in not sending, I cannotunderstand how it should find its way under my slipper.This is a description of S. T. Coleridge's person—not onlyaccurate, but the sole accurate among many that are libellouslyfalse-drawn from my own knowledge, guaranteed defyingly bymyself, and sure to give pleasure in many quarters, but unfortunately broken off and mutilated by some of the importantinterruptions incident to furious hurry. This, which occurs inthe latter half of Coleridge and Opium-Eating-and someothers interrupted in similar way-if past remedy in the article,I could upon knowing that, repair the loss in the Preface.

• Peregrine was a writer who had controverted some of De

Quincey's statements respecting Pope.-ED.This note, of course, appears in the Essay on Rhetoric. -ED4Last Notes. 63As careful readers know, this loss was repaired inthe said Preface.The next are the two last notes we have from DeQuincey's hand. They relate to points arising inthe preparation of the fourteenth volume, which wasnot completed at the time of his death. Their datemust be in September and October 1859.is wholly undated , the second wants the year.The firstMY DEAR SIR,-I do not exactly knowwhat to do:-" Ortho- graphic Mutineers " I have corrected fully for the press, but apage is missing for which I have searched through two hours,and no doubt it is here, but I have not found it.I wrote a long letter on Monday night-not yet sent -and Ihave a few more things still to say. But I am too weary atpresent (i.e. , till resting) to say them.MY DEAR SIR, -It kills me to write notes, after writing allday upon margins. Neither could I make intelligible, exceptin conversation , what is the state of the case. So it is -that Iexceedingly wish to cancel or delete nearly two pages of theforty on which I have been operating. The reason when I see you.Next. -Seeing that the article on J. P. Richter, in the " LondonMagazine " of November or December 1821 , is by much the mosteligible article that occurs to my memory among the unused, -would it not be easy to have this printed by to- morrow night?My Preface I was obliged to interrupt by the correction ofthese forty pages, from which since 8 P.M. I have never raisedmy hand except for forty minutes.From some of the articles which were contributedto " Hogg's Instructor " and to " Titan " between1850-59, several passages, for one reason or another,were omitted in " The Collected Writings "—notalways intentionally, we incline to believe, since theyare in some cases deeply marked by De Quincey'sbest qualities. One or two of these, chosen mainlyfor their briefness, we make bold . to reproduce here.64 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The first we shall give stood originally as an introduction to the article on the " Literature of Infancy,"but it furnishes us with a humorous and suggestivedefence, by the author, of his rambling propensities:I.At this point (and why exactly at this point is acaprice of Nature, which it rests upon her to explain)I pause, and must pause, in order to indulge an instinctof rambling. It is an intermitting necessity affecting my particular system, like that of migration thataffects swallows, or the moulting of feathers that affectsbirds in general. Nobody is angry with swallows forvagabondising periodically, and surely I have a betterright to indulgence than a swallow: I take precedencyof a swallow in any company whatsoever. Indulgentor not, however, the reader must really put up withmy infirmity. Being thwarted and thrown backupon the constitution , in me this impulse might produce some malady (typhus fever, perhaps); whereas,to the reader, the worst effect of it will be that hemust take a flying leap over a page or two if he dislikes the interruption. Yet what evil is there in aninterruption? It is a kind of rest, or, as Coleridgeused to style it, a landing-place in a flight of stairs.Call it a parenthesis , as do all writers-call it an excursus, as do all German commentators - call it anepisode * as do all narrative poets-and the momen-

• 66" Episode: "—It is a singular instance of the miserable superficiality everywhere distributed, since the diffusion of what is

nicknamed education, by the wretch calling himself the schoolmaster abroad, that several works have been published professedlyDefence of Rambling.65tary interruption , instead of a blemish, comes to beregarded as the prime luxury and bonne bouche of thewhole work.The link, a very slight one, which connects thiscoming ramble with the rest of the paper, may seemto be simply chronologic: such it will appear, I know,to the general reader. But, even supposing him right,chronology is a thing not to be despised. It is certain that the literary memorabilia, which I am goingto summon back from my childish annals, did at thevery least synchronise with the other incidents of thisrecord; they agreed with them so far, viz. , in pointof time, if they had no other relation; which, yet, tomy belief, they really had, if I could but find it out,as perhaps in some future generation I shall. Besides, if not, answer me the question; things worthyin themselves to be noticed, are they to be omittedand disregarded altogether, merely because no opening arises naturally, or can be devised artificially, forworking them into the general texture of the woof?On the contrary, if they cannot be interwoven whilstin the loom, let them (if otherwise worthy of such aseparate care) be subsequently sewed on as a fringe,or even pinned on as a patch.The next appeared in " Hogg's Instructor," inApril 1852. The first paragraph was afterwardsembodied in the " Autobiographic Sketches, " thedesignating themselves in the title-page by the name of “ episodes," as though anything whatever could be an episode absolutely, or separated from its relation to some larger whole in whichit constitutes a secondary or parenthetical fraction.VOL. II. E66 De Quincey's Life and Writings.latter portion, as not bearing on the subject, wasat the time omitted. But what under the title of" Infant Literature " was considered a digression ,may not inappropriately be marked here asII.A young officer (in what army, no matter) had sofar forgotten himself, in a moment of sudden irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personaldignity (as sometimes happens in all ranks) , anddistinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws.of military discipline, forbade to the injured soldierany opening for retaliation by acts. Words onlywere at his command; and, in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, he said to his officer that hewould make him repent it. " This, wearing theshape of a menace, naturally rekindled the officer'sanger, and intercepted any disposition which mightbe rising within him towards a sentiment of remorse;and thus the irritation between the two young mengrew hotter than before. Some weeks after this apartial action took place with the enemy. Supposeyourself a spectator, and looking down into a valleyoccupied by the two armies. They are facing eachother, you see, in martial array. But it is no morethan a skirmish which is going on, in the course ofwhich, however, an occasion suddenly arises for adesperate service. A redoubt, which has fallen intothe enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price,and under circ*mstances of all but hopeless difficulty.A strong party has volunteered for the service; thereis a cry for somebody to lead them; you see a soldierstep out from the ranks to assume this dangerousA Heroic Deed. 67Atleadership; the party moves rapidly forward; in afew minutes it is swallowed up from your eyes inclouds of smoke; for one half-hour from behindthese clouds, you receive telegraphic reports of thebloody strife which is there proceeding-fierce repeating signals , in the shape of flashes from the guns ofrolling musketry, and of exulting hurrahs advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling.length all is over; the redoubt has been recovered;that which was lost is found again; the jewel whichhad been made captive is ransomed with blood. Afresh party has been detached to re-enter into possession of the immortal slaughter-house; and now,therefore, the surviving remnant of the conquerors,crimsoned with glorious gore, is at liberty triumphantly to return, and to pass through innumerablestations of gratulating comrades, until it reachesthose head- quarters where its gathering honourswill receive a consecrating seal. Watch the partyas it returns; watch the party that an hour since.hurried off so eagerly and rapidly towards agony,and hungering after death; how slowly does it marchback again towards rest and security! Up from theriver banks you behold it reascending; you see thetorn shreds and blackened ribbons of what once wasits banner; you see the enthusiastic officer, who commands in this particular wing of the army, steppingforward in uncontrollable haste to salute withbrotherly love the noble fraction of the self- devoted;and the noble leader is now seen to be no more thana private from the ranks. But in the epilepsy ofspeechless admiration-in the frenzy of that lovewhich burns in the human heart towards all demon-68 De Quincey's Life and Writings.strations of willing martyrdom, towards all sublimecourtship of the grave, distinctions perish; ranksare broken down and confounded; "high " and"low" are words without a meaning, and every difference dividing the brave from the brave, and thenoble from the noble, is trampled under foot as byacclamation. You wonder not, therefore, at therapture of the plume- crested officer, as he rushesforward to seize with his right hand that of theprivate soldier in front, and with his left hand raiseshis hat in homage to the storm-wrecked fragment ofa flag. The officer and the private sentinel are nowwithin ten paces of each other. You saw no mysteryin the fervour with which they approached; but now,being face to face, wherefore is it that for a momentthey pause? That perplexes you. Once before, Oreader these men had been face to face. Onceagain they are face to face, and the gaze of armiesis upon them. The soldier, who is he? The officer ,who is he? It is the soldier that was struck; it isthe officer that struck him. The officer it is thatsuffered himself, under some provocation , perhapsimaginary, perhaps misconstrued, to treat as a houndone whom he now honours as a hero. The soldier itis that, by accumulating a sevenfold provocationupon what originally, in his meaning, had been noneat all , left rankling in the hearts both of himselfand of his erring enemy a corroding malice. Theypaused yet why? Was it that either distrustedhis own heart? Not so. Each could answer forhimself, but neither could feel secure in answeringfor the other. The doubt lasted but for a second.One glance exchanged between them published theAn Immortal Answer. 69forgiveness that was mutually granted and accepted.With the trepidation of one recovering a brotherwhom he had accounted dead, the officer sprangforward, threw his arms about the neck of thesoldier and kissed him, as if he were some saintglorified by that shadow of death from which he wasreturning; whilst on his part, the soldier, steppingback, and carrying his open hand through thebeautiful motions of the military salute to a superior,made his immortal answer-that answer which shutup for ever the memory of the indignity offered tohim, even whilst for the last time alluding to it-" Sir," he said, " I told you that I would make yourepent it."O penitence! how deep that must have been whichsearched a heart thus suddenly converted from wraththrough the agency of one generous human sympathy!O vengeance! how sweet, perfect, and crowning,that could reconcile in a moment the purpose of hellborn malice with the most difficult injunction ofChristianity. All the purposes of the soldier centredin triumph- triumph over the man that had dishonoured him by a blow; and this triumph he hadhad beyond all imagination and the uttermost presumption of hope, but in a mode that disarmed itsmalice, and in one moment reconciled him for everwith the object of his hatred.Such a result, under any other religion than Christianity, would have been an impossibility, and notonly so but also an incomprehensibility. Now, asthe mode of viewing things proper to a pagan stillremains intelligible to a Christian, though inverselythe Christian mode of view could not be made in-70 De Quincey's Life and Writings.telligible to a pagan, it follows that we who enjoy theintellectual advantages of Christianity stand upon anisthmus from which we survey two worlds; so thatfrom this double station of view the impossible becomes possible, and consequently the sublimity whichbelongs to the conquest of the impossible.But to return , and to conclude my ramble over thefields of my childish literature, the object of whichwas to gather for you a slight posy, or nosegay (aswe English call it) , or " flower " (as the Scotchunaccountably call it ) , or anthology, as erudite peoplecall it, composed of the élite amongst those passagesonly which had acted as awakening powers upon themind of a child between the ages of five and a halfand eight. The particular story which I have citedfrom Dr. Percival, both my sister and myself pronounced the very finest we had anywhere read; and,after this, we could neither of us adopt in its wholeextent my mother's jealousy as to the doctor's piety.

• " Flower." -In Scotland, which might easily pass undiscovered for years by an alien, since the natural sense of the

world would be endurable wherever the Scotch conventionalsense would be so, the term flower is most strangely used for acollection of flowers or bouquet. How this ever could havearisen is beyond mypower of guessing. Extending a little thephilosophy of this remark, I may assert boldly that a Scotchman in the English courts, or an Englishman in the Scotchcourts, might easily bring himself within the penalties ofperjury by alternate misunderstandings of words that approacheach other without coinciding. For instance, if a homely orco*ckney Scotchman (that is a Scotchman who has never beenout of Scotland nor liberalised his domestic bigotry) were toswear that such a man was a tradesman, or to swear with respect to such an area of ground that it was a park, inevitablyhe would make himself liable to an indictment for perjury onSome Scottish Terms. 71That man must be pious who told so beautiful andpious a story. As to Monsieur d'Alembert and his66 wife, " as Dr. Percival used to call the great workof the Paris infidels , viz. , " Madame Eucyclopédie, "they might be very wicked people, and might be striving by means of letters to make Dr. Percival as wickedas themselves, but it was evident to us that they hadnot succeeded. Here I desist from my ramblings,and you understand by this time why I allowed myself to ramble at all. The literature of an infant,its preferences and memorable experiences, and, aboveall , a circ*mstantial account of those passages in itsreading which were awakening enough to shock, tostartle, and awe- strike , or profound enough to becomelifelong remembrances, would unquestionably ( if recorded with the sincerity of self- attesting truth whichI have made it a point of religion to observe) mostprofitably enlarge the drowsy realms of psychology.I , for instance, persist in believing a sublimity whichthe southof the Tweed, and vice versa. So essentially do these,and some hundreds of words beside, differ in accurate analysis,whilst unfortunately they come near enough in general outlineto tempt unwary people into the dangerous and perjury-haunteduse of them. A tradesman, for instance, in England, meansessentially, one who is not a journeyman; one who does notwork under a master, but is himself a master. In Scotlandthis is exactly reversed; the capitalist who furnishes the wagesis not a tradesman, but the working journeyman who receivesthem. So, again, of the word merchant, which in Englanddesignates none but wholesale importers and exporters, and byno possibility a retail dealer or shopkeeper, whilst in Scotlandit means nothing else. So of doctor; in England nothing isesteemed so vulgar, or, in fact, is so confined to uneducatedpeople as to call a surgeon or apothecary Doctor So-and-so. InScotland the practice is universal.72 De Quincey's Life and Writings.I could not understand. It was, in fact, one of thosemany important cases which elsewhere I have called.involutes of human sensibility; combinations in whichthe materials of future thought or feeling are carriedas imperceptibly into the mind as vegetable seeds arecarried in various states of combination through theatmosphere, or by means of rivers, into remote countries. One eternal babble we hear about Lord Bacon,and not theorising (by which all respectable blockheads mean à priorising, a far different thing) , butrelying only on experience: the truth being, that assoon as ever any the most positive experience doesnot quadrate with popular ideas, as in mesmericphenomena, everybody treats the experience withlaughter and scorn , showing thus the most obstinatehostility to Lord Bacon. The passages which I haverecorded as so durably affecting to myself are notgathered from books; the reader sees that they report real and not counterfeit experiences.The following, on the " Scottish Universities , "which might be regarded as a little too exact andpedagogic, where it was originally placed in " ASketch from Childhood," in " Hogg's Instructor,"for February 1852, is yet so discriminating andsuggestive that it shall be ranked by us asIII.The defect in those universities is this-that oneand all they provide for the diffusion of knowledge,but not for its extension; for its life, but not for itsgrowth; they cherish knowledge as a means to aDefect of Scottish Universities. 73certain limited end, but not as an end in itself. Take,for instance, theology. So much of this as may seemrequisite by way of qualification for the discharge ofa clergyman's professional duties the universitiesundertake to furnish. Upon such a scheme what isthe result? Precisely this, that the knowledge itself,the great moving and expansible system of theology,from generation to generation , remains stationary;for exactly what each separate alumnus carries away,after being applied to his immediate professionalpurposes, perishes with himself. The universitiesare in this case governed by the example of theChurch. The Church makes it her very boast thatthrough the absence of pluralities, and through a republican equalisation ofemoluments in all but her greatcities (where least of all any remedy can be appliedto the evil, because pari passu with the emolumentsincreases the professional labour) , she has laid herwhole army of ministers under a fierce necessity ofworking. She declares that for her part she has noroom for idlers. That might be well; but, unfortunately, the term idlers in such a case includes themost laborious class of all, viz. , those who do notprofess to work the machinery of a parish, but themachinery of an infinite science. Where all are yokedto the service of daily life, who can be available forspeculation? Where all are working pioneers anddiggers in the trenches, what provision is made forthe improvement of the engineering science itself?And the contagion from the Church has naturallyspread to the universities. As the Church has nosinecures, and no golden prizes , securing quiet sanctuaries for theological study, so the universities offer74 De Quincey's Life and Writings.99 no body offellowships or other endowment as retreatsfor learned leisure. And such small " bursariesor " exhibitions " as the Scottish college system offers,in a proportion so meagre by comparison with theEnglish scale, are never applicable to the needs ofthe mature student, who might be supposed capableof improving his own branch of knowledge, but exclusively to those of the juvenile student, who ishimself only a learner.Evil consequences have arisen from this state ofthings. Whilst the Established Church of England,and the Church of Rome, have built up a vasttheological literature--the contribution of countlesslabourers working in silent and successive co-operation, through a period of three and a half centuriesin the case of England, and of many more in thecase of Rome-from the Scottish Church we havehad no great gladiatorial work in defence of somecardinal doctrine common to all Christendom, suchas Bishop Bull's work on the " Trinity," or commonto all anti-papal Christendom, such as Chillingworth's" Religion of Protestants; nor even any specialdefence of her own creed and separate constitution ,such as Jewel's " Apology," or Hooker's " Ecclesiastical Polity. " No Jackson , Field, Ussher, Saunderson, Hammond, Barrow, Stillingfleet, Waterland,Butler. And why? Simply because the constitutionof church and universities has secured no opening orasylum to learned leisure. The strange result hasthus been accomplished, that in Scotland the clerusor clergy is not the clerical or clerkly body of thenation; is not (as elsewhere) the main depositary ofthe national erudition and literature. The clerus, in.The Bar the Learned Body. 75that sense, is not, nor ever has been, for Scotland,the ecclesiastical body, but the legal body, and especially the faculty of advocates. And hence a secondstartling consequence has arisen , viz. , that but forthe fortunate interposition of another profession,trained to a more extensive learning, and but for thelucky accident that the larger section of this body isleft at leisure from any weight of professional engagements, the whole nation ran the greatest risk of beingconspicuously illiterate. In our own days a literature.might readily be called into existence, almost mightbe improvised, on the mere impulse of imitation;but, in earlier stages of society, no literature caneasily arise, or continue to support itself steadily,which is not fed from unintermitting fountains insome learned profession. In Scotland this professionwas the legal profession. Upon that body, in theabsence of a learned clergy, devolved the burthen ofkeeping alive the torch of national illumination . Thefaculty of advocates mainly, or perhaps exclusively,took up the functions properly belonging to the clergy,but which lay on the ground as derelicts abandonedby them. Not only have they furnished the majorityof labourers in the field of literature, but also for thoselabourers not furnished by themselves, they have raisedthe standard of excellence, and liberalised the toneof thinking. Even such of the clergy as did enterthat field, probably were led to do so by the authenticexample of the Scottish bar; so that, on the whole,for two centuries at the least, not the clergy, not theecclesiastical body, no, nor any part of that body, butsimply the juridical body, stood between the Scottishnation and the pestilence of utter illiteracy. The76 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Scottish bar, the College of Justice , and, accordingto their proportion , the incorporation of Writers tothe Signet, were the salt of the land, seasoned itagainst the all- corroding ravages of time and ignorance, and founded a permanent fund of motives togreat actions, civil or martial, in the consciousnessthat, under the imperishable light of literature, suchservices could never again be lost and confounded inany vortex of oblivion.Latin, the great key for laying open the arsenalsand armouries of civilisation -Latin , of which it maybe said, that if any new Jacquerie, such as Red Republicanism, or a communistic crusade against property, could for a moment of eclipse succeed in levelling with the dust our most pompous trophies ofhuman advancement, simply through this languageuttering itself in the most colossal of human monuments, viz. , the Pandects of Justinian, might we inthree years build again that temple of civilisationwhich we had idly supposed to be in ruins; -Latinhas always been a privileged and consecrated studyin Scotland. The eldest of her Latinists were herbest; the eldest chronologically were the most graceful, plastic, and accomplished. Ruddiman, in comparatively modern times, was a silver scholar;Barclay, Bellenden, Dempster, Buchanan, &c. , inelder days, were scholars wrought out of gold, or outof silver gilt; that is , because they wielded theLatin as a native dialect. And it is no doubt dueoriginally to the Scottish bar, as an offshoot from thelanded aristocracy, that the pride of birth and ancientblood , which, when in a state of insulation , wears soharsh and repulsive an air, learned to humanise andLatin Literature.77colour itself attractively by courting an alliance withthe graces of literature. A Scottish military officerthroughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,could no more dissociate from his normal pictureof the decorums proper to his rank a certain polish.founded in the humanities of literature than he coulddissociate from that rank the humanities of mannerand courtesy, or the obligations of honour. SirWalter Scott's Baron of Bradwardyn embodies thatcomplex ideal. Everybody feels that, next after an actof cowardice in the field , or secondly, an act of swindling, or thirdly, an act of nigg*rdliness to a guestsitting by his own hearth-stone under the grim smileof the blessed bear-these treasons excepted (for assuch the baron would have viewed them) , the nobleold soldier would have shrunk with deepest sense ofshame from any gross case of ignorance or misinterpretation applied to the text of his " Titus Livius. ”For a clergyman this sort of knowledge ( classicalknowledge) had barely a mercenary value, as oneamongst his working tools; but for a gentleman ora high-bred cavalier, this same tincture of classicknowledge, and of classic sympathies, having nomercenary or economic value whatever, upon thatvery argument rose to the dignity of some crowning.heraldic decoration , crest, or badge conferred byroyalty, that trebled its imaginative value, becauseit had not a pension annexed to it.Latin literature, therefore, preserved itself fromdegradation or absolute extinction, simply amongstlawyers, as a body who blended the two characters.of men partially aristocratic and also of scholars by.professional necessity. One moiety of the double78 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tocharacter, viz. , aristocratic pretensions , which formedthe link connecting them with soldiers of rank, withlanded proprietors , with magistrates , with men offashion and ton, naturally had a tendency to transplant into those classes the other moiety, viz. , thescholarship. And hence it arose intelligibly enoughthat classic literature , so far as it rode by the singleanchor of Latinity, never was submerged in Scotland;though if it had been left to the nursing care of theprovincial clergy, it would have foundered utterly,except within those four harbours of refuge for unpopular " humanities "-Glasgow and Edinburgh,St. Andrew's and Aberdeen. But, thanksexpansion of intellect worked by law, an accomplished advocate (such as Sir George Mackenzie,for instance) , could no more have dispensed withLatin, than with his daily bread or with his nightlyclaret. Latin , therefore, was abundantly safe. Butnow as to Greek? Whose business was it to takecare of that? "Not ours," would be the clamorous.outcry of the clergy; " we have no time.we side traditionally with Hector and the Trojans,and set our faces on principle against the rascallyGreeks. " With more reason by much, the legalbody might have put forward the same plea; for,whilst divinity cannot move without Greek, no literature whatever—not Hebrew, not Persic, not Sanscrit is less able to communicate with law by anyreciprocal offices of advantage than is the Greek.What can Greek do for the modern law, what canlaw do for Greek? Here, therefore, that vicariousresource for the interests of ancient literature , whichin the case of its Latin half had been supplied toBesides ,Greek Literature. 79Scotland by the legal profession , naturally failed;so that Greek literature languished in Scotland by alanguor which too nearly resembled death; and butfor the re-animation occasionally applied to thisdrooping interest by the resort of Scottish students toBaliol * College, Oxford, possibly the very shadow ofsuch an interest would have faded from the land.And yet, in this utter prostration of all that couldpretend to the name of a national regard for Greekliterature, fallen though this regard had into thechance-keeping of individuals, it is remarkable thatamongst those individuals, the most distinguishedwere advocates . ”

To Baliol College, and also in some small proportion to othercolleges in Oxford, not benefiting at all, like Baliol, by any royalmunificence of Scotland.CHAPTER XVIILLOTHIAN STREET."42 LOTHIAN STREET was an address very familiarto De Quincey's friends, or to curious literary persons,for a long period of years. We have so headed thischapter, because the Lothian Street life ran alongsidethe Mavis Bush life in a very unique way, and to it weare indebted for a more plenteous relay of letters thanfor other periods. The reason which Mrs. Baird Smithgives in the following note doubtless had some share inthe result:-In all these times, when there seems to have been no letters,we were within easy reach. After my elder sister's marriage,the increase of notes to us at Lasswade seems to me a somewhat pathetic sign of a struggle between his perfect trust inus and a consciousness that it was not a usual course of actionto leave two young women so entirely alone in a solitary countryplace; and of course he felt this even more when my youngersister was left. He really could not manage his work fartherfrom the press, and nothing which would have been natural inother cases, such as my sister removing into Edinburgh, wouldhave answered with him; so that it really came quite naturallyabout our keeping the cottage at Lasswade ready to receive himwhen he felt inclined for it, especially as it was a very friendlyAffection for his Family.81home for us, which Edinburgh had ceased to be, as we knewfew people there.The point brought out in that note should beparticularly borne in mind. Strange as were DeQuincey's ways in many points, he was always from thedeath of his wife in communication with his daughters,either personally or by letters. His habit of walkingconsiderable distances to visit them, if he were in lodgings for the sake of nearness to the press, is alone tobe taken to account for the absence of letters duringlengthened periods. If he did not see them often, healways wrote to them regularly; and the self- denialexercised in the performance of that pleasant duty canonly be realised when his general dislike of letterwriting, his age and his feebleness, are taken intoaccount. We have seen that he acted as sole tutor tohis sons, and that to no point involving the welfare ofhis family was he indifferent. What is really remarkable, is the closeness of his concern for them, in association with such simplicity, absence, pre-occupation, anderratic ways. The first inroad on that happy unity ofthe Lasswade household, which we have already foundhim picturing in a letter to Miss Mitford , took place in1853, when his eldest daughter, Margaret, marriedMr. Robert Craig, the son of a neighbour. * Mr. RobertCraig had purchased land in Tipperary, as Miss Mitford

• This was John Craig, who was well known in connection

with the Scotch Whigs, and took an active part in the movement of Parliamentary Reform in 1794-1809, being a correspondent of Lord Jeffrey, Mrs. Fletcher, and many others. Hewrote one or two books, amongst them an elaborate work onPolitical Science. He died at the patriarchal age of ninetyfour, at his son's house in Ireland.VOL. II. T82 De Quincey's Life and Writings.hints, and the couple immediately on their marriagewent and settled there, first residing at a place calledPegsborough, and afterwards at Lisheen.In 1854, his daughters Florence and Emily were inIreland, on the occasion of the birth of a daughter toMr. and Mrs. Craig. The way in which the old man'sthoughts circle round that grandchild, and constantlyreturn to her from the most diverse excursions, causinghim to write almost daily letters, is, indeed, very touching. We shall give a few selected specimens no betterthan the rest, but full of felicities of thought and expression, and bright with that gentle humour that so characterised him; and we doubt not that the reader willreadily forgive the preponderance of matters of familyinterest, as we can thus better than almost by any othermeans show what Mr. de Quincey's later years reallywere, and the subjects that most occupied his mind.Friday, September 29, 1854.MY DEAR EMILY, -I received yesterday your letter announcing the good news from Tipperary. To-night or to-morrow Iwill write to M. I am glad, according to my ancient doctrine,that it is a daughter-not a son. For I differ altogether fromSeñor de Erauso (papa of Catalina) on this question of comparative pretensions between sons and daughters. How theequation may stand in Biscay I cannot judge; but as regardsour own insular world, I look upon boys as the true anddreadful nuisance of society. This little Tipperary thing, forinstance, in less than ten or twelve months will be ready for useas the liveliest of playthings. But a surly boy, after sulking forfive or six years without finding the proper use of his tongue,would be first beginning to suspect a pugnacious value in hisfists. By the time when the new little Flor. (if such is tobe her name) will have lived a long life , with incidents andthoughts many enough to fill three octavos, the wretch of a boywould be dimly developing his first foggy ideas on the subjectof orchard-robbing. I take considerable interest in the questionMaturin's Eva. 83of name. Eva is good, but not to my feeling so good when incombination as singly. Grace is a pet Irish name; but, Isuppose, there is no excuse in any family tradition for this.-Ever yours affectionately.Shortly after this, he writes respecting the christening:-October, 1854. 'MY DEAR EMILY,-To you, as being (I think) my latestadviser from Tipperary, I address my answer. Bear withme if I am abrupt or incoherent: perhaps that is better thanbeing tedious. Strange it is that I,who have three fair daughtersgifted with a marked talent (two in promise, and M. in full development) for letter-writing, can yet pretend myself to so littlepower in that direction. And that little grows less when, fromprofound sedentariness, I grow preternaturally nervous.First of all, concerning what is just now first in importance,viz. , dear little Eva. Glad I am that she has gotten herself aname, for really it is an awkward case, when giving the healthat a dinner-party of a little lady, as one's own sole representative in the next generation but one, the advanced vedette on thefrontier of posterity, plainly to confess that she is anonymous, and also a Pagan, or at least that the Pagan question isfor her still an open question. Any name therefore was beginning to be an advantage. As to the particular name chosen,it is to my feeling a very pretty one. Two novels at the leasthave been written by men of high pretensions bearing thisname for their sole title; one by Sir Edward Lytton, whichperhaps I have not read, but certainly do not remember, theother by a man whom I think of with even more respect, viz. ,Maturin. It was not, however, by any means amongst Maturin'sbetter works. Still, being Maturin's, it could not be otherwisethan interesting. Maturin's Eva, if I remember the story atall, is the subject of an odious persecution from some hyperbolical feather- bed of a soi-disant lover, who does not improvehis position, or at all win upon the sulky reader, by being alsoa dissenting parson. His reasons for dissenting I do not know,but the reader's reasons are undeniable - first chop'-for dissenting from the Rev. Featherbed; and, unfortunately for him,

1. 66"Adviser," sender of advices, i.e., of news or intelligence.

84DeQuincey'sLifeandWritings.Eva's dissenting principles are equally strong; but then, unfortunately for her, the odious and reverend lover draws someiniquitous support from a dissenting aunt. The issue, I fear,is tragical. The true lover, he whom Eva and the readercountenance, is non-suited. Such, at least, is my fear. And itis a proof of Maturin's power that now, at this moment,though left behind me by thirty years, the tale and the veryname of Eva are nevertheless set and steeped in some indistincthaze of sorrowful impressions, whilst my separate remembrancesof the fable are no more than what I have related. Simplythrough the power of Maturin, who was verily and indeed aman of genius, the name of Eva has shaped itself to my symbolising fancy in the image of a white rose-overcharged (I donot say surcharged, as suggesting odious thoughts of income-tax)with rain or heavy dews -dimly descried in a solitary gardenthrough the very dimmest twilight of earliest dawn upon amorning of June. Is this too much for a conscientious man topack up into that one little tri-literal name of Eva.This name naturally throws back one's thoughts upon theoriginal person who bore it-that unhappy lady, the fairest ofher own daughters, but also, one must suppose, the most woebegone, if she knew the extent of her own trespass. "For thiswe may thank Adam! ” is the dreadful cry of reproach ascending from billions of generations which the Miltonic Adamfigures to himself in sad anticipation . But, begging his pardon,he had himself, like a veritable sneak, forestalled that reproach.He had, in the language of London villains, " split " upon hispartner-the very last baseness even amongst our domesticrogues, that final and crowning step which, being foreborne,leaves even to the thief a conscious arrearage of nobility andpossible redemption. A man that should have stolen a pockethandkerchief might ( I conceive) , by some memorable act ofpublic service, redeem himself, but— This wholematter of naming, however, if we cast a backward glance at itsearliest beginnings, though an inscrutable, would--were it notso-be an interesting theme for investigation. It is not only aprehistoric, but a premythical, not only a premythical, buteven a prefabulous and a pretraditional thesis. My thesisends by indicating in Eve one feature of intellectual delicacywhich places her in advance of her species by perhaps a myriadof generations, and to this recent baptismal epoch in the firstThe Origin ofNaming.85year of dear little Eva's experience it is a most appropriatefeature-renewing and reverberating from a modern caseechoes of the very same solicitude in the proper choice of aname as naturally displayed itself in the very earliest cases.Eve, like the council of Pegsboro' , put forth an earnest anxiety(for earnest it must have been to secure any commemorationat all in a record necessarily so austerely condensed as theMosaic) in order to construct a significant name for her sons.On a hasty consideration it might seem as though Pegsboro'and Mesopotamia [ which, or else Kurdistan, or else Armenia, Iwill assume to be the region inhabited by the primitive household of man] had pursued a separate and peculiar object inthis study. But perhaps not. Eve sought for a name thatshould, bya sort of shorthand, express significantly any patheticcirc*mstantialities connected with the birth (or with theimmediate antecedences to the birth) of the particular sonconcerned in the nomination. Events or changes externallyattached to the biography of the child were naturally contemplated as the keynotes for the several names; so that the barenames of Eve's sons composed a solemn register-cryptical andshadowy, as being abstracts so severely condensed, but to herself fearfully significant, as secret mementoes of sad or joyousrevolutions. For the Pegsboro' council, on the other hand, thenames were sought-not at all with any view to incidents orhousehold changes, but as expressing qualities of intellect, oftemper, or of temperament which might reasonably be anticipated in a spirit of hope, since, even when naturally defective,by artificial culture any qualities may be indefinitely promoted.And therefore it is a most rational justification of a name tomythinking-not that it expresses a quality as emphaticallyexisting at a time when powers are latent, but forecasts thepossible growth and fructification of the tendencies and facultieswhich it signifies.Even this very commonplace incident sets him aspeculating; he runs over all the passing details, and triesto find a principle underlying the act and the necessityof naming, and brightens up his notes by the quaintestfun, as naïve, we think, as it is suggestive.The " tri-literality " of the name does not escape him86 De Quincey's Life and Writings.either, and leads him in the next letter to some classicalreferences which are at once whimsical and illustrative:-November 18, 1854.MY DEAR FLORENCE, -I have written more letters to Pegsborough than without an affidavit you would believe. One Iwrote to Emily, and a letter of eleven pages, last night. Butwhen it drew near to its end, on retrospection of these elevenpages, it seemed to me that nine and a half were prosy or insome other way objectionable. Another, and I believe equallylong letter, I wrote-how long shall we say? -perhaps ten daysago to you. But this contained so large a proportion of absolute nonsense, that I could not resolve to send it. You willsuggest that I may be too severe a censor. Possibly, but theletters are still extant, and, when you come home, will speakfor themselves. At present I will write only on two points:-1. As to dear little Eva, I rejoiced to hear that she hadobtained a name, which is besides a very pretty name, andquite big enough for the present. But with the Romans of oldvir trium literarum (a tri- literal man—a three- lettered man) wasin bad repute; it was a comic expression for FUR, which unhappily means a thief; in fact, the Romans had no propername that could be spelt with so few as three letters. Butleaving proper names, and passing to what grammarians callappellatives (words not expressing an individual, but a class orspecies), these shorted-sighted men should have rememberedthat not FUR only, but the first of all words, viz. , VIR, a man,is equally a tri- literal word. The greatest I call it, because fromthis word is derived VIRTUS-manliness, courage, virtue. Here'sa rigmarolish paragraph, you say, about such a trifle as triliterality. But if a tri- literal man is justly exposed to the scornof that wise old Roman people as a Guy (Fawkes) , a man of straw,or (to Anglicise it by a three-lettered equivalent) as a HUM,what shall we think of a double tri - literality? Why simply,or rather not simply but compositely, that he is or should be styled a HUM- BUG.2. On Thursday last but one, viz. , on Thursday, November9, famous in London as Lord Mayor's Day, and nationally (isit not?) as Prince of Wales's birthday, I returned to the pressmy final revision of the Prefatory Notices to my fourth vol. , sothat any delay since then, be it known to Pegsborough, is due<< Tri-literality."87to some vile tri-literal man, who may take his choice of thenames already provided for his use, viz. , FUR, HUM, BUG-anyor all of them . However, I understand that, in spite of anysuch criminal person, ranging about like a lion and seekingwhom he may delay, one copy finished and bound reached London by the express train via Newcastle of Monday morning,Nov. 13, and was in the hands of the London trade throughout the forenoon of that Monday for the purpose of being"subscribed," as it is technically called (that is, presented byMr. Groombridge's runners to each considerable publisher for aminute or so, in order that he may assign the particular number of copies which he separately requires) . On Friday last Imyself received a copy; and could therefore have sent one toPegsborough; but recollecting that you had seen the Americanedition, I felt that there was no call for any special hurry.However, there is one novelty, viz. , an account of the murdersperpetrated by Williams in 1812, which may a little interestyou, and therefore I will forward a copy on Monday.As he was interested in all the joys, and hopes, andcares of his family and each member of it, so, as we shallsee, he tried to make them sharers of his labours andpleasures. They were his confidants and fellow-helpers.The following to Mrs. Craig on her recovery will tellits own tale:—Tuesday Night, December 5, 1854.MYDEAREST MARGARET, -I felicitate you upon your recovery,upon the beauty of little Eva, and upon the prospect (not byany means unimportant) that she, with her earliest capacitiesof enjoyment, will find herself in the grandest of all spectacles-viz. , in the carnival of spring. What I mean is, that herbirth has been felicitously timed; for grandeur would be thrownaway upon the eye that cannot connect, and upon the ear that cannot distinguish. In April next, when dear little Evawill have completed her sixth month, when, first of all , shewill be capable of enjoying, there will be something extra toenjoy. That is, speaking Germanically, and therefore pedantically, as the subjective (viz. , the power of spectating) will thenbe in the very meridian of its development in Eva, so corre-88 De Quincey's Life and Writings.spondingly will the objective ( viz. , the thing to be spectated, orin base vulgar the spectacle) , be travelling for three monthsApril, May, June-through all the stages of its revelation.Before April, for want of developed faculties in Eva, any spectacle would be thrown away. After April, when she will beready, yet if spring were not ready, her powers would be thrownaway for want of an object. But now, you understand, since(as Shakespeare luminously insists) that, that is, is--not to wastewords on proving that that, that will be, in all probability will be-therefore it follows that, taking Eva as the centre of a secretand insulated world, the contemplating and the contemplated,the beholding and the thing beheld, the subject and the object,will blossom concurrently. Neither will outrun the other. Nopulse of Eva's sensibilities will perish for want of an object,no day of loveliness will perish for want of an observer. Eva,therefore, is invoked loudly by the coming spring as the readerof the silent legend. Spring is invoked by the tutelary geniusof Eva as the lock whose secret wards made known to itselfthe powers of the key which deciphers them.There, now, is a metaphysical flourish of trumpets in glorification of Eva; and very seriously it is true, that with the earliestof her self- revealing faculties will coincide the almighty spectacle of a resurrection in nature. A great internal revolutionin herself will concur with a great physical revolution outside.And this I have always regarded as a signal privilege of achild.In the next letter, his old need of access to papersmakes him press for the speedy return of his daughtersto Mavis Bush:-December 8, 1854.MY DEAREST FLORENCE, -This morning-viz., Monday, December 4th, came into my hands your letter and Emily'sappendix. I had, however, previously possessed myself of apen, and was in visionary conceit tracing out, whilst yet unaware of any communication from Tipperary, that letter whichnow, three hours later, I am actually writing. The fact is , Iam alarmed at the premature explosion of a train which I hadlaid on Saturday (December 2d) for drawing your attentionin a leisurely way to Mavis Bush. The match has ignited theParboiled Letters. 89train far sooner than I had counted on. And thus it is possibleenough that you may be thrown into needless hurry. It hadhappened that on Saturday the 2d, Mr. Findlay called , as sometimes he is kind enough to do, and on my explaining the general course of my correspondence with you-viz. , that I write aletter- parboil it, as you may say, i.e. , half- finish it, then orderit, in House of Commons phrase, " to lie on the table," duringwhich repose several strata of other papers gather over it withina few days or hours, so that very soon it is " snowed up,"and finally it withdraws into darkness. Hearing this, I say,Mr. Findlay kindly undertook to apprise you, or M. or E. , howthe matter stood, and that the time was drawing near when Ishould want various papers (now at Mavis Bush) for the fifthvolume. This service I counted on his fulfilling about four orfive days later. But, behold! yesterday being Sunday, the verynext succeeding day he called with a "Times" newspaper, andat the same time left a note informing me that he already hadwritten-viz. , not to any one of you three, but to Mr. Craig. I amanxious, therefore, as the train is actually fired, to intercept anyevil consequences. I announce, therefore, that if you could set offten or eleven days from this, i.e. , about the 18th day of December, you will meet the most clamorous of my purposes. Yousee there are counter- perils to weigh off against the perils ofprocrastination. I declare it will be a lesson to me for the restof my life not to hurry.Also I am in your debt, as offered some months back, £9,and this, if you want it with a view to the servants at Pegsborough, I can send by return of post in a post- office order. Ifnot, I might as well pay it here when you come.I could not have avoided the cost of lodging here, such is thekilling nervousness of the condition when one is haunted dailyby an emissary of the press, whom, as a fifteen-mile traveller, itbecomes about impossible to dismiss without his load of pothooks, when, as here, I could say call again to-morrow. I amsure that I could not have stood it. So I reconcile myself to thecost, else it would vex me. Twenty to twenty-two weeks I havebeen here, at a cheaper rate, it is true, by comparing with Glasgow or London; yet on an average spending as nearly as possibletwenty shillings a week, washing included. Add laudanum,brandy, and library subscription. I have spent four guineas more,and being killed with cold, I shall by means of clothes have spent90 De Quincey's Life and Writings.hard upon thirty pounds when I leave. However, I owe not afraction of debt-all is pid; and Mr. Hogg informs me that inspite of the Crimea, which operates dismally against literature,the fourth volume ( viz. , the last) has been welcomed by the tradein London much more zealously than the preceding three, andthat this reawakening of the public attention is already reactingupon the others. I should long ago have sent the volume to youunder ordinary circ*mstances. What delayed it was-(1 ) sinceI saw you last I have never once been out of doors; (2) Ifancied you had seen most of it in the American edition. ButI now remember that there is one addition not without interest-viz. , an account of Williams' murder in London, subjoinedby way of postscript to " Murder as one of the Fine Arts." Itis, however, preposterously long, but that was owing to direI am now fitting myself out for facing the winds,and-but nonsense; on consideration, I will put the machinery in motion.nervousness.The following may be read with interest on accountof its references to two questions of public concern inthose days -points on which he was most anxious thathis daughters should be enlightened , and in which theyshould be interested:--Thursday, January 11 , 1855.MY DEAR EMILY, — I wrote a long letter to Florence on Sunday last, January 7, but, as I did not send it, perhaps in strictequity I ought not to look for an answer. Why did I not sendit? Partly because I saw no proper envelope lying ready,though I found one next morning, and I might therefore afterall have sent it. But chiefly I condemned it as being toomonotonous, for it contained little else than a dream, possiblysymbolic, relating to Florence and yourself; which dream,whether significant or non-significant, occurred on Sunday morning. Such advantage, therefore, as belongs to callowness orfreshness this dream had. On the other hand, it was dull, notoffering variety enough. However, a dulness that forewarnsyou forearms you, so that after all I send it.In all the Edinburgh newspapers, nine or ten in succession,has appeared a notification that might have puzzled you hadThe Patriotic Fund. 91you chanced to stumble on it—viz. , Miss Florence and MissEmily de Quincey, Lasswade, £1 , 1s. amongst the subscrip- tions to the Patriotic Fund. It was I that sent this littleoffering, my motive being this, that for a special reason I couldnot myself subscribe, or fancied so. Yet it seemed almost disgraceful that no expression, small or great, of sympathy withso national a cause should appear on behalf of our Mavis Bushfireside; and therefore I forced myself to fork out a guinea.This sacrifice cost me a pang, even the extra shilling I wanteddismally. Yet, after all, on the Scriptural canon, I really havemy reward. I took out this reward in sheer ostentation; for,being fully determined that not only my left hand should knowwhat my right hand had been doing, but also that my left footshould know it, in case the said foot would oblige me by listening, I drew up the entry loaded with a double Christian name,which forced the printers (as I meant it should) to doubleround, thusMiss Florence and Miss Emily de Quincey,Lasswade,• £ 1 1 0so as to clear out a wide space of blank paper as a foil orrelief to the black emblazonry of the donation. It happenedalso that the very next in succession on the roll of contributors(a scamp who had the presumption to give only nine shillings)came hopping along with some name as short as Bob. Of course,if he would not belie and mystify his own identity to his wholecircle of friends, he durst not prolong himself into Robertus.Consequently, he furnished what seemed a commensurate pedestal or basis to Mavis Bush folk riding overhead. Thisarrangement ran along through ten successive days, so longFlorence and you rode upon the shoulders of Mr. Bob. At theend of that time, having collected-but observe, from Edinburgh, Leith, and circumjacencies-within forty shillings ofsixteen thousand seven hundred pounds, the committee madea general recapitulation or résumé of the whole army of subscribers, which threw all into a different arrangement. Thiswas published last Saturday in the " North British Advertiser "as a supplementary sheet; and I, in order that you might hereafter have a printed voucher by way of reply to all slanderers,bought a copy, lying here at your service. Give my best love to our dear cousins the Gees. I was most unwilling to seem,by any word or hint, to hurry you, knowing how pleasant92 De Quincey's Life and Writings.would be a Christmas spent with them. But still I am becoming most anxious about home. I fancy that perhaps the Gees think much as I do about the Crimean War. Here is my creed:tell me, how far they dissent: -viz. , that, however managed,it is nearly hopeless. Not as though we might not take Sebastopol; I rather believe we shall. But what final good will thatattain? All that we can effect, it seems to me, are these threeobjects (a) to establish a permanent nautical control over theBlack Sea and (b) over the Danube. These two objects withouta treaty, simply by gunboats and by three-deckers and Lancasterguns, we, united with the local resources of the Sultan, mightforcibly effect. As toy (gamma), the traitorous combustibles,the Christian population in the intestines of Turkey, and 8(delta) the two Principalities, we might perhaps gag themforcibly on some system concerted with Turkey; if not, arethose objects indispensable? The great difficulty seems to liein this, that Russia has no heel of Achilles: she is mortal nowhere. Meantime the Euxine and the Danube would be greatjewels to win from her. And even as to the other points,where we may fail, and supposing also that we should fail, it iswell to remember-as a profitable consolation —that hereafteragainst Communists and Red Republicans we shall need toinvoke the aid of Russia, and to rejoice that she is strong.P.S. —I have just sprung a mine of envelopes, consequentlyshall write away until the mine is exhausted.THE DREAM.This morning, being Sunday, a word unknown and unintelligible in this moorland, being in the native jargon, not unfamiliar, the Sawbath, —the hour ( I should guess) 6 A.M. , I had adream , which dream was this. A door opened; it was a dooron the further side of a spacious chamber. For a few momentsI waited expectingly, but not knowing what to expect. At lengthavoice said audibly and most distinctly, but not loudly, Florenceand Emily, with the tone of one announcing an arrival. Soonafter, but not immediately, entered Florence, but, to mygreat astonishment, no Emily. Florence wore a dress not as ifcoming off a journey, at least not a travelling dress, but asimple walking dress; she had on a bonnet, rather a prettyone, but I should doubt if it had cost more than half-a- guineaThe Dream. 93(unless they charge high in dreams); and it was lined withrose- coloured silk; but the ribbons, I think, were white ( isthat allowable?); and certainly the prevailing hue ofthe general dress was white. Florence did not look back; and how sheaccounted for Emily's not following is best known to herself.A shadow fell upon me, and a feeling of sadness, whichincreased continually as no Emily entered at the door, which,however, still stood open; so , you know, there was nothing tohinder her coming after all, if it was that she had only beenloitering. But it relieved my feeling of sadness that Florence,of whose features I had the steadiest view, seemed cheerful,though not smiling. I felt it strange that I could not questionher, notwithstanding that obliquely she was continually near- ing my position. If I could catch her eye I felt that I couldspeak to her-not else; and this I could not do. WhatFlorence was making for must have been a garden, still,solitary, and rich to excess with flowers past all counting, and gayer than any I had ever seen. The garden was on my righthand the positions, in fact, were these:-TmGarden.O xTis the door of entrance; Mis Florence; Xis myself in anunphilosophic mood of irritation , and, I fear, likely soon to become waspish if I should not succeed in arresting Florence'seye. However, I did not succeed; neither did Emily come solong as I staid, which might be six to eight minutes. Suddenlyall vanished; the door, the garden, Florence, myself, all weregone; and I was broad awake, with no chance of ever interceptingthe obstinate and unfilial Florence on her diagonal route to theflower-garden. I should mention, in order to complete thesketch, that although Florence continually advanced in the94 De Quincey's Life and Writings.sense of widening her distance from the entrance-door, nevertheless she never came nearer to me, for the chamber floor expanded concurrently with her steps, which is an awkwardthing, you know, when walking a match against time. Thegarden, I should add, melted into the chamber, through steps of transition that were indescribable .Had anything special occurred to fix my attention upon yourname? Why, yes; on the night before ( Saturday, January 6,1855) a man had sent me, as a book that might amuse me, anovel in three vols. , 2d edition, 1846, entitled The Lawyers inLove; or, Passages from the Life of a Chancery Barrister. It isa most absurd and extravagant tale, but showing that kind oftalent which belongs to the construction of a pantomime; andin this tale one of the heroines is called Florence.Here is, on the whole, a hopeful letter from aseptuagenarian sick- bed: —No. 42 LOTHIAN STREET,Tuesday Evening, January 16, 1855.MY DEAR FLOR. -EM. , -Your —that is, Fl.'s -letter, startlingme with the news of your return to Lasswade, not fromthe Orient but from the Occident, reached me yesterdaymorning, viz. , Monday, January 15. I then was, and now am,lying sick in bed, and from some malady as violent as it wassudden. On Saturday afternoon this malady came on withsudden sickness , fever, and light- headedness; for thirty-sixhours I was very ill indeed. But at length my continuedabstinence through three full days-during which time not twoounces have passed my lips -is beginning to tell, as ro doubtit always will, upon fever. Which malady, I beg to say, wasno growth of my own crazy system; apparently it could not be,since at the same hour of Saturday afternoon when I wasattacked, two gentlemen students, fellow-lodgers in this housefrom the South, were attacked with equal violence, and one(if not both) took to the resource of bed; and secondly, heinvoked medical aid; which I did not. All of us, I believe,are mending. Me, however, the fever, which was violent, hasleft so weak, that yesterday and to-day, on attempting to rise,I could not stand. But strength soon rekindles when theturn sets in; and so, perhaps, on Friday I may be over.Prescribes for Toothache. 95Before he has well recovered, he is equal to prescribingfor the relief of others:-Friday, February 9, 1855.MY DEAR FLORENCE, -I heard with great concern fromEllen on (was it not?) Friday evening last-i.e. , this dayweek-of your toothache sufferings. Every day I have beenon the point of writing to you about the remedy; and I reproach myself heavily for having suffered my own miserablewant of energy to interfere with the instant suggestion of somuch practical counsel as my own bitter experience enables meto offer. This counsel divides into three sections-A, B, C. A relates to the cause of toothache. I pass to B and C. Bindicates what relates to clothing. Warm coverings for the feet(lamb's wool fleecy hosiery, &c. ), and above all, for the chestand shoulders, are indispensable; and therefore, if from anycause you are not immediately in possession of the right kind,I will buy whatever you direct me, pay for them, and forwardthem at once to Lasswade. Have you and Emily muffs andfur tippets? C stands for diet. Now, I remember most distinctly a long course of atrocious wretchedness from a fit oftoothache that never intermitted night or day through nearlythree weeks, and, behold! suddenly within two minutes, as ifthe angel of Bethesda had cried halt! it gave way, fled, vanished, and did not return through half a year, simply underthe accident of a dinner more stimulant than usual. Fromdreadful ignorance-ignorance that was bovine, canine, bestialI had been systematically feeding and nursing this accursedtorment, under the fatal conceit that I was starving it, by alow vegetable diet. Fortunately, I had at length becomeinfuriated by ill success. I resolved on trying the oppositesystem; and, by mere chance, on this day there happened to have been dressed for dinner a superb sirloin of beef. This Isupported by a bottle of old port, and, as I am a living man,not one full glass had I drunk (simultaneously eating a squareinch, not a cubic inch, of beef, and its reasonable proportion ofgravy), when the foul fiend of toothache flapped his gloomywings, and, like a gorged vulture, rose heavily, vanished, and forsix months did not return. Now, comparing the three weeks'unrelenting persecution with the absolutely instantaneous flightof the monster, you will hardly feel a doubt but that this mere96 De Quincey's Life and Writings.hint of a generous diet, falling on a system that by previousstarvation had been disqualified for offering any resistance toa strong impulse, must have been the magic that worked thesudden revolution. " Take up thy bed and walk!" was the summons, that would not be refused, of this memorable dinner. Notfor vain carnal amusem*nt do I rehearse this instructive fact, butfor thy practical conversion, O daughter of lukewarm faith!Promise me that, if I send out a bottle of the oldest port, youwill order for dinner a sirloin of beef (roasted), and will drinkat the said dinner two glasses of the wine, undiluted; or, if a.little diluted , not to reckon the water as part of the twoglasses.I am in deadly depression of nervousness; spite of which, however, I meditate great exertions; and (with the benefit of adaily nine or ten miles' exercise) I believe that I could accomplish my plans. Towards these it is important for me toreturn home; and in the course of next week without fail Iwill do so. Meantime a wonderful sally of ingenuity hassuggested to me that, by means of a previous concert betweenus, my return might be made available for a visit on your partto Edinburgh. You might come in by means of Cuthbert'scarriage, for which, of course, I will pay, and take me up withmy small quantum of baggage at any hour that suited you;i.e., any hour from one to six. But let me know forty-eighthours before taking any final step in the matter. If one of theMiss Widnells should chance to find any motive for coming inon the same day, it would be easy for me to make room bytaking my seat on a box of papers.Do not suppose that my delays in returning argue any uncertainty of plans. The plain reason is simply my immeasurableincapacity for business -above all, for that sort of businesswhich lies in arranging papers or packing up books. However, if you or Emily will concert some scheme, I, on my part,will really make an effort.I have suffered much from my eyes since the influenza;some days all but blind, and on some nights roused up forhours by the pain, and still more by the nervous uneasinessbesieging them. Sulphate of zinc is all the remedy I haveapplied.Send my love to little Eva three times a week. Goodnight!-Ever affectionately yours.A Musical " Treat." 97Before he returns home he has set his heart on a"treat " for his daughters. The trouble he takes thathis good intentions may not be frustrated is surely verycommendable:-This page was written on Thursday night, agreeably to thedate; but all the rest is only now going to be written, viz. , onthis day, Friday, the 16th, hour 15 min. after 12. So I knownot when you will get it.Thursday Night, February 15, 1855.MY DEAR FLORENCE, -Last night I wrote aline to you; infact, a line was all I could write; for on Mr. Hogg's coming inand thus offering me the advantage of a safe transmission tothe Post- office, I could not without incivility do more thanwrite a hurried close, which I mention in order to account forits abruptness. On closing it, I said to Mr. Hogg, now, thisletter of mine, I feel certain, will cross one from my daughter.And so it did. About eight o'clock this morning your answer tomine of Friday last reached me. As to the day of my return,as you leave that arrangement open to my choice, most likely itwill be Tuesday. Meantime I write to mention that on twoseparate days of next week Julien (or is it Jullien? ) gives concerts. I am anxious that you and Emily should come over toone of the two. The tickets for us three, being 3s. 6d. each, willcost half-a-guinea; and Cuthbert's carriage to carry us inand back, I have an indistinct remembrance, will cost about16s. —at all events, not more than 20s. The whole, therefore,will at the outside -toll-bar included-not cost more than aguinea and a half, which I will pay, and without incurring anydebt to Mr. Cuthbert. But early applications are needed for thetickets. So pray return an answer as soon as possible as tothese two points: First, Will you come? Is there any knownhindrance at this moment, or likely to be at the time? Secondly,If not, which of the two days advertised will suit you best?The days are immediately consecutive-viz., Wednesday the21st of February, and Thursday the 22d. For which shall Iget the tickets? There is always great crowding at these concerts, which ( as you know) wear a vulgar, snobbish character,but always offer the attractions of a severely- selected andseverely-trained orchestra, and partially of good music. AndVOL. II. G98De Quincey'sLife and Writings.on this particular occasion there is the extra (and, to you andEm. , I should think inestimable), attraction of Mme. Pleyell,the celestial pianofortist. Heaven nor earth has yet heard herequal. So say the London amateurs. As to myself, you knowthat I have had no opportunity of hearing her. It seems also that the orchestral accompaniment to her performance is to beunusually rich and full. Certainly to be hustled by a gang of snobs would be a hideous drawback; but us, as nobs, viz. , asOccupying reserved seats, this overcrowding will hardly affect.I guess also, but doubtingly, that we shall have a moon. Ihave no doubt that one must be due about that time; but whatI doubt is, whether she will not be too young to be available.Half-past ten to half- past twelve is about the time when shemight be serviceable, if she could make it convenient. But inthe infancy of the moon she goes to bed too soon, I fear, for that.Let me have your answer, if you can, by Monday. But do notsend it over to Lasswade specially, at least by Ellen, for I gatheredfrom her that at present you have but her in the house; andit is rather alarming to think of you two being left alone in ahouse so pestered with beggars, tramps, and outcasts, whomdesperate poverty tempts always to robbery, and tempts successfully when opportunity favours. O heavens! what a long,prosy sentence! I repent it, deeply repent; but amendment,or amends, must be impossible unless by rewriting the whole letter. And in that case what becomes of the post?On Tuesday last I saw announced the death of Miss Wordsworth at the age of eighty- four. You would, of course, see thedeath of Miss Mitford. I was sincerely grieved. For the lastfortnight an unfeeling paragraph has also been circling roundthe newspapers, started (it is said) by the " Leader," that MissMartineau's life hangs upon a gossamer-enlargement ofthe heartis her complaint, and at any moment it may be fatal. Yet I remember that ten years ago all the world believed her to bedying of cancer at Gateshead, spite of which she drank tea withus seven or eight years later; and it is odd that but a monthago she was lecturing all round the Lakes. Through one or otherinterruption it is now half- past six. So I am forced to conclude.Yours most affectionately.Par parenthèse, let us remark how pleasant it is tosee that Miss Martineau felt herself called upon soMiss Martineau. 99late as the year 1852 to turn out of the beaten trackto visit De Quincey at Lasswade, as finding some capitalattraction in the man and his talk. She thus, in viewof more than one thing, showed , in the words of Isaiah,"the liberal heart devising liberal things."Wednesday Afternoon, February 21, 1855.MY DEAR GIRLS, —I write a single line for the purpose ofrelieving you from any perplexity as to our place of rendezvous.Almost to a certainty I shall join you at Mavis Bush, either(which is possible) at breakfast, or (which is probable) about noon,on Thursday, the 22d of this current month. No opening formistake, or for what the Scotch call dubiety, lurks to my thinkingin those words. It is, however, conceivable, and therefore in ashadowy sense possible, but far indeed from probable, that Imight be so retarded as to make it ineligible to set out on a toilsome walk through snow. Snow on the ground, and perhapslying in drifts locally, would make it hard for me, not acquaintedwith the present condition of the roads, on the cis and the trans,the hither and thither side of the weathershed between Lasswadeand Edinburgh, to know how much time to allow for driving; sothat it is difficult on the whole for me to calculate so nicely asyou may do on your side of the difficulty. If a snowstorm shouldcome on and bar your return, I can, of course, easily procurebedrooms for our party in a Princes Street hotel.In the following he finds himself unexpectedlyprecipitated on a minor point of casuistry:-Saturday Night, March 3, 1855.MY DEAR DAUGHTERS, —I was disturbed last night at finding no natural or spontaneous opening (how barbarous, by theway, is this collision of ings-finding, opening! ) for any privatecommunication. But, consistently with good breeding, howcould one introduce such a parenthesis into the public current of one's talk? Private and confidential memoranda it wouldbe dishonourable for a stranger to overhear. Consequently, itwould for us be the point of politeness to co - operate with thestranger's efforts to un-hear-to dis-hear-to non- hear (howshall I express it?) —every syllable and fragment of susurration100 De Quincey's Life and Writings.

• that might, though insulated, betray the tendency of our

colloquy. But, if such be the set or secret direction of the truepoliteness, then, saith the ferocious casuist, the acmé and tiptop attitude of politeness must lie in whispering. Yet, on theother hand, can anything be more vitally impolite than whispering in company? So that the extremity of politeness actuallyterminates and eventuates in the very excess of rudeness; andhere, as in so many other cases, the philosophic axiom is realised that extremes meet.But metaphysically to account for the incommunicability,and to show that the accident of last night in George Squarewas no accident, but the inseparable necessity of the situation,does that indemnify me? Healeth that my wound? Doththat apply a plaister to my burning, smarting fury? I trow not. What I wanted to confer upon was inter alia ( which,being interpreted, signifieth amongst divers otherments) as to theMusic Hall temptation, viz. , Mendelssohn's " St Paul," on themorning of this day, Saturday the 3d of March, which thenfigured for a moment in the character of to-morrow. I wishedto know whether, reading its newspaper promises by the lightofour own recent experience on Thursday the 22d of February,we could flatter ourselves that the pleasure would at all answerto the cost. Left to myself on this Saturday morning at sixo'clock, for so early had I sate (or, more correctly, sitten) upperpendicularly in bed looking and listening for the newspaperembodying the last telegraphic ( 1 ) details, or (2) rumours, or (3)guesses, or (4) jibs about the poor assassinated Czar; which newspaper (heretofore coming, even in deepest January, duly andScoticé pointedly + at half-past six) now, of course, under theeternal disturbance (oftentimes the inversion) of the equities,proportions, reasonable expectations attached to life, did notcome until an hour later; left, therefore, to my solitary meditations at an hour when all the street slumbered, I speculatedin vision upon the question whether my poor crazy energiescould so far rally as to rise, shave, dress, walk over to GeorgeSquare about eleven A.M., and with you two concert some planfor procuring tickets, and finally at half- past one presentingthese tickets to the anarchs and lords of misrule who pretend to

• [—cy of the ——quy] what dreadful jingling echoes!

+ Pointedly, the current Scotch for punctual is pointed.Literary Plans. ΙΟΙguide the confusion that for ever beclouds the avenues to the Music Hall. Much I fear that, had all been smooth sailing,my powers of combination for facing the several steps of thearrangement, as to tickets, carriage, rendezvousing personally,would have floored my drooping energies. But when I heardthat a worse crush than on the 22d was pretty sure to be metby a system of police measures in no respect less reckless, Ishrank hopelessly from the enterprise. This, therefore, is gone.As respects the future, however; at the theatre, the entrance and the exit are beset by less pressure and anxiety. So, if yousee announced any performance of whatsoever class that to yourfancy promises well, warn me in time; that is, supposing me to be here, which generally will not be the case. You must bedull, I am sure, in your imprisonment at Mavis Bush, whereeven the mavis, I believe, is a rare guest. Some studies meantime I could suggest, which, perhaps, we might pursue withadvantage in partnership. Which be they? Why grammar,universal grammar (as it is termed) , as treated , for instance, by Harris in his " Hermes."The following, which is characteristic in its own way,was written to Miss Agnes Duncan, a neighbour of hissister at Bath, who had sometime before paid a visitto Mavis Bush:-March 5, 1855.MY DEAR MISS AGNES, -Florence is writing to you, and thatripens a purpose which I had to revive my two days' acquaintance with you by endeavouring to interest you in my immediate literary plans. All the people that ever I cared about inthis world I wished to interest in anything I was meditating ofthis sort. But why? Was my vanity so vivacious? Oh no,vanity or egotism had nothing to do with it. From the conversation of every human being I know at once whether it ispossible for that person, so and so constituted, to care muchabout this or that thing which I may have written. Yourself Irecognised as one of those who would feel an interest in my"Autobiographic Sketches." And suddenly, whilst I was supposing myself to have perhaps dreamed all that, came your letter,recording the trouble which you must have had in searching up102 De Quincey's Life and Writings.those old paper- asses through long since defunct magazines.How can there be any vanity after that in my reporting a farsmoother route by which you will reach the same object, muchimproved, and also very much enlarged. Really I begin to feel asif in this last sentence I were writing a puff for the newspapers.But, on the other hand, this is an evil that besets every communication that ever was or will be meant to recommend anyplan whatsoever, small or great. I for my part am satisfiedif I interest a sufficient number of readers for the present tocarry off the edition. Hereafter I will endeavour to establish adeeper attraction.Meantime, I wish to inform you that chapters altogether newwill be introduced among the sections of this forthcomingvolume. And secondly, as your kindness may lead you to askhow soon the volume will be finished , I beg to explain that itmoves at such a rate as to imply about a month further of progress. A most whimsical difficulty retards me, which possiblyI mentioned to you-viz. , that it is easier for me to write aletter from Edinburgh to Astrachan, than from Lasswade toEdinburgh. In the former case you point a gun levelled directly at the object; but in the latter you shoot round a corner.To reach Lasswade, even for us, having only two servants, is aprocess accomplished sometimes through a two days' journey.Such a labourer gives the letter to such a farmer; unless,indeed, when some nondescript animal happens to call that goesall the way to Lasswade. Such nondescript is reported to meat this moment. Pray allow for my necessity, and ever believeme, my dear Miss Agnes, faithfully yours,THOMAS DE QUINCEY.The next letter will perhaps justify the positionaccorded to it by the testimony it bears to his thoughtful.concern for any one in difficulties, or merely lonely byreason of being in a strange place:-Monday, May 7th, 1855.MY DEAR EMILY, -What am I staying here for? Chiefly andoriginally for the papers with which to finish the " Suspiria."One of the most important papers, viz. , " The Daughter of Lebanon," is not (as I thought it had been) in this last parcel. I amSympathy with Animals. 103puzzled how to proceed. Meantime, I am and have been for threeor four weeks suffering greatly from the aching of my left arm,-intermitting, one might call it, and yet it rarely slumbersaltogether; but it fluctuates, and at times it taxes my powers ofendurance most heavily. I have an anodyne lotion for rubbingit, and this gives some relief, but not such as can be always relied on.The result of all these elements co-operating for annoyance is,that I am perplexed, and even distracted, and on Wednesday orThursday I think of coming home. I am, however, desirous toask of you and Flor to come over some day according to your ownconvenience, for the purpose of calling on a young lady fromWales, a Miss M- sister to a student at the College. She hascome hither, viz. , to these lodgings, with her brother, who hadgone about a month since to fetch her. They returned after afortnight's interval, and they seem lonely enough. She is musical,and appears amiable. If you see no objection , it would be kindto take a little notice of her. Perhaps in some way you couldcombine the use of Cuthbert's brougham ( I paying, of course)with some plan for calling here. Or perhaps better to wait till I see you.I am horrified at the course which the democratic movement istaking. The great meeting or meetings of Saturday in Londonmust, if issuing in any practical expression, explode in consequences fearfully revolutionary.The next letter, bearing date May 1855, exhibitshis relations to the domestic animals, and his sympathyfor them in their sufferings:-MY DEAR MISS CRAIG, -I will make a new beginning. Butwhy so? Simply for the reason that follows. There is in thishouse, 42 Lothian Street, a being (metaphysically speaking, Imust not call him a person) who is not altogether a friend ofmine, but far less an enemy, because systematically I extendtoleration to all Jews, Cretans (though charged with lying) ,dwellers in Mesopotamia, Mahometans, Pagans, even to donkeys(provided they retire for the purpose of braying into a secludedstudy); in fact, to all the world, except only atrocious duns convicted of a fourth offence, and obstinate performers on the bagpipes. Therefore, of course, I tolerate cats, of which race is the104 De Quincey's Life and Writings.agent concerned in what I am going to report; for surely a catstands far within the comprehensive circle of indulgence that Ihave traced. Afew weeks ago, I had a severe attack of influenza,which has obliged me ever since to lie down for an hour or twoin the middle of the day. Naturally, in these circ*mstances, Isometimes doze a little. Waking suddenly from such a momentary lull, I became aware of a little drama in the very crisis ofcatastrophe. My letter to yourself lay extended on the breakfasttablecloth, close to it was a cream jug, and close to that a newlyopened bottle of Tarling's metallic ink, and quietly reconnoitringhis opportunities was the feline pet of the house, who is also thesole criminal and traitor of the house. My movement in wakingmust have alarmed him, -conscience made a coward of him, andoff he bounced, upsetting-- not the cream jug, which had been thesecret magnet of his invasion-but Mr. Tarling's sixpenny-worthof chemistry. So much of the black deluge lodged upon theright- hand section of your letter as obliged me to condemn itfor illegible; else it was all written clearly enough. The delugeextended to the extremities of several remote slips, so that youmay chance to find memorials of the wretch's transgression weeks ahead in future letters.Kant asks somewhat sneeringly, whether, as the poor horseshares so largely in human miseries, it had happened to theparadisaical horse that he had eaten any forbidden hay. I donot know, but certainly the cats of this terraqueous earth in allgenerations, from paradise downwards, have eaten, and even atat this moment are eating, a monstrous quantity of forbiddencream. Yet, as regards any counter- reckoning or penal retribution on the part of man, ten thousand times over (to my thinking)the balance is adjusted, and the account squared, by the infamouscruelties of which man has tolerated the infliction upon cats.The household Ishmaelite is certainly the cat by means of itsopportunities; but, on the other hand, through its weakness, andthe ubiquity of its presence, a cat offers itself to the first impulse or craving of devilish malignity in a cruel boy's heart, -and I am sure that the groans and screams of this poor persecutedrace, if gathered into some great echoing hall of horrors, would melt the hearts of the stoniest of our race.The next note will show how he had to undergo theusual ordeals by which the patience of popular authorsSoft, Velvety Coercion. 105is sorely tried -requests for copies of their booksgratis:-42 LOTHIAN STREET,Thursday, May 10, 1855.MY DEAR FLOR, ―This morning as early as seven, or some fewminutes later, I received your letter, and also the three accompanying communications—one being from Mr. Lushington inKent; one from some unknown (and, so far as I have yet penetrated, nameless) society in N. America upon international copyright; and thirdly, one from the librarian of some Manchestersuburban institution, transmitting their honorary salutations;but not, as we usually incarnate such expressions of homage orof courtesy, viz. , in a gold box. No; such is the increasingwickedness amongst this generation of vipers-absolutely inverting the old traditionary usage, and looking to me, of allpeople, for the gold box. Not they to me, but I to them, amto remit the gold box; such at least is the virtual reading ofthe case according to my way of spelling. The letter of theirstatement is this, that, being poverty- bitten, the society cannotfulfil the wish of their hearts, which points magnetically towards the purchase of my four darling volumes, but in defaultof that purchase are compelled to act upon the suggestion of apromising young member, who, after intense study, fell uponthe discovery that I, by the happy privilege of my position,might pluck the four volumes as so many grape clusters from avine, or, more truly (in relation to the money cost), as so many blackberries from a bramble. One is amused with the softvelvety coercion of these gentle beggars; and of course I cando no less than send the volumes as a peppercorn rent for theobliging incense of flattery with which they fumigate my nostrils.The next letter we shall give points to one of thechanges by which the Mavis Bush household was scattered:-Memorandum, not sent until August 1. Second memorandum,not sent till August 2.лоб De Quincey's Life and Writings.Tuesday Night, July 31, 1855.MY DEAR DAUGHTERS, -On Friday penultimate (ie. , Fridaylast but one), being the 20th of July, I received your ( meaning Emily's) letter, that letter which spoke of the wedding at some distance from Boston, where the Misses Gee had " assisted." It seems strange that this same wedding, betweenparties as yet unknown to me even by name, has alreadyreached me through another channel. Four or five weeks ago,I met in the course of my ordinary walk along the QueensferryRoad a party of gentlemen who challenged me as an acquaint- ance. I recognised no one of them; but it turned out to beMessrs. John Blackwood the publisher and James B. thelawyer. Some confused remembrance I had that we were orought to be in a relation of hostility, though why I couldground upon none but fuscous and cloudy reasons. However,as it occurred to me that the belligerent party had never ceasedto send me the monthly present of his magazine, naturally thewar could not have been conducted in a spirit of acharnement.Surprised, however, I was a little at the marked kindness oftheir salutation, and I heard with pleasure that Mr. John B. ,who (as by accident I knew) had sometime ago married a younglady (and indistinctly my impression was an Englishwoman),wished to introduce his young wife to Florence and yourself,and proposed accordingly to drive her over to Mavis Bush onany day that should be convenient to you two. Of course, Iexpressed my own pleasure, and answered for yours, at thisprospect, but explained the hindrance which for the presentwould delay the meeting. Some weeks after this, viz. , onSaturday night, July 21 , I met on the same road partially thesame party again there were two Blackwoods, only for Jamesthe lawyer was substituted Major Blackwood; but again Mr.John was present, and as it happened to be nearly nine o'clock,would peremptorily insist upon my going instanter to drink teawith Mrs. J. B. I did so, and found her a very fascinatingperson as regards manners. She has a charming frankness,and a most winning spirit of kindness in her address. Duringthe hour that I had the pleasure of passing in her company,which was sincerely a very pleasant one (for Mrs. B. is constitutionally cheerful and I believe clever) , it came out that somerecent marriage in Boston had personally interested my hostess.Could I be right in fancying that the name of Waugh was inMore than a Rumour. 107some way associated with the event? Such an impression survived faintly from the remembrances of the evening. We bothcame to the conclusion that this must be identical with yourwedding, since (said Mrs. B. ) it would be likely to engage theinterest of the Miss Gees.Last week, viz. , on Thursday the 26th of July, I dined byinvitation with a small party-men only-at Mr. Ritchie's inGeorge Square. Mr. Ritchie * and his family have been verykind in their attentions to me. But, to finish my story of thedinner-party, on entering the drawing-room, inquiries buzzedabout me as to your whereabouts and intentions with regardto the homeward route, &c.; and upon my answering that Ihad reason to look for you ( speaking nautically) " in allAugust," somebody said, " We understand , Mr. de Quincey, youare going to lose another ofyour daughters. " This arose naturallyout of a previous inquiry about M. and the chances of her coming over to England; but it took me so far by surprise that Idid not know how to treat it, for I was not certain as to F.'sown wishes on this point. However, I said, smiling, that sucha rumour was certainly current. " Aye, but it's more than arumour," said Mr. Russel, the editor of the Scotsman; andthen it came out that on the morning of this very Thursday, ason of Lord Dunfermline's, one of the Abercrombies, who is nowby accident on a visit to Edinburgh, had announced the newsas highly probable. He is our British Minister at Turin; andit had so happened, that when Colonel Baird Smith wasstudying the system of irrigation in the King of Sardinia'sContinental dominions (Piedmont, &c. ) , he was invited to takeup his quarters in the hotel of our English Legation, which hedid, and thus became intimately acquainted with Sir Ralph,for I believe that this son of Lord D.'s is the one known as SirRalph A. So that here is at once ar. end to all further secrecy,if you had any wish for it. On this occasion, by the way, aspreviously at Mr. J. B.'s, I found all persons loud in the praise of Colonel Baird Smith.This day, viz. , August 1 , now at p. 6 (though not on p. 1) , Iwas meaning to transfer myself to Mavis Bush. But so far Ihave altered my purpose as that I shall not go till to-morrow.But I plan foolishly; for my spirits fail me, and, since

• John Ritchie was proprietor of the Scotsman. —ED.

108 De Quincey's Life and Writings.I wrote last, through one fortnight I was fearfully ill. Tomorrow I will write specially to Florence. -Ever, my deardaughters, with love to the two ladies your hostesses.-P.S.-Have I understood you rightly that dear little Eva iscoming over?In 1855 his second daughter, Florence, went out toIndia and was married to Colonel Baird Smith, so wellknown in connection with great engineering works there.And not only distinguished for his achievements in civilengineering. As Sir John Kaye tells, * he was transferred from Roorkhee to Delhi at an early period of thesiege as engineer chief; he projected the plan of assault,urged it on in opposition to General Sir ArchdaleWilson's wishes for delay, and after being wounded andweakened, so that recourse to opium was forced uponhim for support, he remained the responsible director ofthe siege operations till final success was secured. Thisfurther inroad on the household at Lasswade, onlyseemed to render De Quincey more concerned for thewelfare of all. The next extract will show the impression that the first personal acquaintance with his grandchild Eva produced upon him: --42 LOTHIAN STREET,October, 1855.MY DEAR EMILY,-Do you know, I cannot abide " Dred," somuch, at least, as I have read of " Dred," which, thank heaven,is not much. Also, I cannot abide Mr. Aytoun's " Bothwell," somuch, at least, as I have seen of it, which, thank heaven, isconsiderably less.Did I tell you what word it was that dear little Eva suggested to me? I was thinking, months ago, what words weEnglish could muster towards balancing the French claim(claim of wealth, I mean, in the vocabulary of social distinc-

• History of the Sepoy War. Vols. ii. and iii.

The Final Confession. 109tions). Ennui, upon which the French are so fiers, mightimperfectly (I thought) be represented by listlessness . Hereseems the difference:-Listlessness is, perhaps, a purely passivestate-a mere effect or result; whereas, ennui has somethingcausative about it. Ennui might prompt or suggest, but perhaps listlessness only forbears to oppose. So as to someother words. At last I came to Eva's word, which was archand archness. She is the only baby of twelve months old thatever struck me as arch. There seems to be between this wordarchness and the justly famous French word naiveté, a connecting link of apposition. Naiveté, or naturalness, or natural spontaneity, always involves unconsciousness. But archness isthus far opposed, that it includes, necessarily, a certain amount of conscious fun.In the next letter, addressed to his daughter Emily,he gives at length his opinion on the final form of the"Confessions," inviting, as was his wont, the deliberateand independent opinion of his daughters on the subject:-This was parboiled in departing September; parboiled inopening October. But, as involving no personal limitation tothis correspondent or to that, why not transfer it to you?Tuesday and pretty certainly Wednesday being the last dayof September and first of October. Year continuing verymuch what it was when I wrote last.MY DEAR EMILY, -By this complex date I wish you tounderstand that my epistolary impulses may happen tocruise about throughout the week, weighing anchor wheneverthe whim seizes me, and dropping anchor as often as I amseriously interrupted. Hold me excused, therefore, from allcontinuity or logical coherency. All the reason that I can pleadfor beginning is that the day happens to be September 30; sothat, if I do not write now, you will say I have not writtenthis autumn; since many critical people insist upon rankingOctober as a winter month. Yet stop! did not I write earlyin September? So absorbed am I by the press, that I forgetall things else; and I forget that-did I write, or did I not?Volume v. is on the point of closing, viz. , " THE CONFESSIONS. "It is almost rewritten; and there cannot be much doubt thatΠΙΟ De Quincey's Life and Writings.here and there it is enlivened, and so far improved. To justifythe enormous labour it has cost me, most certainly it oughtto be improved. And yet, reviewing the volume as a whole,now that I can look back from nearly the end to the beginning,greatly I doubt whether many readers will not prefer it in itsoriginal fragmentary state to its present full- blown development. But if so, why could I not have felt this objectionmany weeks since, when it would have come in time to saveme what has proved an exhausting labour. The truth is, Idid feel it; but what countervailed that objection was secretlythe following awkward dilemma: -A doubt had arisen whether,with my own horrible recoil from the labour of converging andunpacking all hoards of MSS. , I could count upon bringingtogether enough of the " Suspiria " (yet unpublished) materiallyto enlarge the volume. If not, this volume (standing amongstsister volumes of 320 to 360 pp. ) would present only a beggarlyamount of 120 pp. Upon which arose this dilemma-Eitherthe volume must be strengthened by the addition of papersaltogether alien, which to me was eminently disagreeable, asbreaking up the unity of the volume-or else, if left in theslenderness of figure, would really to my feeling involve us inan act that looked very like swindling. How could 7s . 6d. bereasonably charged to the public for what obviously was but athird part in bulk of the other volumes? But could not theprice for this anomalous volume have been commensuratelylessened? No. Mr. H., the publisher, who knows, of course,so much more than I do about such cases, assures me thatnothing so much annoys the trade as any interruption of theprice scale upon a series of volumes. Such being the case, noremedy remained but that I should doctor the book, and expandit into a portliness that might countenance its price . I should,however, be misleading you if any impression were left uponyour mind that I had eked out the volume by any wire-drawing process: on the contrary, nothing has been added whichdid not originally belong to my outline of the work, havingbeen left out chiefly through hurry at the period of first, i.e.,original, publication in the autumn of 1821. Do not, therefore, suffer anything I have now said to interfere with readingthe book in its recomposition (or, more bookishly, its rifacimento); for I wish to have the deliberate judgment upon it ofPegsborough, since hereafter it will travel into a popularPope's "Rape of the Lock." IIIedition, priced suppose one half- crown instead of three; andin that edition I can profit by the opinions reported. As afurther reason for reading it I must mention, that as a bookof amusem*nt it is undoubtedly improved; what I doubt is,whether also as a book to impress. Some morning soon youwill receive the book through the post-office; and after that,I will plague you no more about it. Meantime this one thingI may add, as guiding you to the notion that I have beenfumbling with:-Pope, you know, originally published his"Rape of the Lock" as a mere aërial sketch unencumbered withany machinery; but afterwards (on better-some think onworse-consideration) he buckramed or crinolined his gracefulsketch with an elaborate machinery of gnomes and sylphsderived from the Rosicrucian philosophy. This change stiffenedit, but rounded it and made it orbicular. Was it better orworse for this somewhat pompous expansion? The opinion ofthe world was unhesitatingly that the new machinery wasmost felicitous; and in particular places, I cannot deny that ittells with great effect. Yet, after all, there was in the originalsketchy and playful bagatelle, with its fragmentary grace and itsimpromptu loveliness, an attraction which has perished in thebrocaded massiveness and voluminous draperies of this ceremonial mythology, with its regular manoeuvrings and deployingsof agencies malicious or benign. We now have a full-blownrose against the original wild rosebud or dewy blossom of thedawn. Such is my feeling. Such was Addison's, and I doubtnot his most sincere feeling. Yet the friends of Pope affectedto think that so very natural a mode of feeling was in Addisonpurely hypocritical, and hazarded under the desperate refinement of finessing jealousy-that Pope might be thus misled intosuppressing his exquisite little gem of art under its most perfectmanifestation. How thoroughly sincere Addison might be, Ifor my part read most legibly in my own continual vibrationtowards the same decision. But what relation has all this tomy own case? Simply this-that here again, as in thousandsof similar cases, is a conflict -is a call for a choice -between analmost extempore effort, having the faults, the carelessness,possibly the graces, of a fugitive inspiration -this on the oneside, and on the other a studied and mature presentation of thesame thoughts, facts, and feelings, but without the same benefitfrom extemporaneous excitement. Waal, now, to speak112 De Quincey's Life and Writings.yankeeishly, I calculate your dander is rising against thisspecimen of dissertationising. But note, this is an exceptionalepistle, preparing and warning you for a practical question, viz. ,a thoughtful consideration of the remodelled " Confessions "as more fit, or less fit, under omissions or changes ( what andwhere?), to take its place among works addressing themselvesto the popular mind. Such a purpose, you will admit, excusesa certain amount of lecturing. However, excusable or not, it is over. As Solomon remarks, the rain is over and gone;and the voice of the turtle, not turtle-soup, is heard in theforests. No more lecturing shall you hear from me. I proceedto ask-are you at all thinking of turning homewards? Bythe 20th of the next month, or say (as a day more memorable)by the 21st, which is the day of " almighty Trafalgar," I shallbe ready to reinstate myself in our sumptuous mansion ofMavis Bush. When, on or about the 27th ( I think it was) ofJuly, I heard from you, not that you were going, but actuallythat you were going-going-GONE, to that island of saints,first gem of the sea, green Erin, -verily I was struck as by athunderbolt.But why, you will say, hearing on of my " consternation "learning so suddenly your departure for Ireland, had I everquitted Mavis Bush? Your going away would not have neces- sitated mine. No; but I was satisfied that I never could havecarried through the press a remodelled edition of " The Confessions " at that distance from the press; here I have done illenough, followed with such hunter's speed by the printers,that a quantity of " copy," which I had been taught to supposeequal to twelve men's work for at least half a week, came back to me all finished in five hours. But what should I have doneat Lasswade? Here, if I send a messenger back, it is but a fewhundred steps that he has to retrace and lose. Every time thesame thing happened at Lasswade, there would have been aloss of fifteen miles.You never tell me anything of Mr. John Craig, junior. ButI fear junior does not reach the depth of the case; it must benatu minimus, youngest, not younger, that will hit the bird IYou must understand that the Latin adjective juvenis(young) has a comparative degree, juvenior (and by contractionjunior), younger. But very improperly it has no superlative,juvenissimus, and by contraction junissimus. The word wasmean.Weary ofLothian Street. 113wanting to these haughty Romans, but not the thing. Ayoungest member of a family, a younger than a younger, didexist in Roman households, in defiance of old mumblinggrammar and old toothless grammarians that suddenly foundthemselves bankrupt of proper words for expressing " oldest "and " youngest. " Once in my hearing a man, who could notcarry into the understanding of a woman his very simplequestion, "Was the storey in which we stood the topmost inthe whole house? " presented his question thus-" Supposingthis house turned upside down, should we find ourselves in thecellar? " And so, as there is no proper Latin word for "youngest,"except the circuitous one of natu minimus, and yet the younggentleman aimed at is known to me only as youngest or most young, and any merely junior person will not answer, then Idesire to vary my question thus -Supposing all relations of ageto be exactly inverted , and all modes of kinship turned upsidedown, then understand that I am inquiring about a younggentleman that would in that case become grandfather to awriter on " Political Economy " in three volumes octavo. Thatgrandfather, aged, I believe, about two and a half months, hashe come as yet to the use of his distinguishing faculties? Doeshe notice any slight differences between a philosopher and acabbage? And on what terms is he with Miss Eva, whooriginally, I think, threatened to do for him?There is some humour in the manner in which Thucydides figures in the next note in relation to a grandchild;and evidence of a resuscitation of old impulses in hisventuring forth in spite of weakness to hear Grisi. Butmore important than either of these points is the concernthat he feels for old friends: —I am somewhat weary of Lothian Street. But shouldLothian Street spitefully retort that she is weary of me, thathappens to be impossible, as I can prove, for she has never seen me. At the end of the penultimate (not the ultimate)week of May 1856, did I, the underwritten, enter upon theseWilsonian rooms or room, out of which stirred have I not intoany street or streetlet, once only excepted, three or four weeksback, when I went to the theatre for the purpose of seeingand hearing Grisi, and under the impression (which now VOL. II. H114 De Quincey's Life and Writings.appears to have been a false impression) that on this planetshe would not again be scenically revealed. I entered on thismessuage at a time, say May 24, when as yet little Frank'sstarry head had not arisen by full two months above thisworld's horizon; two months, I think, and three days: is not that correct? Did little Frank's ear tingle a trifle to-night,I wonder? For, about seven o'clock, I was, though not talkingabout him, yet reading, or (as superfine ladies in low life areapt to say) I was ' perusing,' a passage that related exclusivelyto him; and you know the proverb. But where, in what record,prophetic or historic, was it that I could find anything to readabout Frank? Many books and papers there are lying distractedly up and down the room; but in one of two onlycould it be, as two and no more were, and are, on the teatable, viz. , Thucydides, and a young lady's letter, this nightreceived; so that by mere coercion of logic, if not in thelady's letter, then Frank must have been mentioned in Thucydides; perhaps on the same page with Pericles, Alcibiades,and the ugly knave Socrates. On making further examination,I find that it was not Thucydides who took liberties withFrank Craig's name; not Thucydides to a certainty, but Miss She (but unhappily for a curious posterityseeking vainly to solve the mystery-unhappily not in thebroad open ocean of her letter, but in the narrow straits wherecross currents and ripples-such as these—make the navigationtrying and perilous to the best of pilots) speaks first of Evaas a lovely little thing, and then, but by a name looking morelike Hastie than anything else, she forges off on the other tackto Frank. How Miss came to write to me at all wasthus: Some five or six weeks back, whilst pursuing my studiesin that impassioned journal, The North British Advertiser, I saw anotice from certain indeterminate Miss (whomight proveafter all to be our Miss you know), inviting all theworld in search of artificial flowers to look for them inStreet, where the aforesaid Mesdemoiselles bivouacked.Could it be that our amiable young friends, who had sustainedso many jolts at least of adversity, were reduced even yetlower, and were at last making an effort to earn their dailybread by manufacturing flowers? No, my hope was better;and, according to Sir Andrew Aguecheek's mode of stating thecase, my hope was that they were not getting their bread. Yet,Palmer's Case.66115if, after all, it should turn out that they were, how mean a thing it would seem, that precisely with their descent should coincidean apparent neglect from us; for I, out of pure inadvertence,had delayed sending a copy of The Confessions." Thisneglect I immediately caused to be repaired; and then, at hisleisure, Mr. Hogg pushed inquiries in all directions, until he ascertained fully that between Street and Streetwas no connection. Meantime Miss having, through along period of suffering, been confined to bed, could not acknowledge the book; but to-night, being better, she does; andin that way it happens that to her was granted an opportunity,which to that benighted reprobate, Thucydides, was not, andat this time of day probably never will be granted, of enlargingupon the dawning beauty of my dear little grandson.Nothing that was passing in the world without escapedhim, or was without interest to him, as many little references must already have suggested. In all matters thatmoved the public feeling, awe- inspiring murder-trials notexcepted, his interest was keen, and many of his letterscommunicate his ideas on causes celebres. The two following letters addressed to his daughter Emily presentsome of his theories on the notorious Palmer case:-Wednesday, June 18, 1856.MY DEAR EMILY, —Odd it is that, just at the moment when Iwas looking for a pen, the clock then striking three P.M., in orderto let you know that on, or about Monday (it may be Tuesday)next, I was planning to come over for a week or ten days, your letter was delivered to me.One thing I wish exceedingly, which is, that you would writeto the " Captain " of the Manchester Grammar School , explainingthat nothing but nervous unhappiness had hindered my long agowriting, and that at present I waited only for the finishing of the fifth vol. to send off the whole set. Do you remember theCaptain's address? The name I think is Taylor.As to Palmer, and the question you put, I (like other people)am more perplexed as the case unfolds its unintelligibilities.Never for one moment have I doubted Palmer's guilt. Anduntil he, manifestly desiring to benefit by a quibble, said, " Cooke116 De Quincey's Life and Writings.did not die " (or " was not poisoned ") " by strychnia,” I (like allothers) held as a matter of certainty that the murderer and themode of murder were equally manifested. Since Saturday last,however (when in second and third editions of the Scotsman andthe Express I read telegraphic accounts of the execution) , I havebeen shaken in that opinion. For manifestly Palmer, like manyother obtuse and callous criminals, wished (and fancied it possiblewith advantage in two worlds) , to equivocate and play the Jesuitwith his own conscience. He fancied it possible to benefit in aghostly world by adhering to the literal truth, whilst in thepresent world he benefitted by what was virtually a falsehood,conveying a fals impression, but verbally might be true. " Idid not kill (or did not poison) Cooke by strychnia." " But didyou by any other poison? " To that question he refused any answer. Now if we suppose him prepared for general and unconditional mendacity, why should he have recoiled from thatsearching and comprehensive question? After this I felt myselfcompelled to hesitate about the strychnia. But in that case, youwill say, what becomes of the remarkable evidence given byNewton, and the undeniable fact that he surprised Palmer inthe very act of purchasing a large quantity of strychnia? Wemust suppose that the purchase, and generally the clandestinecirc*mstances which surrounded the purchase, had been all prearranged for effect by Palmer, though this one incident of thesurprise could not have been arranged. But with what purpose?Expressly with the purpose of misleading the public mind,and throwing it upon a false scent. Especially the medicalpublic, he assured himself, would be so preoccupied with thisbelief, as to search singly for strychnia; yet, as they found none,on this issue he staked his own almost certain escape. Unfortunately for him, the external symptoms so strangely correspondedto those ascribed by repute (one can scarcely say traditionallyascribed) to strychnia, and secondly, those supposed confirmatory symptoms (the jerking of the arms, the screams, thearching of the body) so unhappily coincided with the hypothesisof Dr. Taylor as to the possible absorption (and in that way thedisappearance) of the strychnia, that his own reliance on theapparent absence of the poison utterly failed him. In fact, thevery non-appearance of the strychnia under Dr. Taylor's notionstold against him. Under this view of the case, it still remainsas a most remarkable coincidence that Newton's surprising him,·Newton's Conduct. 117the very thing he must have wished for, should really haveoccurred. And yet, though a most singular coincidence, it is onthe other hand equally unaccountable (or at least marvellous) onthe counter view of the case-viz. , that Palmer was seriously andbona fide purchasing strychnia for the purpose imputed to him.But as to Newton's evidence in particular I heard from a gentleman,formerly secretary to Canning when Prime Minister, a remarkable anecdote, derived immediately from L― Cnight of Thursday last, June 12, which to-morrow I will tell you.At present the fiend is looking over my shoulder from the pressof No. 18 St. Andrew's Square. To- day is Waterloo. Love tothe Widnells. -Ever, my dear Emily, yours affectionately.9on theThursday, June 26, 1856.MY DEAR EMILY,-My last letter, written (if I do not mistake) on this day week, should have had a successor treading onits heels. I had promised this expressly; and, secondly, anunfinished letter seems virtually to imply such a promise.What I had left unfinished was that part of Palmer's casewhich rested on the questionable conduct of Newton. Thishas been in some measure accounted for by the story reported(as I mentioned to you) to the ex-secretary of the late Mr. CI had it from him, the ex-secretary. He had it fromwho would be most savage if I should call him a Colonel F.Thirdly, this Colonel F. (whether a or the), had it directly fromone of the three judges who presided at Palmer's trial.Perhaps you are aware that the difficulty besetting Newton'sevidence was this-why had he kept it back for months, andcome forward at last only on the very eve of the trial? Itcould not be alleged that for this conduct there existed anymotive of interest apparent or conceivable, still it wore an airof mystery. But by Colonel F.'s story this was plausibly (or atleast endurably) accounted for. Newton immediately afterthe trial took the step (in his case a proper one and a bold oneif he knew his own intentions to have been upright) of personally waiting upon, and offering an explanation of his conduct.Accident had made him acquainted from the very first withthe second purchase of strychnia by Palmer; and the previouspurchase of course he knew, having himself been the seller.But this second purchase rather tended to disperse than tostrengthen the suspicions against Palmer. In fact, the very118 De Quincey's Life and Writings.magnitude of the quantity-six grains, when barely half a grainrightly managed was a dose fatally sufficient for an adultnaturally turned his suspicions into a different channel - notany human being, but a horse, occurred to him as the probableobject of Palmer's poisoning enterprise. We must all admitthat in the case of Palmer ( a man dedicated through life to horseracing and systematic betting upon horses) , this silent interpretation of the case by Newton was a most reasonable one.Oftentimes it happens, through the complex betting whichtakes place, that the winning of a race by one particular horsewill make a difference to the people interested against him ofvery ruinous sums. A sudden and enormous temptation isthus created, sometimes within a single hour, by changes inthe aspect of the chances, for " nobbling " the horse-such is thetechnical term; that is , for getting into his stable by tamperingwith one of his grooms, trainers, or perhaps his rider, andeither killing him outright, or (where it is possible) disablinghim for the coming trial. But is not this a scandalous roguery?Certainly it is, and in strict discharge of his duty Newtonought to have published his suspicions and their grounds, or atany rate, he should have made them known in the quarter likelyto be specially affected by them. All this is true; but still itis easy to understand the excuse pleaded by Newton to LordCampbell as natural and even entitled to considerable indulgence, viz. , that he, as an old neighbour and acquaintance ofPalmer's, could not reconcile himself to the idea of pointingthe thunderbolt which must probably carry ruin simultaneouslyto his character and his fortune. This explanation to mythinking is natural and intelligible, and exhibits Newton inthe venial light of a man whose principles were simply notvery tightly braced, so that he listened to the claims of goodnature rather than of severe justice.To your remark that it would have been more satisfactory,however much the case was able to dispense with such a proof,nevertheless that a distinct proof should have been obtained ofstrychnia lurking in the organs (all or some) of poor, ill - fatedCook, I assent thus far, that I think the absence of such proofmatter of deep regret; but I do not admit that such anabsence, under the withering hailstorm of circ*mstantialities,every one of which told with killing effect against Palmer,should have availed in the least, or have counted for so muchConfessions ofCriminals. 119as a drop against an ocean, in discussing the propriety ofenforcing the sentence. I say this with a reference to future cases, since any indulgence granted to him must have beenextended to all future poisoners. Yet on such terms the handsof justice would be paralysed. It will often be impossible(for varying reasons) to show the poison, whilst the poisoninflicted death may be apparent as sun and moon.It is onthe same consideration that I would discourage all efforts tooearnest for extracting a confession. Otherwise the inevitablerecoil will be towards a favourable view of the criminal's casewhere (through obstinacy or through policy) he has not confessed. If once we come to regard confession as the counterseal of the judicial award and sentence, convicts will not beslow in acting upon that prejudice of the public mind; someclergymen, I fear, will co-operate with that obstinacy in thefelon; and, in the absence of confession , the case will be held towant its most solemn ratification. I would say habitually tosuch criminals-For your own peace of mind, I counsel you toconfess. Else, for the satisfaction of public justice, we need itnot, and, except in pity for you, we should be careless whetheryou confess or not.I have been writing with great energy; partly in consequenceof this, have been dreadfully shattered for the last ten days.Every day I have been on the wing for Mavis Bush; this theurgency of the press, which pursued me at the heels up toeleven A.M. of yesterday, made next to impossible. But now Iam so preparing things, that to a certainty on Tuesday eveningof next week, or on the following morning, I shall be at homefor say ten days.For dear little Eva I have been ransacking a dreadful book,viz. , “ Lake Ngami. " Dreadful are its records, in which, aboveall, figures the black rhinoceros; and dreadful are its pictorialillustrations. I want you to walk three and a half miles withme every non-rainy morning. Can you do it? Love to myfair young friends at the Elms.Once again he is under the necessity of asking hisdaughter Emily, who had gone on a visit, to return home.Thursday Night, November 6, 1856, begun.Now, my dear Emily, the time is close at hand when, if you120 De Quincey's Life and Writings.are quite disentangled from engagements, I should feel greatlyobliged by your coming home. Yet stop! not too soon: pausefor a few days, and for the following reason. Several, to wittwo (if not three) , long letters -one, I think, dated two monthsago, were written by me to yourself and to Mr. Craig. Unfortunately they both fell into a pile of papers, from which Inever could extricate them without more serious trouble thanthe press labours would allow me. To-morrow, or maybe tonight, I shall find them. But now, if you were to come awaytoo suddenly, to whom could I send them? These elaborateletters will, in that case, want a reader, which is dreadful. Soto a certainty I will send two at least to- morrow or by Sunday.Would you believe it? Not until yesterday, viz. , Wednesday,November 5, the clock then striking four P.M., did I write thelast correction on the last proof, viz. , the Prefatory Notice of the new 66 Confessions." All last night, and I presume all thisday, the machine (so I believe they call the last new inventionfor throwing off copies rapidly) has been at work; and onesingle copy, wanting the Prefatory Notice, was sent off toLondon upon Tuesday night, November 4th, for the purpose ofbeing what is technically called subscribed. I shall await withsome little anxiety the result. For this residence in Edinburghhas for some time been trying to me. I do hope it has putsomething into your purse, for it has taken a good deal out of mine. Twenty-and-four weeks already I have been here.Inexplicable it seems that I can have spent so much time onthe recast (for such it is, not simply a revision ) of this little book. I will have it sent to M. to - morrow. I wrote a longletter to M. about Froude and the sixteenth century; and,moreover, in the Appendix to the "Confessions," introduced alittle anecdote about M. when under two, and Barbara Lewthwaite, which it is likely enough she never heard.Seven weeks ago come Sunday next-so at least I calculate-I woke in high delirium. No apparent cause could beassigned; but so it was. Mrs. Wilson and her sister, greatlyalarmed, summoned Mr. Hogg out of church, who summoned Dr. Burn. In two days I was well again. But I am stillpersuaded, and have been for a long time, that without somedaily exercise I shall not weather many months; else throughcontinual temperance I am well enough.Did you see the last " Athenæum," which contains a flatter-A Scoundrel Doctrine. 121ing notice of Colonel Baird Smith, and connects it in thebeginning with a most reasonable protest against a scoundreldoctrine that has been often repeated , to this following effect:viz. , that if we British, the present rulers of Hindostan, shouldretire from it by choice or under compulsion, in that case nomemorial would survive of our past rule except a large heap ofempty champagne bottles. The " Athenæum " it is not whichthrows the doctrine into this lively expression , but I have seenit so expressed. It is singular that I had just begun a shortpaper putting the villainy and ignobility of this sentimentinto a conspicuous light. For it is clear that, with the patronisers of this opinion, to raise magnificent tanks, like Akbarand Aurungzebe, or to plant 2000 milestones from the Bay ofBengal to the banks of the Indus-that is the only serviceworth speaking of; but that to make justice accessible toevery rank (which in tendency, at least, and by intention wehave done) , and to shield a hundred and twenty millions ofpeople from outrages such as those of the Pindarris or theMahrattas-this is nothing.AboutOn Tuesday night, in theory for half an hour, but practicallyit came to nearly four hours, I went in upon a visit to myopposite neighbours, the W.s. The Doctor, head of thehouse, who has a son in the artillery, and is a very kind andworthy man, had previously twice called upon me; else I hadseen none of the family. The mother is ladylike. The soledaughter, I believe about seventeen , is really a very charminggirl, so far as candlelight will permit me to judge.three weeks ago, when Dr. and Mrs. W. had gone to St.Andrew's with the view of obtaining ( which he did obtain) afull-blown doctor's degree, there remained behind the daughterand her maternal aunt, a Miss W., said to be a splendid beautyalthough counting more years than forty . One night soonafter the departure of the senior W.s, Miss W. and her niecewent to an evening party at Dr. B.'s, somewhere in the NewTown. Being late, they went upstairs at a hurried pace, andon reaching the centre of the drawing- room, Miss W. suddenly fell forward and broke a blood-vessel . My informant (mylandlady's sister) assured me that a perfect deluge of bloodhad-such was her housewifely idea-ruined the fine carpet.Naturally for some days Miss W. staid at the house; thenreturning hither, and being attended by Dr. B., in ten days she-122 De Quincey's Life and Writings.was fully re- established, to my great astonishment, and hassince departed on a visit to Perthshire; whilst the carpet, Igrieve to say, has a very small chance of visiting the Highlands.My visit on Tuesday was an agreeable one. A Dr. W. wasthere, who had lived much in India, and had done me thehonour to watch my literary career with interest for thirtyfive years. Consequently, besides some excellent coffee, I personally came in for a good deal of pleasant flattery. Last nightI was invited for another visit to the W.s which interruptedthis letter, and will, I suppose, shove onwards, by one additional day, all my future acts or sayings. Consequently, thealmanack of my remaining life shows clearly that the lettersmeant for Friday's task must fall on a Saturday; and one,meant for M., as work for Saturday, will therefore fall onSunday. Mrs. W. knew in former days Lady Byron, i.e. (asyou will suppose) , Miss Milbanke. And, what surprises megreatly, Mrs. W. reports that she had no pretensions whateverto beauty, but was, she says , very amiable and high- principled.With respect, by the way, to " the deluge of blood," whichsurprised me so much when taken in combination with MissW.'s speedy restoration to travelling strength, I observe (p.245, vol. i . of her " Memoirs " ) that Lady Hester Stanhope,that most odious of Pagan women, describes herself as having on "several " occasions " vomited blood enough to have killeda horse; " and in a letter dated August 21, 1836, she says-"With the blood running out of my mouth, I was collectedenough to give orders," &c. So, perhaps (only that LadyHester was a dreadful fibber) , my surprise was the surprise ofignorance. Love to all and some. Ever most affectionatelyyours.66The question of grammar or no grammar for ladiesoccupies his consideration; and the following letter,addressed to his daughter Margaret in November 1856,is, we think, full of character and originality:-Some years ago, you and Florence were inclined to bemoanyour supposed misfortune in not having regularly studiedEnglish grammar, or, which probably was running in yourthoughts, universal (what is sometimes called philosophic)grammar, under some able governess. With your regrets IUses ofGrammar.66123sympathised not at all. Why not? Simply on the followinggrounds. Ifthe final purpose with you and Florence had beenpurely a practical purpose-viz . , the obtaining a more absolutecommand over your mother tongue-in that case, and in allcorresponding cases, my conviction is that exercise, practice,chattering, rattling away " hitty- missy," right or wrong, alongthe line of ninety-one times twenty-four hours, i.e. , throughthree months right " on end " (an old English phrase for ourmodern philosophic term continuously "), there and in thatlies the true royal road to correct speaking. All those that,like Lord Bristol's son in the period of Cromwell, have everarrived at an exquisite vernacular familiarity with the pureracy Castilian, were people surrounded in the very cradle withgenuine Madrilenas, nurses or duennas of Madrid. Now theEnglish analogon to all this, the corresponding advantage forau English young lady, is daily communication with personsbelonging to good society. This I say on the assumption thatyour wishes had been pointed simply to the attainment ofelegant ladylike English; consequently your regrets, if any, tothe failure in that object.Therefore, I say, as the sum of all this rigmarole, that so faras your united moan (yours and Florence's) applied itself togrammar as a practical and usable thing, grammar you had,and in all conscience enough. For that woman who does bymere imitation, base mimicry, succeed in speaking pure English, and without knowing the reason why, or being able toassign any principle upon which she prefers the right formwhich she adopts to the false form which she rejects-thatwoman, I say, is right enough; and if a subscription is madefor her, and it should begin in Tipperary, put down my nameat once for half- a- crown, notwithstanding that her virtuousdoings are supposed to rest upon suspicious grounds. But, ifshe talks with as much purity as the affable Archangel, thenwhat I say is , the affable Archangel himself, though he werefifty Raphaels, could do no more. What more, then, was it, mydear girls, that you were subterraneously seeking? Whatbetter bread than is made ( supposing the astonishing casethat any bread really is made) of wheat? What more extrasuperfine talk than is offered for his Sunday's best by theaffable Archangel Raphael?Shall I guess? I believe that-I fancy that-I will suggest124 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that you were both seeking by a metaphysical instinct, sometimes were consciously seeking, oftener perhaps subconsciously(and confounding it with your kindred but subordinate studyof English grammar), were both seeking the fine and subtlethreads of philosophical grammar, that subject which first wastaught to grow and prosper in an English atmosphere byHarris, the same whose son, Lord Malmesbury, subsequentlyfigured in British diplomacy, and made us a present of theangelic Caroline of Wales,Now, then, having through much floundering reached thissubject, upon this I wish to prose. -The book, at least theleading book of Harris upon this subject, is called " Harris's Hermes." Hermes (in Greek ' Epuns) means the Roman godMercury-the Interpreter by means of speech. In this bookHarris discusses such questions as, Why do we say she of aship? why he if the ship be an enemy? why she of moralqualities-fortitude, patience, virtue, &c.? Why, again, he ofthe sun, and she of the moon? Oddly enough, however, as perhaps you know, the Germans reverse this: the moon is dermond-Squire moon; the sun is Miss sun—viz. , die sonne.Masc.DerFem.DieNeut.Das (our article the).Well, now, this article the furnishes a large field for the circumgyrations of philosophical grammar. Generally, you know,in ordinary English grammars it is said that the most intenselyindividualises, whilst a generalises. For instance, "If a beggarcomes, give him a penny,”—that is, any beggar whatsoever-anypenny. But if you had said , " I met the beggar to-day, andtold him what you said ,” at once you are understood to speakof a known individual beggar. True, that is one use of the, butthat will not justify us in characterising this article as the individualising article, the definite article, as it is called (antithetically to a) in all grammars; for it is also intensely thegeneralising article-e.g. , "The moralist may say what he will,but the statesman will reply; " " As yet Australia has accumulated no records: the historian or the biographer is hardlywanted." Or again , " The soldier tired of war's alarms; " i.e.,not any special or individual soldier, but universally allsoldiers, every soldier. Now, is it not strange that this greatfunction of the never yet, according to my experience, has beenpublicly noticed? Well, another case of the same nature un-Plato's Ideas ofImmortality. 125expectedly offers itself at this moment-for, as I write, a clock(orat least amongstthe vast household of clocks, some clock) giveswarning that, if in the Scottish expression it should be "spared,"very soon it will publish a correct edition of a valuable truth,viz. , that it is five o'clock; and so I must pull up sharp. Nowhere, I might mean by " a clock" a particular clock known toyou and me a special clock, conventionally understood between us-or, in the very opposite sense ( as in fact I didmean), any clock, any possible specimen of that genus whoseoffice is to measure the motion of time, and to call aloud itssubdivisions . In the prior use of a it individualises; in thelatter, surely not.99 Acopy of the " Confessions was sent to you on Tuesday; itwas the earliest that could be made ready. Criticise furiouslyand without mercy. The next will be the final edition, far different and far better. I am weary to death by my sixmonths' exertion. Surely, whatever blots I may have left,in some things I must have improved the book.He is led to discuss the question of the originality ofPlato's doctrine of immortality by his daughter Margaretcommunicating to him the mistaken views of a " veryclever woman," whom he thus sets right on that greattopic:-MY DEAR MARGARET, -The female friend whom you describeas so clever, and even philosophic, I have no doubt really is so; andI am glad of it, because it requires some little philosophy to bearbeing told, what in this case, as an honest man, I am obliged to tell your friend—that she is memorably and doubly in the wrong-wrong in supposing Plato by any vestige, shadow, or fractionofan idea entitled in this case to the credit of originality—wrongeven more conspicuously in supposing Wordsworth not entitled to that credit. So it is, and long since, a settled case amongstall the schools of Christendom, that Plato was as far astray uponthis question of immortality as it is well possible to be. Whatlittle he offered on this subject that ever struck any man as novelwas not true, if it were his-was not his, if it were true. And meit vexes in a degree not easily described, that, by reason of thiswretched Plato's criminal blunders, here am I, on a rainy night™126 De Quincey's Life and Writings.(Saturday, May 27 ), with wheat at four guineas a quarter, havingsome to buy and none to sell, under a present necessity of almostaffronting the lady whom, by your account of her accomplishments, so much I could have wished to flatter. Necessity, however, has no law; and without preface I come to business.The lady says, " I have found it at last, entombed ages backamidst the thoughts of the great immortal Plato. " Found IT!Found what? Apparently, if I understand the case, what shehas found is the general idea of immortality as a possible attribute of the human soul. But surely, if Wordsworth's originalitywere supposed for one moment to depend upon his having firstsuggested such a doctrine, the immortal Plato's originality wouldbe quite as much at stake. No man could be arrogant enoughand silly enough to claim any such originality. Coeval withhuman nature, twin-born with man himself, must have been thebelief in man's immortality. Neither in his own person, northrough his disciples, did Plato ever dream of advancing so preposterous a pretension as that of having first suggested a privilege of immortality for the human soul. What Plato claimed was,that for this old, old doctrine-old probably as the stars -- he firsthad alleged particular arguments. Not the doctrine, but theproof of the doctrine-not the hypothesis, but the presumptionsin support of that hypothesis -offered the field upon which anyoriginality could be claimed either for Plato or for Wordsworth.As regards the mere naked doctrine , that the soul of man mightprobably be immortal, any pretence to having originated this wouldhave been not less ridiculous in Plato than in Wordsworth. Agesbefore either, the idea and the aspiration must have been as familiar to the speculations of the philosopher, and to the hopes ofthe ordinary working man, as it is at this day. Difference thusfar there could have been none between Wordsworth and PlatoTo this extent they stood upon the same identical level.Now, then, having cleared the ground of preliminary misconceptions, let us ask at what point commenced the differences whichdivides them? Wordsworth, not less than Plato, gave his sanction to the doctrine that the human soul revealed signs and promises of an immortal destiny. But upon what arguments?Upon arguments, I reply, so thoroughly different, that neither ofthe two, supposing them for a moment to have been contemporaries, could by possibility be imagined to have borrowed anything from the other. In relation to each other they are bothWordsworth's Arguments. 127equally original. This reciprocal originality meantime would.not interfere with the possibility that each might have borrowed .from other quarters. In that respect, therefore, how does the:truth stand? Toall appearance it stands thus-Plato, in his famousDialogue (Phædo) , amongst various plausibilities more or less conjectural in behalf of this great doctrine, offers one solitary argument, that to many loose thinkers has worn the semblance of logicalproof. By all philosophers of eminence it has been denounced,however, as hollow and unsound; and supposing it better thanit really is, I have no doubt whatever that it could not havebeen in any absolute sense the argument of Plato; for, considering the physics and the rude chemistry of the Platonic age, it ismanifestly an argument that must have occurred to thousands.On the other hand, Wordsworth has brought forward two separate arguments which yield strong presumptions in favour of thegreat doctrine, and of these both are evidently original. I saythat, because no trace of either is to be found in any authorwhatever, ancient or modern.I have said that Plato's argument is rejected as worthless byall profound thinkers. But it is no practice of mine to rely uponblank authorities. By very much I prefer to any allegation ofthis man's opinion or that man's opinion upon an argument thevery argument itself, served up ( like John the Baptist's head) ona charger. Briefly, then, what is the little argument of Plato?It is this-the ancients had a rude notion that the destruction ofa thing was representable only as a process of separation amongstit* elements . If the thing were formed by composition from A,B, C, then by an inverse process of decomposition, by separatingfrom each other those elements A and B and C, it would perish.Wherever there was a synthesis, regressively there might be acorresponding analysis. But how if there were no synthesis, nocomposition? In that case there could be no resolution. Ifthesubstance of a thing were not any result from the cohesion offactors radically different, in that case there could be no decomposition. Vainly would you seek to destroy by separating thecohesive parts, if there were no such parts to separate. A substance perfectly hom*ogeneous, they fancied, was liable to nocorruption. Heterogeneity it was that made an opening fordestruction. Now, in consciousness , and therefore in the humansoul as the organ of consciousness, they fancied such a hom*ogeneity. The unity of its substance they fancied to be complete,128 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and consequently its indiscerptibility or non-liability to violentseparation. It was, therefore, by its very texture indestructible,as involving no heterogeneous elements.It is to be regretted that the rest of this letter is somutilated as to be undecipherable. The following letterhas a more than ordinary value on account of the clearlaw which it lays down respecting the legitimacy ofsuggested readings on the text of classic authors. Besides, it affords an evidence of the way in which hesought to interest his family in everything that he wasinterested in:-MY DEAR MARGARET, -I believe you would not understandthe particular object which I had in sending you that couple ofleaves detached from the " United Church Journal " for September 1856. The fact is, that if in this world I ever hit thebull's-eye (is not that the technical expression for the very centreof the centre on a target?) it was in my conjectural restorationof that much litigated passage, so senseless as it now stands, inthe "Domitian " of Suetonius. Now the critic in the "ChurchJournal " resists my emendation on the ground that the presentreading is quite satisfactory. Assuredly I shall not leave himin his dream; at the first leisure moment I shall awaken him;and as I wish you to understand the grounds of my argument,it became necessary to furnish you with his objections. Foritself, the question must naturally have little interest for you;yet any enigma that has tortured men's wits for two hundredand fifty years must a little stimulate the curiosity of all peoplethat extend a liberal breadth of interest to past fields of literarypuzzles or conundrums. In Somersetshire they have wholeacres devoted to the culture of teazles, which are things thatthe makers of woollen cloth use for teasing the cloth in somestage of its manufacture. Why and wherefore, it is surely theirbusiness to explain, and not mine. Now, these puzzles thatarise from disturbed and dislocated words or letters may becalled teazles, as standing in something the same relation tothe wits and conjectural faculties of scholars that teazles do tobroadcloth. The peculiar felicity of any emendation lies in" Teazles." 129this: that the vestiges of the true and recovered reading shallbe clearly traceable in a natural corruption of this reading,such as we find it in the existing text. Any man can suggesta reading that will make plausible sense, but the thingdemanded is to show how this true reading might easily andnaturally fall into the corrupt form now occupying the text.Many are the passages, past counting are the passages, that inShakespeare are waiting for this felicitous surgery. Some ofthese, I hope, rely upon my aid; but never can I hope for acase of so much luck as this in Suetonius.Last night I was at a party; it was a tea-party given by mynew friends Dr. and Mrs. W- Present, Mrs. G———, wife ofDr. G- one of the Edinburgh Professors , and notorious forhis evangelicality-she and some grand-daughters; also aMrs. H― , with, I think, three daughters. Mama and one ofthe daughters I talked with, and thought them very agreeable.They told me that, although Scotch by descent, they heldthemselves to be English. Dr. W- a Bengal man, veryamiable. There was also a young man, son of a banker,qualifying for the bar, apparently agreeable, but chiefly noticeable as being so tall that you would naturally measure him bytoises (Anglicé, fathoms of six feet) rather than lesser sub-dimensions. I had the honour to be the central figure in this party,the avowed object of it having been to present me to Dr. andMrs. W- -'s select friends. I wore a scarlet coat-no, by theway, it was brown; salmon- coloured trousers -no, on consideration, they were grey; buff waistcoat; a beard of six months'growth, which has won so general an approbation that I amshy of mowing it. I also sported a new pocket- handkerchiefof the finest texture that the looms of Cashmere could produce. Briefly, it is not for miserable prose, but for poetryalone, to describe the brilliancy of my costume.In the next note, to his daughter Emily, he intimateshis intense anxiety respecting India and the fate ofhis daughter Florence-Mrs. Baird Smith:-Monday, June 29, 1857.MY DEAR EMILY, -You doubtless are suffering under thesame anxiety as myself about our poor dear Florence. Let metell you all that I know, then do you write as soon as possible to VOL. II. I130 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tell me all that you know. Yesterday (that is, Sunday, late in theevening) by pure accident Miss Stark came and asked me if Iknew that late on Saturday there had been an important secondor third edition published of the " Scotsman. " The " Daily Scotsman " is the particular paper which I take in; and on Saturdaybefore eight in the morning I had received it as usual. At thathour there was no news stirring; but now it seemed somethingwas wrong. About China Miss Stark thought. But I, uponoccasion of the still to this hour unexplained and mysteriousmutiny in the Native 34th Regiment, had a misgiving that itwould be India. With great difficulty, day being Sunday, acopy ofthe Saturday-night edition was obtained; and it thenappeared that India it was. Three regiments at Meerut hadmutinied-1 cavalry, 2 infantry; they had been attacked by ourBritish regiments; beaten, but able to retreat upon Delhi, where(the Marseilles report was) they had massacred all whitepeople.All this you have heard, no doubt. Now tell me ColonelBaird Smith's last station; how is it named? But above all,how is it situated? Surely not on the route from Meerut to Delhi?What I have since seen-viz. , on this Monday-is an article inthe " Daily News" ( London paper) from its correspondent, not atMarseilles, but at Trieste. This article says that the Mutiny hadalso broken out at Ferozepore (Fred's station , is it not?); twonative regiments being specified as amongst the mutineers-viz. ,the 45th and 57th . But in the action which ensued between therevolters and the British, the Trieste report went on to say thatthe 10th (Native) Cavalry maintained their allegiance, and thatin consequence the mutineers were " broken and dispersed." Atthat station the tide had evidently turned , for the 57th were surrendering their arms.It is certain, as in all such cases, that everything will have beendreadfully exaggerated; and, as one example of this, from Delhi the assurance was that the massacre of the British had beenuniversal and undiscriminating; but now, though so little timehas elapsed, this horrid butchery is reduced to " eleven " officerskilled.So I hope for more cheerful accounts. But what insanity is itthat has governed our Indian administrators, if, knowing causesDr. Parr and Bentley. 131of fierce irritation amongst the Sepoys, they have persisted inlazily neglecting them, and suffering such perilous discontents toferment in extensive camps?—Yours affectionately,T. DE Q.The following letter soon passes into the same absorbing subject:-Sunday, November 1 , 1857.MY DEAR EMILY, -On Tuesday (was it not?) your letterreached me; Tuesday last, not next Tuesday; for which I am muchobliged to you, as also for reading " Dr Parr. " By the way, mynext volume contains another biographic article, viz. , “ RichardBentley," which you would oblige me by reading. And on thisprinciple it is worth reading—that he was all which Parr pretended to be; the very prince of scholars, who has given to Eng- land in this department the very same unapproachable supremacywhich she enjoys in so many other departments. It happensalso, most appropriately to any comparison of him with Parr,that he (like Parr) filled a conspicuous station in the Church ofEngland and with what result? Even the sycophants of P.did not pretend that any one of his huge " Spital Sermons " hadrendered any appreciable service to 1. Religion; 2. Theology;3. The Church which paid him, as against the Dissenters whoseshoes he licked and polished gratis. But as to Bentley, whosat in the chair of our present justly renowned Whewell, and had the burthensome cares of that great office ( Mastership ofTrinity, Cambridge) upon his shoulders through forty years —thespace of time for which the children of Israel wandered unprofitably in the wilderness, --he preached the lecture founded by the illustrious Robert Boyle at least through two annual courses, andleft behind him, if nothing else, the immortal service of smashingfor ever and ever that resounding argument against Christianitywhich founds itself upon the allegation ( a true allegation ) thatthe text of the New Testament rocked unsteadily under a load of thirty thousand various readings (since then greatly enlarged);the inference from which, urged spitefully by free- thinkers, was,that the Christian doctrines must be liable to thirty thousanddoubts or varieties of interpretation. This argument, by a closeand stern review, B. so floored, that, throughout a flight of one132 De Quincey's Life and Writings.hundred and sixty years, * it has never again looked up. Now Ishould be glad to see any similar feat traced to that Brummagemgeneration of vipers, or (as some copies read) of viparrs, which onceinfested the little village sheepfold of Hatton. I will not troubleyou further with any egotism about my own vol. vii. except tosay:-1. That it will soon be afloat, having already reached (as regards the printing) some page ahead ofp. 270.2. That two at least, but I think three, of the six volumesalready published have silently gone into second editions.3. That the London publishers, Messrs. Groombridge, say,that, as the collection advances, the volumes show a tendency tosell more rapidly, and that they are aware of many book- buyersand book-clubs waiting for the close of the collection before they purchase.INDIA. -Up to the last mail but one (or briefly, in its Latinform, up to the penultimate mail) , I suffered in my nervous system to an extent that ( except once in 1812) had not experimentallybeen made known to me as a possibility. Every night, oftentimes all night long, I had the same dream—a vision of children,most of them infants, but not all, the first rank being girls offive and six years old , who were standing in the air outside, butso as to touch the window; and I heard, or perhaps fancied thatI heard, always the same dreadful word, Delhi, not then knowingthat a word even more dreadful - Cawnpore-was still in arrear.This fierce shake to my nerves caused almost from the beginninga new symptom to expose itself ( of which previously I had neverhad the faintest outline) , viz . , somnambulism; and now everynight, to my great alarm, I wake up to find myself at the window,which is sixteen feet from the nearest side of the bed. Thehorror was unspeakable from the hell- dog Nena or Nana; howif this fiend should get hold of Florence and her baby (nowwithin seventeen days of completing her half-year)? What first gave me any relief was a good firm -toned letter dated Rourkee inthe public journals, from which it was plain that Rourkee hadfound itself able to act aggressively.To a neighbour's daughter he conveys his impressions

• First published (i.e. , preached, not printed), I believe, in 1696-97.

Miss Madeline Smith's Case. 133of the trial of Madeline Smith, which produced such anunprecedented interest in Scotland:-Wednesday, July 8.MY DEAR MISS WIDNELL, -Every day for a fortnight back Ihave been on the brink of writing to you; and since Mondayweek, i.e. , since the calamitous Bengal news, with one motivemore than usual for seeking to engage your special attention.First, however, let me speak to what at this moment engagesmy own immediate attention, viz. , the morning's wet newspaper now lying on my breakfast- table. This newspaper is the"Daily Scotsman " for Wednesday, July 8, so perhaps you haveseen it, containing the speech against Miss Madeline Smithdelivered yesterday by the Lord Advocate. Fortunately forjustice, the other side will be heard to-day, and there is areasonable hope that the Dean of Faculty may find it possibleto efface the impression left upon the minds of the jury, or atthe least to re- establish something like an equilibrium of favour between the parties.To me it seems that from the very first Miss Smith has beencruelly treated. Never in the world was a young womansummoned to face an agony so frightful as that of hearing herletters read in an assembly of men and boys—oftentimes coarse,brutal, scoffing-and read for what purpose? This is what Ivainly seek to hear explained. How is such a charge as thatagainst her affected for the better or the worse by the tone orthe phraseology of her letters? This way or that, the letterson the one side, the indictment on the other, cannot surely beheld to have any the very slightest connection . It is verypossible that I, reading hurriedly, have missed some clause inthe reasoning of the court which may have established anexus between them; else I should be warranted in assertingthat there is none. Or if any, only this, -which surely lookstoo subtle and fantastic to estimate, in the remotest degree toappreciate that refrigeration and almost unnatural revulsionin Miss Madeline's feelings towards M. L'Angellier which couldbe supposed capable of listening to any whisper that suggested

• Nexus: All Latin words, since you either are or are to be

my Latin pupil, I feel it a stern duty to leave untranslated.134 De Quincey's Life and Writings.his death by poison. You must have actually read, experimentally you must have felt, the unfathomable depth whichdivides the two sets of letters. The transition , it may be said,from the one set to the other is necessary for comprehendingthe final state of desperation in Miss Smith; and that state ofdesperation is necessary for comprehending (is a conditio sinequa non-[Pupil, consult your dictionary! ] ) , for feeling andrealising the last resource of murderous violence. It is, inshort, as a key to the strange altered character of Miss Smith'sfeelings that the concurrent alteration in the style of her lettersis appealed to.I am growing wearisome, but I use so many words onlybecause I feel that such procedure could scarcely be justified byany conceivable advantages resulting to the course of publicjustice, whilst the actual advantages in the present case arereally none at all; but, even when measured by the LordAdvocate, are miserably incommensurate to the public cutragethus judicially sanctioned. That question, however, is pastand gone, the outrage has been tolerated, the suffering fromthe exposure has been drunk off; and now comes another stageof dreadful expectation , pervading all ranks alike; for the publicinterest runs higher by far than in any case that ever I heardof. What terrifies everybody is the audacious tone of the LordAdvocate, so confident (almost, I should say, exultingly confident) of winning the game against Miss Smith. Here are afew specimens of his equity: —1. He describes L'Angellier as not constitutionally liable tocholeraic or other attacks. Ans. The Dundee evidence.2. He assumes, on no proof or shadow of proof, thatL'Angellier had an interview with Miss Smith on Sunday.night, March 22. The appointment was for Saturday. Butsuppose Miss Smith willing to remedy the failure, this mightnot be (often was not) in her power.3. The Lord Advocate ascribes the full weight of candidsincerity to L'Augellier's suspicions that Miss Smith had meantto poison him. And yet to this same man, in the imaginaryinterview of the Sunday night, this Lord Advocate ascribes soentire a disregard of his own avowed suspicions, that MissSmith is accredited as having effected her purpose of a tripledose solely through the blind credulity of this awakenedvictim .Convulsions in Bengal. 135In the autumn of 1857 his daughter Emily went toIreland on a visit to Mrs. Craig, her sister—a factwhich has left in record some letters delayed at Lasswade longer than in some cases was desirable. Thefollowing reply to the Captain of the Manchester Grammar School was called forth by this circ*mstance:—MY DEAR SIR,-Your letter. of September 4, inviting me to the commemoration festival of the Manchester GrammarSchool, reached me about noon on this day, Tuesday, October13. The cause of delay was simple enough. It had found itsway originally to Lasswade, near which place (about sevenmiles distant), my youngest daughter and myself have a cot- tage; and accordingly that is my regular address. But for thegreater part of the past year my daughter has been visiting one of her married sisters who lives in Ireland; and for my ownpart, the labour of overlooking the press has detained me away from Lasswade for the last seventy-two weeks, during whichperiod I have gone out of doors only for half an hour, and in acarriage. Your letter, therefore, with all others of every description, was packed up in a miscellaneous parcel, and this parcelby a mere accident was opened this day. It would convey afalse impression, however, if I should leave you to supposethat I had not been otherwise recalled to the business of yourletter during the long interval of forty days. Mr. Hogg hasrepeatedly made me acquainted with your obliging messages sent through him, and he therefore is free from blame. Allthe blame that can attach to the case is mine; and in ordinary circ*mstances I should think myself inexcusable, but insuch circ*mstances no such delay could have occurred . I plead for myself the same excuse- e-derived from the inexpressiblehorror and agitation connected since the end of June with the convulsions in Bengal -which so many of our fellow- countrymen have, pressing with unusual severity upon a nervoussystem in some degree shaken by forty five years' use of opium.Pardon my abruptness if any should seem to mark my styleof communication, and also my egotism, which in this case isinevitable. Two years ago my second daughter married Lieut.-Colonel Baird Smith, who enjoyed considerable reputation inBengal as an engineer officer, and was also favourably known136 De Quincey's Life and Writings.by his connection with irrigation for the N. W. Provinces. Thestation at which he resided was a small and obscure one, viz. ,Rourkee; and when first this hideous explosion of malignitybegan, I heard with great thankfulness that the station hadthese two vast advantages-first, that it was not a depôt forpublic treasure; and, secondly, that it lay upon a byroad, notleading to any place more important than itself. It possessed,besides, a sufficient stock of guns from 6 to 24-pounders. Thenative sappers and miners, however, that happened to be quartered at Rourkee were amongst the earliest mutineers, but fortunately not until they had been tempted away and absorbedinto Delhi. Meantime, no place could be entirely safe; and onealarming incident, which exposed at the same moment theweakness and the strength of the place, occurred at an earlystage of the enormities. One evening about six or seven, whenthe resident British (or, in the ridiculous slang of the day, theEuropeans) were all gathered together at dinner, a servant whispered to Colonel Baird Smith that a detachment of about fortynative troopers had ridden into the station , and desired to speakwith the commandant. Colonel Baird Smith said nothing tothe company, but immediately went out, and naturally in someanxiety, for though the men had not announced themselves asmutineers, he had little doubt that such they were. He thoughtit best to try this question by telling them that in his opinionthe best course for them was to move off to Meerut. The menreplied that such was not their way of thinking. " Very well,"said the Colonel, come, then, to this open area, where youcan feed your horses whilst we discuss the point in question. "Naturally they followed him without suspicion, and in a fewseconds found themselves arrayed before a battery unmasked,which could have closed the discussion with an unanswerablesyllogism of scenical catastrophe. Under this advantage, he dismounted them and also disarmed them; and for the presentthe danger had melted away.66This letter gives the first hint of a project which,somewhat to the surprise of all, he carried out, thoughnot without considerable distress and difficulty, in newcirc*mstances a journey to Ireland to visit Mrs.Craig:-A Far-travelled Letter. 137MY DEAR MARGARET, —Emily's letter, enclosing a few linesfrom yourself, reached me this morning. Along with these came a "leader" of October 21 , and a straw- coloured letter from66 D- L ," dated Charleston, S. Carolina, October 3,1856, whose main request is, that I would " write one line thatwill permit (your own express permission I ardently desire) yourname to Christianise my first- born son ." But note, I am to sendone line " that will contain one truth, onefact, or one great thought,which Ican give to him when he begins to bud and blossom as ahuman thing." Truths run rather low with me at this moment;but I should think he would consider three falsehoods at parwith one truth. He has taken the trouble to send his letter toBoston, U.S., at a rude guess I should say 1500 miles. AtBoston it is of course forwarded by Messrs. Ticknor, Reed,and Fields (is that name right? for I have always some perplexity about it); and from Boston it hops over to Lasswade, amatter of 3000 miles. Then from Lasswade to Tipperary howmanyy? Shall we say, thither and back again to Edinburgh,550, vaguely calculated thus:-A. Edinburgh to Carlisle, say90 miles. B. Carlisle to Liverpool, 122 miles. C. Across toDublin, 60 miles =278. This ( viz. , 278) taken to and fro, i.e. ,doubled, makes 556; and there remains the to andfro betweenDublin and Pegsborough-what is that? Is not the entirejourney from Dublin to Pegsborough equal to 120 miles? Enlighten me. If it is, then 240 miles added to 556 will want butfour miles of 800, and that gives a total of 5200. But I amquitein the dark about your Irish section of the journey; which,however, is, at this present time, simply the most interestingroute in Christendom, closing, as that vista does, in the littleEicon (if not Basiliké, yet doubtless) Angeliké of dear Eva.Most anxious I am to see her. And if I were destined to takeno further journey in this life, supposing (I mean to say) thatsuch a restriction upon my locomotive faculties were alreadyentered into her adamantine ledger by the haughty ladyDestiny, I should warn her of a probable erratum impending;one such erratum at the least, viz. , involved in one journey toa certainty ex voto (i.e. , in discharge of a vow made on hearingof her birth) to the shrine of her little holiness, Eva MargaretCraig. So far, at all events, if no further, I must rise in rebellion against any decree of the gloomy trinity, Clotho, Lachesis,138 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and Atropos, which should tend to draw an enchanter's circleof arrestment about my vagrancies ahead!I am greatly obliged by any letter that has run such acircuit, and of course it becomes a duty to reply. But, asCassio, whilst allowing that the ensign must be saved, yet insists on the lieutenant's salvation taking precedency, so itstrikes me that I ought to send " one truth, one fact, or onegreat thought " to Pegsborough, before I can be free to exportany similar commodity to Charleston. And the truth is, thatI have for some time back had a fact, whilst also, the fact is,that I have for some time had a truth, packed up, or as goodas packed up, and corded, for sending over to you. Both thefact and the truth, I scarcely need to say, relate to dear littleEva, who at this moment, I believe, by the courtesy of Europe,takes precedency of all flesh."The subject is still present to his mind as he writesrecording his son Frederick's arrival from India:-MY DEAR M. , -This day is Sunday, July 11 , but as thelight is already decaying, there is little or no prospect of getting this letter into the post- office before to-morrow. So in effect Imay as well date my letter at once Monday, July 12, by whichJesuitical artifice I shall perhaps escape a black eye from Sir A.Agnew in case we should ever meet in Hades.Paul Fred (or, as he reads the record, Fred Paul) presentedhimself here on Friday last at 4 P.M.; he and Emily had travelleddown from Boston on the preceding day, and were both anxiouschiefly to concert plans and combine movements with me forinvading Tipperary as soon as possible. Being called on sosuddenly for my report upon the possibilities as connected withmy own wishes on the one side and my own engagements ( Imean promises) on the other, I made my answer as dubious asoracles of old sought to make theirs. But this, as I have said,was on Friday; and Saturday's meditation showed me that Imight reconcile a journey of ten or fifteen days with all myprevious responsibilities, if casuistically examined. Fred datedthe time of our journey as ten days distant, but that was onFriday.Emily had prepared me, by one of her Boston letters, to lookfor little change in Fred. And in fact there is none, except asregards complexion and expansion of chest. His complexion isA Sally of Wit. 139emphatically what you would call sunny; not tanned , which is afugitive grace, but burnt in, encaustically painted. You seem toread a century of sunlights funded in his face. All that an apricotought to be (for it owes its name to the Latin word Apricus,*warmed and coloured by the solar orb) that is Fred. And asregards his chest, it is exceedingly like a chest ofdrawers, so greatis the expansion across the shoulders. This sally of wit, I amsorry to confess, is a plagiarism from Hamilton Reynolds, a wittyfriend of mine some thirty-four years back. But what is the useofwitty friends, if one may not plunder them once in thirty-fouryears? And, moreover, I have restored it to the vocabulary of compliment; whereas my friend Hamilton R. had occasion toapply it to the case of a female friend , who trespassed too muchin her mature dimensions upon the sacred privileges of the malesex.Now let me call your attention to a little matter, but whichMr. John, minimus, and Miss Eva may chance to regard as theweightiest matter in the whole letter.There is plenty of time for you to write and tell me what littlething there is which would be likely to meet some want or fancyof both. I am not at this moment so rich as in a month (orpossibly less) I shall be. Consequently, what I wish for at thismoment is something trivial as regards cost. Emily fanciedperhaps a doll for Miss Eva, but I objected that doubtless herhousehold of dolls is already mounted. As to books, atiger-book,a wolf- book, an elephant-book, are what I have long been preparing, but I do not wish to spoil them by sending themprematurely. I am, in short, aground in my speculations onthis point; but as there is time still for you to write a fewlines of instruction to me, perhaps you will do so. At present(for take notice it is no longer Sunday—that is all used up-andin regard to the whole of this present page, Tuesday, or by alllikelihood even Wednesday, unhappily may come to be the date)our plan is to leave this place on Wednesday, July 21 , and to staywith you about eight, nine, or ten days. Fred and Emily came overthis morning; and this was the arrangement proposed by Emily.For Johnny, your latest hope, my suggestion was that a rake, a

• “ Apricus.” · What do I mean by that - placed over the i?

I mean simply that Apricus must not be pronounced as ifrhyming to Africus, but as if rhyming to Fredericus.140 De Quincey's Life and Writings.spade, and a hammer, gimlet, and bag of nails might be a propernuzzur to approach him with. But Emily thinks that even nowhe has more spades than I have. But if you can indicate anybetter implement of industry, or war, or skill, either here or at Belfast I will look out for it.It is not often that one looks with hope and expectation to thecapacities of hatred and scorn in one's friends. But at presentboth Fred and I are likely to be dismally disappointed if you donot go along with us in our demoniac abhorrence, and also ourinfinite disdain , of the thrice-accursed Sepoys. No tongue cangive utterance to the burning wrath which kindles within us atthe very word Sipahee, and its contraction Sepoy. Did Fredtell you in any letter of the particular little plot which thesechildish devils were brewing ten or twelve months ago atPeshawur? On a certain day they had made sure of the 70th(Queen's Regiment) being called away at night to engage andafterwards to hunt through patches of jungle (or other cover) anative regiment then in full explosion of its mutinous venom.Luckily on that day a rumour arose in alarming strength thatthe native corps within the lines of encampment, amounting tofive regiments, had (in the teeth of contradicting reports fromour British officers appointed to search them for concealed armsand ammunition) contrived to bury and otherwise hide aredundant quantity of all that was needed to make themefficient enemies. Most happily this suspicion renewed itselfin greater strength than ever within a few hours of the criticalmoment when neglect of it or delay would have been fatal andirretrievable. Search was made once more, and this time not a"make-believe " search. Arms of every kind were found inabundance, and in consequence a most seasonable change in themilitary arrangements. A Sikh regiment was sent against themutineers; our own 70th was kept in the station; and there wasmade a further revelation of a plot for murdering all the women,children, and sick soldiers.Last date-7 P.M. on Wednesday, July 14. Fred was here.this morning again. I believe we start on Wednesday, July 21 .To-morrow without fail, rest of this letter, and final arrangementas to starting.It can very readily be imagined that a trip to Irelandwas a serious undertaking for one who had so littleSummoned to Patience. 141faculty for dealing with new scenes and circ*mstances.The journey, however, was accomplished, and here wefind De Quincey, on his return, pleasantly recallingsome of its more memorable points:-MY DEAR M.,-This is Friday night, and I, being in a moodfor chattering, with no obvious recipient on whom to bestowmy tediousness, select yourself as one that cannot run awayfrom the deluge. First, let me take a flying retrospect of ourlate visit to Lisheen, which to me has certainly been beneficial.You remarked a change of appearance; and since my resettling here this change has become more palpably marked insleep, in dreaming, in appetite, and other circ*mstantialities ofdaily life. One remorse only I carry away from Lisheen, viz. ,that I did not kiss the little bonny mouth of Buddee. Mr.Craig, in a slight way, at Goold's Cross, reproached me withthis omission as if an oversight. But oversight it was not.The secret consideration which moved me to suppress therequest (that else was on mylips) to visit his pillow, was thebelief that Buddee slept in the arms of Joanna, who, if a trulyderived daughter of our sad old " ganmama," Eve, the orchardbreaker, would not relish the sudden intrusion upon hernocturnal deshabille of a foreigneering Protestant. True, thatafterwards I saw Joanna in the hall; but this was at amoment of hurry and general valediction.Let me rehearse the stages of our travelling experience. ToGoold's Cross we drove under the restless faith that we weretoo late. But once at Mr. Goold's station, we found ourselves"shunted " into the rearguard of those who are summoned tothe exercise of patience by wearing the character of peoplefoolishly and sneakingly too soon. Thus was realised for thethousandth time the word which the prophet spake at mybirth-This man shall always be in time, and indeed baselyin time; but, for all that, he shall never once escape the pangsof being too late. Cassandra, by a like fate, having consentedto accept the gift of prophecy as a silent pledge that she wouldfavour the amorous suit of Apollo, nevertheless jilted theindignant God. To recall his gift was impossible; but hepoisoned it by the curse attached to her predictions that sheshould never be believed till it was too late to reap the benefits142 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of the warning. Just so did the good fairy say to me on mynatal morning, August 15, 1785-" My lad, I've a kind of liking for you; and herewith I make you a little present.""What is it, ma'am, if you please? " "What is it? Why, ifyou must know, it is this: that most odious of vices, whichmen call procrastination, shall never dare to come near you.”"Very true,” replied the bad fairy, who had seated her fatperson on the other side of the bed, " thrue for you: procrastinate he shall not; he shall be the chief and the leader uponearth of all miso-procrastinators; but still he shall reap thetwo grand penalties of procrastination the very worst.""Indeed! you wicked old lady and what penalties are those?" ' Why, these two in midst of too- soonness he shallsuffer the killing anxieties of too - lateness. In Dr. Donne's words66' He shall dream treason; and believe that heMeant to perform it; and confess, and die;And no record tell why. 'Secondly, which is the other penalty, he shall suffer the endlessreproach of procrastinating."Suppose us then embarked on the Great South-Eastern Railroad about 7 A.M. Somewhere in the forenoon we reachedDublin. But of course our fate is always to find ourselves atthe wrong station, and, at present, in search of the true andorthodox station, we entered on a course of discovery that tome seemed by very much more tedious than our ninety-fivemiles' rush from Mr. Goold's Cross to Dublin. Endlessly wedraw along the most dusty of quays or wharfs (or wharves),and always, as in some infinite dream, on looking forward inhopeless inquiry for the cause of our funeral pace, we foundthe same solution of the mystery, viz. , that we were creepingalong at the tail of 666 waggons.The notion of 2a fate dooming him to live perpetuallyunder the fear of being too late, was one that he expressed in several varying versions. The following isso exquisite and dainty in its way, that we brave therisk of being accused of repetition in giving it as asuccessor to the version in the preceding letter:—The Fairy's Gift. 143"At my birth, among the fairies that honoured this eventby their presence was one-an excellent creature -who said ," The gift which I bring for the young child is this: amongthe dark lines in the woof of his life I observe one which indicates a trifle of procrastination as lying amongst his frailties,and from that frailty I am resolved to take out the sting. Mygift, therefore, is—that, if he must always seem in danger ofbeing too late, he shall very seldom be so in fact. " Uponwhich up jumped a wicked old fairy, vexed at not havingreceived a special invitation to the natal festivity, who said," You'll take the sting out, will you? But now, madam, pleaseto see me put it back again. My gift is -that, if seldomactually in danger of being too late, he shall always be in fearof it. Not often completing the offence, he shall for ever besuffering its penalties." Yes, reader, so she said; and so ithappened. The curse which she imposed I could not evade.My only resource was to take out my revenge in affrontingher. On this occasion I whispered to her, whilst mountingthe box, " Well, old girl, here I am; and, as usual, quite in time." That word "as usual " must, I knew, be wormwood tober heart, so I repeated it, saying, " Your malice, old cankered lady, is defeated, you see, as usual." ' Certainly, myson," was her horrid reply, " you are in time, and generallyyou are so. But it grieves me to know that for the last halfhour you have been suffering horrid torments of mind.”66So far we have allowed ourselves to travel into thesphere of private domestic relationship. Our purposein doing so will have been fully attained if the readerhas been led to feel that De Quincey's almost morbidpeculiarities, which led him sometimes to live apart fromhis family for considerable periods, did not spring fromany lack of affection for them.

As suggestive of other associations, quaint andcharacteristic in their own way, arising out of theLothian-Street life, we may here give some extracts144 De Quincey's Life and Writings.from a letter addressed to us by Mr. Richard Rowe,author of " Episodes in an Obscure Life ":—"My first lodgings in Edinburgh," he writes,were the rooms in Lothian Street in which DeQuincey died -I was, in fact, the next tenant. Thegood people of the house, a widow, her maiden sister,and a niece, had a very worshipful recollection oftheir "nice little gentleman "-that was their phrasefor him. They evidently liked him, and said thathe was bonnie ' and ' soft- spoken.' They showedwith some pride the relics of him they possessed,which could certainly claim the sanctity of antiquity.The affectionate reverence they showed wasgenuine.very"The maiden sister was De Quincey's messenger,and on the strength of the printing offices she hadbeen in, and the literary men she had spoken to, hadcome to look upon herself as almost a bluestocking.She told me that she sat for hours with De Quincey,arranging his books, numbering his slips of copy,&c. Her notion of his mode of composition, however,almost proved that their affectionate reverence arosemore from his attractive and likeable character, thanfrom any true perception of his greatness as a writer."This maiden sister seems really to have been amature guardian angel to De Quincey. More thanonce, she said, she had put him out ' when he hadfallen asleep with his head on the table, and overturned a candle on his papers. She used to buy hisapparel for him piecemeal now a pair of socks, nowa pair of boots, now a coat, now a waistcoat-nevera whole suit. Once she had to order for him a kindAppreciation ofServices. 145of military cloak lined with red. When he had anengagement to dine out, she had to keep him up toit, and to call for him afterwards, lest he shouldforget to come home at the hour fixed, as he was aptto get liveliest in the early hours, and to begin thento feel himself at home with his friends. In gratefulappreciation of these services, he used sometimes tohire a carriage and drive her and her niece out toLasswade to spend the day, and at other times heescorted them to the theatre."The greasy, crumpled, Scotch one-pound notesannoyed him. He did his best to soothe andcleanse them before parting with them, and he washedand polished shillings up to their pristine brightnessbefore he gave them away."VOL. II. KICHAPTER XIX,CRITICISMS AND CHARACTERISTICS.N the " Westminster Review " for April 1854,there appeared an elaborate article on DeQuincey, which has often been referred toas faithfully presenting his characteristics. But of thisarticle we find so acute a critic as Nathaniel Hawthorneexpressing himselfwith some dissatisfaction in a letterto his friend , Mr. J. T. Fields, and founding on it ageneral remark somewhat to the discredit of English readers and English critics. He says: -" Didyou read the article on your friend De Quincey inthe last Westminster '?6It was written by Mr.of this city [London ] , who was in America ayear or two ago. The article is pretty well, but doesnothing like adequate justice to De Quincey; and, infact, no Englishman cares a pin for him. We are tentimes as good readers and critics as they. " What aprize we should have had if Hawthorne had beentempted to give us his views on so unique a combination of qualities as are found in De Quincey!It was a subject he would have delighted in-onceHawthorne's Opinion. 147begun to write; for we know that he was a constantand careful student of De Quincey's writings, andwas not at all likely to commit himself to such anopinion as that just quoted without having cautiouslysatisfied himself, and viewed the matter in its manybearings. He was as little of the literary enthusiast,prone to be caught by momentary and inadequateimpressions , as well could be. One thing we arequite sure of He would not have been guilty ofthe mistake some critics of note have recently falleninto, and have written of De Quincey as though hewere a dreamer and a writer of " impassioned prose"only. To take up this view of De Quincey, is altogether to shirk the literary problem he presents,misleading those who may listen or be influenced; andthe proceeding is pardonable only on the suppositionthat the reviewer had been guilty of what is vulgarlysupposed to be a necessary qualification of his class-the faculty of forming a conclusive opinion " withouthaving read your author. " To bring down from abookshelf the " Confessions of an English OpiumEater, " and the first volume of the " AutobiographicSketches, " and read them in that wholly unreceptiveand coldly critical mood which cannot even temporarily condescend to sympathy with the play ofphantasy and eccentric sentiment, and then proceed to write as though they exhausted the wholeof De Quincey's works, certainly comes very closeto the perilous experiment of which reviewers areproverbially said to be the performers. This is exactly one of the cases in which " not to sympathise,is not to understand. " In the instance of the mostconsequence in which we see a decided tendency in148 De Quincey's Life and Writings.this way, we find the writer making such astoundingassertions as these:-" Language, according to the common phrase, isthe dress of thought; and that dress is the best,according to modern canons of taste, which attractsleast attention from its wearer. De Quincey scornsthis sneaking maxim of prudence, and boldly challenges our admiration by appearing in the richestcolouring that can be got out of the dictionary. Hislanguage deserves a commendation sometimes bestowed by ladies on rich garments-that it is capableof standing up by itself. . . . One may fancy thatif De Quincey's language were emptied of all meaning whatever, the mere sound of the words wouldmove us, as the lovely word Mesopotamia ' movedWhitefield's hearer.6" He appeals to our terror of the infinite • hepaints vast perspectives, opening in long succession,till we grow dizzy in the contemplation. The cadenceof his style suggests sounds echoing each other, andgrowing gradually fainter, till they die away intoabsolute distance. Melancholy, and an awestricken sense of the vast and vague, are the emotions which he communicates with the greatestpower; though the melancholy is too dreamy todeserve the name of passion , and the terror of theinfinite is not explicitly connected with any religiousemotion. It is a proof of the fineness of his taste,that he scarcely ever falls into bombast; we trembleat his audacity in accumulating gorgeous phrases,but we confess that he is justified in the result. "And though, as this writer holds, he was " utterlyincapable of concentration, " yet " his very creditableKeats and De Quincey. 149desire for lucidity of expression makes him nervouslyanxious to avoid any complexity of thought. . . .He insists upon putting each proposition separately,smoothing them out elaborately, till not a wrinkledisturbs their uniform surface, and then presenting each of them for our acceptance with a placidsmile. "But it is surely a wrong-headed and somewhatindelicate way of illustrating the position, to say thatKeats' " Ode to the Nightingale " surpasses, thoughit resembles, some of De Quincey's finest passages;and that the " Hyperion " might have been " translated into prose, as a fitting companion for someof the earlier dreams. " And then succeeds a delicate compliment to Keats and De Quincey alike:-" He does not seem to have been liable to any worseimputations than that of excessive inability for anything beyond spinning gorgeous phraseology. . . . Thegoodness of his character diminishes the interest ofhis story. ' Then follows a very forced and illegitimate contrast of De Quincey with Rousseau, and afinal summing up thus:-" In a life of seventy-threeyears, De Quincey read extensively, and thoughtacutely by fits , ate an enormous quantity of opium,wrote a few pages which revealed new capacities inthe language, and provided a good deal of respectable padding for magazines.'99At one place, however, the critic ventures on adefinite question:-" And what would Taylor, orBrowne, or De Quincey himself have done, had theyThe italics in the extracts are in each case ours, and not theauthor's. -ED.150 De Quincey's Life and Writings.wanted to write down the project of Wood's halfpence in Ireland? Much as a king in his coronationrobes , compelled to lead a forlorn hope up the scaling ladders. "6699And to this question we would, in the first instance, reply in the Scottish way, by asking another-one or two others -to which, if this writing shouldever have the privilege of coming under the critic'seye, we beg that he will be honest enough and manlyenough to find a way of giving a distinct answer: —Did he ever read De Quincey's " most masterly(these are Wordsworth's words) appendix to the" Convention of Cintra " pamphlet? Did he everread " Klosterheim "? Did he ever really read theTemplar's Dialogues on Political Economy "? Didhe ever read the article on " Casuistry," the essayon " Milton versus Southey and Landor, " or thebiographies of Goethe and Schiller from the" Encyclopædia Britannica " -more especially thepassage in the former dealing with Goethe'schildish scepticism; and does he hold that hiscriticism, here given as exhaustive, exhaustivelyapplies to them? His answer, whatever formit may take, will bring his criticism to somewhatmore definite application , and enable those whopay attention to such things to estimate its realworth. Other critics, who have read these, have anidea that the man who wrote them might have comenearer to the needed style for " Wood's halfpencethan might be believed by some, apparently, —ifhe had been put under the necessity of applyinghimself to such work. At all events, one thing wasimpossible to him-the slips , the blunders, the sole-""66"The Quarterly Review." 151cisms which so pervade this article, professedlydisposing of " De Quincey, that the slightest excerpts cannot be made from it without one's beingcompelled, in half shame and regret, to light uponthem, and to expose them.Our purpose in presenting this small specimen ofEnglish criticism is to show, as well as we could inlittle space, how much ground there was for Hawthorne's deliverance, and how easy it was for Americans to outstrip some of us as readers and as criticsof De Quincey, on the appreciative side at all events.Certainly, the contrast between Hawthorne's estimateand that of this English critic is very marked indeed .But when Mr. Hawthorne said that no Englishman " cared a pin for De Quincey, " he allowed himself to fall into an extreme statement. De Quinceyhas always had careful and sympathetic readers hereas in America; and one of them, in 1861 , contributed to the Quarterly Review an article in whichwe find such passages as these, making us wonderhow two critics could reach conclusions so different, and even opposed, as these are to thosealready cited:-" The position of De Quincey in the literature ofthe present day is remarkable. We might search invain for a writer who, with equal powers, has madean equally slight impression upon the general public.His style is superb; his powers of reasoning are unsurpassed; his imagination is warm and brilliant, andhis humour both masculine and delicate. Yet, withthis singular combination of gifts, he is comparatively little known outside of that small circle ofmen who love literature for its own sake, which, in152 De Quincey's Life and Writings.proportion to the population, is not an increasingclass. . . . That his essays are not, in general , uponpopular subjects , is , of course, one element in thecase; although they only require to be read to showhow easily a man of genius can lubricate the gravesttopics by his own overflowing humour, withoutmaking the slightest approximation to either flippancy or coarseness. . . . The extraordinary compassand unique beauty of his diction , accommodatingitself without an effort to the highest flights of imagination , to the minutest subtleties of reasoning, andto the gayest vagaries of humour, are by themselves ,indeed, a sure pledge of a long, if not undying, reputation. . . . A great master of English composition; a critic of uncommon delicacy; an honest,unflinching investigator of received opinions; aphilosophic enquirer, second only to his first andsole hero, De Quincey has departed from us full ofyears, and left no successor to his rank. The exquisite finish of his style, with the scholastic rigourof his logic, form a combination which centuriesmay never reproduce, but which every generationshould study as one of the marvels of Englishliterature. "We now proceed in our endeavour to bring out someof De Quincey's more prominent traits , as exhibitedin his writings.And the first thing we note as bringing almostincompatible qualities into combination , and exhibiting them in free exercise, is the logical or quantitative faculty working alongside the dreaming, or purelyabstractive faculty, without sense of discord. WhilstDe Quincey was in the very crisis of his opiumRicardo and Wordsworth. 153dreams, his mind could raise itself to interest inRicardo, and find a kind of escape from his intensestsufferings there. De Quincey thus appeals directlyto two orders of mind and sympathy, between whomthere is little in common-no meeting-point or kindred aim. This fact alone should suffice to arresthasty and precipitate judgments. The wide reach ofhis intellectual sympathies, which, at one moment,in spite of physical and mental prostration , enabledhim to hold out one hand to Ricardo, while with theother he grasped that of Wordsworth, would alonesuffice to announce a phenomenon worthy of the mostcareful and exhaustive examination. What mustindeed surprise those who devote themselves to alaborious study of De Quincey, is the exact and persistent hold he has upon the laws of practical life andits conduct, and the casuistry that lies behind them;and also his power to rise to the most mystical andtranscendent elements. Sometimes, his imaginationand his analytic intellect seem absolutely to fall apartfrom each other, and to run each on its own wayin separate courses; but a pervading sentiment,touched more or less by a radiant, if not powerful,humour, catches at the skirts of each, and bringsthem once more into kindly union. Take, for instance, the passage, which is thrown into the midstof his " Opium Confessions, " on the outs and ins ofthe life of that poor London lawyer, in whose househe had found a lodging, and the premature but clearconception that the boy is represented as having ofthe whole structure of that order of life , and read italongside of that wondrous illustration of the increased value of production by the beaver hat, in the154 De Quincey's Life and Writings." Templar's Dialogues on Political Economy. " Ithas been well said:—" It is a very remarkable fact, and one to whichin forming any estimate of the author of whom wetreat great importance is to be attached, that hewas the first, or among the first, to hail the rising,in quarters of the literary heaven so widely apart,and with such an antithetic diversity of radiance, oftwo such stars as Wordsworth and Ricardo. Thelight of Ricardo is , perhaps in every sense, good andbad, the driest in English literature; the general intellect even of practical England turns away from it.Wordsworth is , of all poets, the furthest removedfrom the practical world: he is the listener to thevoice of the winds, the watcher of the wreathing ofthe clouds he can drink a tender and intense pleasure from the waving of the little flower, and fromthe form of its star-shaped shadow; he can evenenter, by inexpressible delicacy of poetic sympathy,into the feelings which his own creative power imparts, and with that little flower conscious of halfthe pleasure that it gives; ' from him, too , the generalintellect of practical England, as proved in the caseof Arnold, turns away dissatisfied. In the range ofDe Quincey's sympathies-and the sympathies arethe voices or the ministers of the powers, the leavesby which the plant drinks in the air of heaventhere was compass for both. "

6And it is a point worth emphasising, again,that even in the driest of sciences his imaginationand personal influence prevailed. Readers in generalwould not be very apt to suppose that it was possible for Political Economy to become charged66His Debt to Ricardo. 155with the finest biographical suggestions. It is adry and abstract study. Everything seems to shrinkinto an unclothed anatomy in its atmosphere. DeQuincey himself confesses it, and nowhere with moredirectness than in these various notes, in which he disposed of Mr. Malthus, and his confused ideas on theMeasure of Value." A few passages from one of thesenotes we give in the Appendix, to show how clear DeQuincey could be in style when dealing with the mostabstruse and abstract matters. But it is probable thathe would never have attempted anything formal andcomplete in Political Economy, had it not been for astrong personal attachment, founded, however, on scientific sympathy alone. For Mr. Ricardo, his respect andgratitude-his reverence even-were unstinted. Manyother calls had made it impossible for him to completea work which he had intended to submit to Mr. Ricardo,and which lay unfinished at Mr. Ricardo's death. DeQuincey's keenest sorrow was awakened, because he hadlost the opportunity of a long- anticipated privilege, andhad foregone a chance of affording pleasure to one whohad so greatly benefitted him. What he had regardedas a duty to the living, now became a still more incumbent duty to the dead. It was under such impellingsanctions that he wrote his " Templars' Dialogues, " and,later, his " Political Economy, " which, when viewed inthe light of these biographical facts, take on a newcolour, and breathe even a sympathetic interest. Onthe death of Mr. Ricardo in 1823, De Quincey wrote inthe " London Magazine " a short article, in which hegave expression to these feelings. He titles it, " The156 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Services of Mr. Ricardo to the Science of PoliticalEconomy," and writes thus:-" I do not remember that any public event of our owntimes has touched me so nearly, or so much with thefeelings belonging to a private affliction, as the deathof Mr. Ricardo. To me in some sense it was a privateaffliction, and no doubt to all others who knew andhonoured his extraordinary talents. For great intellectual merit, wherever it has been steadily contemplated, cannot but conciliate some personal regard; and,for my part, I acknowledge that, abstracting altogetherfrom the use to which a man of splendid endowmentsmay apply them-or even supposing the case that heshould deliberately apply them to a bad one -I couldno more on that account withhold my good wishes andaffection from his person, than, under any considerationof their terrific attributes, I could forbear to admire thepower and the beauty of the serpent or the panther.Simply on its own account, and without further question, a great intellect challenges, as of right, not merelyan interest of admiration-in common with all otherexhibitions of power and magnificence-but also aninterest of human love, and (where that is necessary) aspirit of tenderness to its aberratious. Mr. Ricardo,however, stood in no need of a partial or indulgentprivilege; his privilege of intellect had a comprehensivesanction from all the purposes to which he applied it inthe course of his public life: in or out of Parliament, asa senator, or as an author, he was known and honouredas a public benefactor. Though connected myself byprivate friendship with persons of the political partyhostile to his, I heard amongst them all but oneAttack ofthe "Edinburgh." 157language of respect for his public conduct. Those whostood neutral to all parties, remarked that Mr. Ricardo'svoice-though heard too seldom for the wishes of theenlightened part of the nation -was never raised withemphasis upon any question lying out of the provincein which he reigned as the paramount authority, exceptupon such as seemed to affect some great interest ofliberty or religious toleration. And, wherever a discussion arose which transcended the level of temporary orlocal politics (as that, for example, upon corporalpunishments), the weight of authority, which mereblank ability had obtained for him in the House ofCommons, was sure to be thrown into that view of thecase which upheld the dignity of human nature. Participating most cordially in these feelings of reverencefor Mr. Ricardo's political character, I had, besides, asorrow not unmixed with self- reproach, arising out ofsome considerations more immediately personal to myself. In August and September 1821 , I wrote " TheConfessions of an English Opium-Eater; ' and in thecourse of this little work I took occasion to express myobligations, as a student of Political Economy, to Mr.Ricardo's ' Principles ' of that science. For this , as forsome other passages, I was justly * attacked by an ableand liberal critic in the Edinburgh Review '—as for so"Not so, however, let me say in passing, for three supposedinstances of affected doubt-in all of which my doubts were,and are at this moment, very sincere and unaffected; and in oneof them, at least, I am assured by those of whom I have sinceinquired, that my reviewer is mistaken. As another point,which, if left unnoticed , might affect something more importantto myself than the credit of my taste or judgment, let me in-158 De Quincey's Life and Writings.many absurd irrelevancies: in that situation no doubtthey were so; and of this, in spite of the haste in whichI had written the greater part of the book, I was fullyaware. However, as they said no more than whatwas true, I was glad to take that, or any occasionwhich I could invent, for offering my public testimony of gratitude to Mr. Ricardo. The truth is , Ithought that something might occur to intercept anymore appropriate mode of conveying my homage toMr. Ricardo's ear, which should else more naturallyhave been expressed in a direct work on Political Economy. This fear was at length realised -not in theway I had apprehended, viz. , by my own death, butby Mr. Ricardo's. And now, therefore, I felt happythat, at whatever price of good taste, I had in some imperfect way made known my sense of his high pretensions-although, unfortunately, I had given him nomeans of judging whether my applause were of anyvalue. For during the interval between September1821 and Mr. Ricardo's death in September 1823, I hadfound no leisure for completing my work on PoliticalEconomy; on that account I had forborne to use themeans of introduction to Mr. Ricardo, which I commanded through my private connections, or simply as aman of letters: and in some measure, therefore, I owedform myreviewer that, when he traces an incident which I haverecorded most faithfully about a Malay to a tale of Mr. Hogg's,he makes me indebted to a book which I never saw. In sayingthis, I mean no disrespect to Mr. Hogg; on the contrary, I amsorry that I have never seen it; for I have a great admirationfor Mr. Hogg's genius, and have had the honour of his personalacquaintance for the last ten years."Review of Ricardo. 159it to my own neglect-that I had for ever lost the opportunity of benefitting by Mr. Ricardo's conversation,or bringing under his review such new speculations ofmine in Political Economy as in any point modified hisown doctrines -whether as corrections of supposed oversights, or derivations of the same truth from a higherprinciple, as further illustrating a proof of any theorywhich he might have insufficiently developed, or simplyin the way of supplement to his known and voluntaryomissions. All this I should have done with theutmost fearlessness of giving offence, and not for amoment believing that Mr. Ricardo would have regardedanything in the light of an undue liberty, which in theremotest degree might seem to affect the interests of ascience so eminently indebted to himself. In reality,candour may be presumed in a man of first-rate understanding, not merely as a moral quality, but almost asa part of his intellectual constitution per se; a spaciousand commanding intellect being magnanimous in amanner suo jure, even though it should have the misfortune to be allied with a perverse or irritable temper. On this consideration I would gladly have submitted to the review of Mr. Ricardo, as indisputably thefirst of critics in this department, rather than to anyother person, my own review of himself. I regret, also,that I have forfeited the opportunity of perhaps givingpleasure to Mr. Ricardo, by liberating him from a fewmisrepresentations, and placing his vindication upon afirmer basis even than that which he has chosen.one respect I enjoy an advantage for such a service, andin general for the polemical part of Political Economy,which Mr. Ricardo did not. The course of my studies.In160 De Quincey's Life and Writings.has led me to cultivate the scholastic logic. Mr. Ricardohad obviously neglected it. Confiding in his own conscious strength, and no doubt participating in the common error of modern times as to the value of artificiallogic, he has taken for granted that the Aristotelianforms, and the exquisite science of distinctions maturedby the subtlety of the Schoolmen, can achieve nothingin substance which is beyond the power of mere sound.good sense and robust faculties of reasoning; or at mostcan only attain the same end with a little more speedand adroitness. But this is a great error; and it wasan ill day for the human understanding when LordBacon gave his countenance to a notion, which his ownexclusive study of one department in philosophy couldalone have suggested. Distinctions previously examined—probed—and accurately bounded, together with a terminology previously established, are the crutches onwhich all minds-the weakest and the strongest- mustalike depend in many cases of perplexity: from pureneglect of such aids, which are to the unassistedunderstanding what weapons are to the unarmedhuman strength, as tools and machinery to the nakedhand of art, do many branches of knowledge at thisday languish amongst those which are independent ofexperiment." As the best consolation to myself for the lost opportunities with which I have here reproached myself, andas the best means of doing honour to the memory ofMr. Ricardo, I shall now endeavour to spread the knowledge of what he has performed in Political Economy.To do this in the plainest and most effectual manner, Ishall abstain from introducing any opinions peculiar toMr Minto's Opinion.161myself, excepting only when they may be necessary forthe defence of Mr. Ricardo against objections whichhave obtained currency from the celebrity of theirauthors, or in the few cases where they may be calledfor by the errors (as I suppose them to be) even of Mr.Ricardo. In using this language I do not fear to betaxed with arrogance: we of this day stand upon theshoulders of our predecessors; and that I am able todetect any error in Mr. Ricardo, I owe, in most instances,to Mr. Ricardo himself. "It is this individual -this sympathetic -approach,which De Quincey takes to the driest topics, that giveshim not only the originality but the fascination bywhich he holds the student, and leads him on and on, inspite of digression and sometimes an overweening loveof scholastic logic and learned reference. It is not impossible that some may think his admiration of Mr.Ricardo too excessive-a kind of craze. We havequoted this article for the purpose of showing how theelement of personal sympathy lit up even his scientificcuriosities, enabling him to secure a wider audiencethan the dry scientific mind ever could, even for subjects strictly scientific . Mr. Minto is certainly rightwhen he says:-Were De Quincey's writings the outcome of nothingmore generally attractive than profound erudition, in-'tellectual subtlety, and powers of copious expression,they would not have taken such a hold of the public interest. But he was not an arid philosopher, a modernDuns Scotus, or Thomas Aquinas. He tells us that heread ' German Metaphysicians, Latin Schoolmen, Thaumaturgic Platonists, and Religious Mystics; ' but he tellsVOL. II. L162 De Quincey's Life and Writings.us also that at one time ' a tremendous hold was taken ofhis entire sensibilities by our own literature.' Though he' well knew that his proper vocation was the exercise ofthe analytic understanding,' he spent perhaps the greaterpart of his time in the exercise of the imagination, taking profound delight in the sublime and more passionatepoets, in ' the grand lamentations of " Samson Agonistes,"or the great harmonies of the Satanic Speeches in"Paradise Regained . "'" During a considerable part of his time he was wraptin his favourite studies, in works of the analytic understanding, of history, of imagination. But even in dailylife, in intercourse with the world, his imagination seemsto have been preternaturally active. He was a close observer of character, as we can see from his works, andfrom the testimony of those who knew him. But, as wealso know from both sources, his imagination was constantly active in shaping his surroundings into objectsof refined pleasure, ranging through many varieties ofgrave and gay. He applied this transfiguring processto the incidents of his own life-not inventing romanticor comical incidents, but dwelling upon certain featuresof what really took place, and investing them with lofty,tender, or humorous imagery. So with his friends andcasual acquaintances. He was sufficiently observant ofwhat they really did and said, was remarkably acute indivining what passed in their minds, and felt the disagreeable as well as the agreeable points of their character; but he had the power of abstracting from thedisagreeable circ*mstances. He fixed his imagination upon the agreeable side of an acquaintance, and1Passion for Real Life. 163transmuted the mixed handiwork of nature into a pureobject of æsthetic pleasure. ""All this is profoundedly true; but facts go a stepfurther still. In the case of Mr. Ricardo, a purely intellectual relationship is, by the power of De Quincey'sindividualising imagination, transformed into a relationship of sympathy, as genuine as though it had been basedupon long and intimate personal association.Humour, in combination with two such modes ofintellectual sympathy as are signified by the namesof Wordsworth and Ricardo, is one of the most remarkable phenomena on record. But we find it in DeQuincey -sometimes, it is true, allying itself too easilywith what is merely secondary and fantastic, so thatif it is to blame for not a little of his digressiveness ,still it imparts to everything he does å bouquet, aflavour, an after- taste which is distinctly his own. Ifthis ever-present and kindly humour-this keen senseof the ludicrous and the salient disparities of life—saved him from pedantry, it did so only by makingabsolutely necessary for him a recurrent contact withreal life itself. Even during the London period ,when he was still in the throes of opium, does henot make record of that impulse under which, inopposition to the general experience of opium-eaters,he was impelled to mingle with the Saturday- nightcrowds in the more frequented parts of London?And this Saturday- night wandering, he says , actuallyoutweighed the attractions of theOpera, which thenalso took place on Saturday evenings." The pains of poverty I had lately seen too much

• Manual of English Prose Literature. W. Blackwood & Sons.

164 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of," he confesses; "more than I wished to remember;but the pleasures of the poor, their consolations ofspirit, and their reposes from bodily toil , can neverbecome oppressive to contemplate. Now Saturdaynight is the season for the chief, regular, and periodicreturn of rest to the poor. In this point, the mosthostile sects unite, and acknowledge a common linkof brotherhood: almost all Christendom rests fromits labours. It is a rest introductory to anotherrest, and divided by a whole day and two nights fromthe renewal of toil. On this account, I feel always,on a Saturday night, as though I also were releasedfrom some yoke of labour, had some wages toreceive, and some luxury of repose to enjoy. Forthe sake, therefore, of witnessing upon as large ascale as possible a spectacle with which my sympathy was so entire, I used often, on Saturday nights,after I had taken opium, to wander forth, withoutmuch regarding the direction or the distance, to allthe markets and other parts of London to which thepoor resort on a Saturday night for laying out theirwages. Many a family party, consisting of a man,his wife, and sometimes one or two of his children ,have I listened to, as they stood consulting on theirways and means, or the strength of their exchequer,or the price of household articles. Gradually I became familiar with their wishes, their difficulties , andtheir opinions. Sometimes there might be heardmurmurs of discontent, but far oftener expressionson the countenance, or uttered in words, of patience,hope, and tranquillity. And, taken generally, I mustsay, that, in this point of view at least, the poor arefar more philosophic than the rich-that they show aThe Philosophy of the Poor. 165more ready and cheerful submission to what theyconsider as irremediable evils or irreparable losses .Whenever I saw occasion, or could do it withoutappearing to be intrusive, I joined their parties, andgave my opinion upon the matter in discussion , which,if not always judicious , was always received indulgently. If wages were a little higher, or were expected to be so, or the quartern loaf a little lower, orit was reported that onions and butter were expectedto fall, I was glad; yet, if the contrary were true,I drew from opium some means of consoling myself.For opium, like the bee that extracts its materialindiscriminately from roses and from the soot of thechimneys, can overrule all feelings into a compliancewith the master- key. Some of these rambles led meto great distances, for an opium-eater is too happyto observe the motion of time; and sometimes in myattempts to steer homewards upon nautical principles ,by fixing my eye on the pole star, and seeking ambitiously for a north- west passage, instead of circumnavigating all the capes and headlands I had doubledin my outward voyage, I came suddenly upon suchknotty problems of alleys , such enigmatical entries,and such sphinx's riddles of streets without thoroughfares , as must, I conceive, baffle the audacity ofporters, and confound the intellects of hackney- coachmen. I could almost have believed , at times, that Imust be the first discoverer of some of these terræincognitæ, and doubted whether they had yet beenlaid down in the modern charts of London. For allthis, however, I paid a heavy price in distant years,when the human face tyrannised over my dreams, andthe perplexities of my steps in London came backt166 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and haunted my sleep, with the feeling of perplexities, moral or intellectual, that brought confusion tothe reason or anguish or remorse to the conscience.Thus I have shown that opium does not of necessityproduce inactivity or torpor, but that, on the contrary, it often led me into markets and theatres. "This forms, in our idea, one of the most remarkable passages in any literature, as revealing an utterlyoriginal cast of character. Now, it is precisely herethat De Quincey parts company alike from Coleridgeand from Wordsworth. Neither of them had humour,nor had either of them any trace of this passion forrude life , most often allied to humour. In the one,such a tendency would have been found inconsistentwith the constant effort after framing a completemetaphysical system; in the other, it would have donemuch to disperse the wealth of meditative impression,gathered from daily but almost passive communionwith nature. There is another friend of De Quincey,who, though in certain gifts he fell far below eitherof these great men, yet surpassed them in this combination of thought, sentiment, humour, and passionfor life, and that is Professor Wilson , the record ofwhose complete comprehension of De Quincey andunaltering friendship for him remains as his recordin this particular.To De Quincey's keen sense of humour we mainlyowe it also that, in spite of the amount of autobiographic writing he has given to the world, anyattempt either to gather the exact facts of his life,or to penetrate his character, so as to find areconciling point for very disparate tendencies,is unspeakably difficult. We trust we shall not beAutobiographic Writing.167misunderstood here. What we mean is , that alongwith his self-revelation ran the strictest reticence.He looks at himself very much as he would atanother; and, as few men really respected more the66 private rights " of others , even where fine insightmight have fully revealed the secret that was halfhidden from themselves, so he was in the intimatesense self-respecting. This led to the general observance of a rule in his autobiographic writingwhich may be shortly summed up thus: " I shall behonest, strictly honest, in all that I reveal, but Icannot reveal all; and I shall be conscientiouslycareful, first, not to touch loosely any facts whereothers are concerned, and, secondly, I shall bechary even of direct references to facts that arepersonal to myself. Considering the atmosphere inwhich my autobiographic writing must move, thiswould indeed be to impart to it a certain elementof the ludicrous, and the outward interests wouldspeedily come to conflict with, and to overshadow, theinner and truer interests with which I am concerned ,and would wholly defeat my purpose. " In a fewinstances , he may be said to have lapsed from hisown principle, and in such a mass of autobiographicwriting it would have been wonderful if he had not;but no one would have more readily admitted thanhe would, on deliberate consideration , that these were,strictly speaking, lapses. De Quincey, then , in generaldeals only with facts and experiences which had something of universality; he does not care for dates or persons save in so far as they are essential to the generaltruth which he has resolved to follow. He himself,in that note to the editor of " Hogg's Instructor "168 De Quincey's Life and Writings.given on a former page, indicates this with masterlyclearness and humour; and that very announcementmight be taken as an illustration in little of hiswhole method-so far as he had a method—in hisautobiographic writing. The isolated fact on whichhe founds is but a point of departure, but a pinnacle,so to say, from which he may leap into a freer sphere,the atmosphere of which is common to all who canbe said to have lived up to a certain level ofexperience or self- observation. Hence the unconnectedness, the obtrusive digressions and rangingsfrom date to date, the want of straightforwardnessin the mere narrative, and the general disregard ofthose very elements which ought to be pre-eminentin biography proper. It seems as though he wasquite as concerned to hide the connecting liuks offact as to reveal the mental condition which obtained at the passing from one to the other. Hesometimes seems to be half-hoaxing the reader; atany rate, from the curiosity which he is certain toexcite in the minds of those who are disposed to seeksatisfaction in coherent and exhaustive circ*mstantialrelations, he is most certainly half-hoaxing them.The clearness of his memory for facts is so evident,that his abstinence is at once seen to be due toconscious and preconceived intention . For thosewho read in the spirit of sympathy and imaginativereverie, this is an endless source of gratification anddelight; because the intimations are essentiallysuggestive of those higher imaginative links which,when apprehended, afford pleasure of a deeper kindthan gatherings of mere facts and details couldever give, precisely as in private friendship heElusiveness of his Writings. 169is your nearest friend who can divine your mood,penetrate the cause of your joy or your dejection,and can bring such comfort as is possible withoutthe aid of words: by subtlest sympathy which cannot be defined you understand each other. DeQuincey, then, reveals himself, but only indirectlyand imaginatively; you do not gather his traits bythe amount of facts or the relation of the factswhich he gives you, but only by sympathetic insightinto his way of using them . Thus only the privileged may really peep between the lines of his lifeas he has told it; he reveals himself by hint, bycasual suggestion, but he hides himself as effectivelyfrom the critical and coldly unreceptive. Verycautious the wiser sort of critics will be in givingtheir ipse dixit on such elusive natures, lest it befound that they have been the victims of a jokethat can be played even after death, and they becaught in the meshes of their own conceit, whenthey fancied they had found every stop of the pipe.And here truly is a triumph not so much of conscious ingenuity as of fine literary instinct. If ithad not been for pressing necessity, as has been said,De Quincey had never written such works at all.His "Opium Confessions " raised a demand for suchwriting, and he could not afford to decline to answerto it; but his subtle perceptions of things and hisrare humour enabled him at once thus effectively toconceal and to reveal himself; and not only to revealnew capacities in the English language, " but toadd to English biographical writing a newpossibility,and, we may almost say, a new principle.66In a recent number of the " Saturday Review," we170 De Quincey's Life and Writings.met with these words, which could hardly have beenmore apt if they had been expressly written to be setdown in this place with reference to the effect of DeQuincey's humour in some directions:-" To possessgreat humour is to live a good deal alone, in a worldfull of pathetic and laughable fancies . On the otherhand, it is to have wide sympathies and tenderness;and the humourist will give freely of these treasuresto the people about him, who, after all , can only inrare cases come near to him and understand him.Through part of life it consoles him, when it revealsthe fantastic side of misfortunes and of crosses, andforces him to smile at the human weaknesses whichtorture while they tickle him. "All this perfectly suffices to account for the lackof outward completeness in these autobiographicsketches. But, since this incompleteness is due toa principle on which he consciously and consistentlyacted, we must not conclude from this merely thathe could not therefore have written sustainedmemoirs had the duty been laid upon him. It isaltogether a false and superficial inference whichsome critics have thus drawn. One of the mostconcentrated, severe, and sustained pieces of biography we have ever read is De Quincey's essay onShakespeare from the " Encyclopædia Britannica. "He tells us that it cost him " intense labour, " andthat the bulk of it was written three times overwhich we can well believe. It is from work of thiskind that inferences as to capacity for sustainedlabour and thought should be drawn , and not from" Reminiscences, " in which confessedly the elementof exhaustiveness is excluded by the very presenceCheerful Views of Life. 171of that erratic and half- poetic sentiment and turnfor generalised experience, which imparts to thesechapters their particular charm. Humour, in itsfreer phases, however, must always be discursive;it is alien to a stern and exact adherence to presupposed order and common logic; and the mannerin which De Quincey could be at once humorous andlogical constitutes him at least a writer sui generis.We shall soon see that to this humour, besides,we owe in a large measure the patient forbearance,and the tolerant sympathy, which at first are apt tosurprise and puzzle us in a character at once sokeenly observant and exposed to all the impatienceand irritability usually associated with overstrungnerves.We have, then, in De Quincey, to start with, keenanalytic intellect, along with delicate phantasy, sensibilities also keen, but exacting in their demandon the senses, and humour special and pervading,underlying a social instinct, imperious , and waitingon reactions. The combination seems as if in realityit would present us with something only outré, andoutré, in one aspect, indeed it is. How much DeQuincey owed to his love of the open air, and hiscapacity of complete social self- abandonment—qualities not often found in combination with theseothers-it would be hard to say; but that he didowe much to these, as we owe much to them, is asundoubted as that he was a great dreamer and amaster of English style. He was able also to exercisea true sympathy with the lot of others, -to detect thecompensations of life, and find the lesson that lies.in them-as witness the comfort he draws from172 De Quincey's Life and Writings.poor Charles Lloyd's case, in that he suffered fromno disease such as his. This patient, if not contented and cheerful , view of life , is so obtrusiveindeed, as to give occasionally a tone of optimism.to his writings , which is corrected only by specificoccasions.It is surely very noticeable , too , as being altogetherunlike the usual impatience, irritability, and incapacity to detect the balancing advantages in everyday circ*mstances most characteristic of dreamersand those of overstrung nerves, that De Quinceyshould be content to find an advantage in the pressure put upon him by the periodical press, to whichhe had been forced by necessity to unite himself,and to set forth even the accruing disadvantagesin humorous self- irony, glimmering, as it were, withdewdrops of pathos." Another circ*mstance of hardship, " he says,on one occasion, prefacing a certain essay of hislater years , " which entitles me to the special indulgence of the reader is, that, in this paper, I amwriting against time. Many are the matches whichI have had against Time in my time and in his time[i.e. , in Time's time]. And all such matches, writing or riding, are memorably unfair. Time, themeagre shadow, carries no weight at all, so whatparity can there be in any contest with him? Whatdoes he know of anxiety, or liver-complaint, or incometax, or of the vexations connected with the correctingof proofs for the press? Although, by the way, hedoes take upon himself, with his villanous scrawl, tocorrect all the fair proofs of nature. He sows cankerinto the heart of rose-buds, and writes wrinklesMatches against Time. 173(which are his odious attempts at pot-hooks) , in theloveliest of female faces. No type so fair, but hefancies, in his miserable conceit, that he can improveit; no stereotype so fixed, but he will alter it; and,having spoiled one generation after another, he stillpersists in believing himself the universal amenderand the ally of progress. Ah, that one might, if it werebut for a day in a century, be indulged with thesight of Time forced into a personal incarnation, soas to be capable of personal insult—a cudgelling, forinstance, or a ducking in a horse -pond. Or, again ,that once in a century, were it but for a singlesummer's day, his corrected proofs might be liable tosuppression by revises, such as I would furnish,down to the margin of which should run one perpetual iteration of stet. , stet.; everything that thehoary scoundrel had deleted, rosebuds or femalebloom, beauty or power, grandeur or grace, beingsolemnly reinstated; and having the privilege of oneday's secular resurrection, like the Arabian Phoenix ,or any other memento of a power in things earthly,and in sublunary births, to mock and to defy thescythe of this crowned thief." Not that always and unconditionally it is anevil to be hurried in writing for the press. I doubtnot that many a score of practised writers for thepress, will have been self- observing enough to notice.a phenomenon which I have many times noticedviz. , that hurry and severe compression from aninstant summons that brooks no delay, have often atendency to furnish the flint and steel for elicitingsudden scintillations of originality; sometimes in whatregards the picturesque felicity of the phrase, some-174 De Quincey's Life and Writings.times in what regards the thought itself, or its illustrations. To autoschediaze, or improvise , is sometimesin effect to be forced into a consciousness of creativeenergies, that would else have slumbered throughlife. The same stimulation to the creative facultyoccurs even more notoriously in musical improvisations; and all great executants on the organ havehad reason to bemoan their inability to arrest thesesudden felicities of impassioned combinations, andthese flying arabesques of loveliest melody, which themagnetic inspiration of the moment has availed toexcite; " a point this on which he was so convinced that he elsewhere repeats it, with almostequal felicity.As an instance of the kind of self- respect heoften shows on critical occasions, we might wellcite here the reason he gives for failing to applyto any of his wealthy friends for help during theperiod of his wanderings. It was not alone the fearof being delivered over to his guardians. He saysfrankly, " It may surprise a reader who has gonethrough the slight records of my life, to find meoriginally, as a boy, moving amongst the circles of thenobility, and now courting only those of intellectualpeople; " and he then proceeds to give the reason.It had gradually impressed itself on him that, if hesought the society of such people, he must attachhimself to them, occupy a doubtful position , lay himself open to the charge of sycophancy, & c. , &c." Every way, I saw," he goes on to say, " that myown dignity- which above all things , a man shouldscrupulously maintain-required that I should nolonger go into any circles where I did not stand on myChildish Love ofFun. 175own native footing—propria jure. What had beenabundantly right for me as a boy, ceased to be rightfor me when I ceased to be a boy. "It was out of the elements of character which wehere see at work-expressly conveying themselves intoliterature that De Quincey's quick social sympathiessprang; for though he was, in some respects , intellectually an egotist, a solitary, a sentimentalist, hewas in no sense morally so.—Nothing, indeed, could be further from a truecriticism of De Quincey than to speak of him ashabitually grave , shy, and bookish, and so given upto speculative and half-morbid brooding, as to haveno liking for the freer play of the social feelings.His case, indeed, was the very opposite. One of themost striking things about him was this that aman who seemed to have, in many ways, addedto a natural predisposition to solitude, artificialbars to cheerful and lively social intercourse, wasyet, among congenial companions, the freest andmost spontaneous. He even confesses to a childishlove of fun, of pure nonsense. " Both Lamb andmyself," he says, " had a furious love for nonsense-head-long nonsense. Excepting Professor Wilson,I have known nobody who had the same passion tothe same extent. " And this suggests the remark,that the life-long friendship between Wilson and DeQuincey could hardly have maintained its close andintimate character, if both had not possessed qualitieswhich are not popularly accorded to them. Wilsonis too much regarded as the boon companion-blessedabove most men with good spirits , the rollickingcreator of the " Noctes Ambrosianæ, " par excellence176 De Quincey's Life and Writings.De Quincey too much as the dreamer of the " Confessions " and " Suspiria. " The two neverthelesshad much in common; and their meeting points, inone respect, were the extreme developments of thetendencies not commonly attributed to them. Wilsonhad a vein of dreamy, pastoral, meditative melancholy,as is abundantly seen in his poems, " The Isle ofPalms " more especially, and also in some of hisprose stories; while De Quincey's humour, drollery,and effervescent wit-shining the brighter by reactionfrom the habitual reverie to which he was temptedindicate rich sympathies, and capabilities of enteringinto the ways of simple and untutored natures, andconciliating them. Over and above these things,and bringing, as it were, their divergent aspects intoharmony, was an innocently Bohemian propensity—if we may use the word, without seeming to compromise the men we are dealing with more thanthere is need for. What we mean simply is, thatboth men, along with a remarkable purity and elevation of moral character, allied to the finest sensibilities , loved to be singular-to run somewhat aslantthe ordinary conventionalities of life, though not todash athwart them of malice prepense and by rebellion ,which they never did; and by a certain " personalfascination " to justify themselves in the eyes evenof those who, in any other case, would have beendisposed seriously to find fault. The reason was thatin both, combined with vast culture and powers ofthought trained to the nimblest service, there wasa constant, though wholly unaffected, hankering forcontact with life in its simpler and more primitiveforms; and a love unbounded for naïve and un-The Westmoreland " Sales." 177hampered expression of certain orders of feeling. Inall such cases there must necessarily be much thatwill suggest rough nature in the lump, but the feeling is absolutely alien from Rousseauism, which isintolerant of rough nature in spite of its pretensionto simplicity, being intent, after all , on the analysisof artificial, mixed, and prurient experiences. Hencethe Philistinish absurdity, as we have already hinted,of any the most remote -suggestion of Rousseau and De Quincey, and the comparison of theone with the other- -a thing that no man wouldever dream of, but for the very exterior accident thatthey both wrote " Confessions. " Beneath Wilson'srollicking, and, as it has been rather uncriticallycalled, Rabelaisian fun, what simplicity, as of unconscious, childlike truthfulness; beneath De Quincey's excess of refinement, fantastic subtlety, andover-sharpened sensibility, what veins of natural,uncorrupted impulse? All readers of the " Autobiographic Sketches " will remember that trulycharacteristic picture of the Westmoreland " Sales ,"as they were termed, at many of which, as DeQuincey tells us, he attended in his earlier days inGrasmere, admiring the simplicity and unconsciousness of the people. He deeply regretted that it wasowing to the presence there of " Gentlemen " from agreat city that he first heard rude jests, whichbrought a blush of shame to cheeks on which before."only a little rosy confusion at most " had everbeen awakened by attendance at such meetingswhere the social benevolence, the innocent mirth,and the neighbourly kindness of the people, mostVOL. II.M178 De Quincey's Life and Writings.delightfully expanded and expressed themselves withthe least reserve."It is in these traits that we may find the sourceof a life-long friendship, which it would be reallydifficult to account for on the ordinary constructions.of the characters of the two men. And it is atonce surprising and consistent with the view wehave taken , that Wilson in the representation ofhis friend in the " Noctes Ambrosianæ " shouldIhave shown so much care to keep in reserve anyhint of the deeper relationship on which their alliance rested. Had he done so, the illusion hadbeen weakened, the whole spirit of the " Noctes "indeed had been destroyed by the perpetual recurrence of false notes. He had to content himself, ifhe ventured to introduce the Opium- Eater at all , tokeep him on a plane consistent with the generaltone-the loud outbreaks of the Shepherd, thechaff of Tickler, and Wilson's own somewhat overdone jocosity. And hence it is that the imitationof De Quincey's conversation is so readily admittedon all hands to be inadequate. Wilson had tofollow the form, but deny himself access to certainmodes of feeling on De Quincey's part which werenecessary to fill up and to interpret the form, eventhough he himself was deeply in sympathy withthese. It is a one- sided De Quincey we havehere; as it is, in one aspect, a one-sided Wilson.So that these sentences, which recently appearedin a London weekly, in reviewing Mr. Skelton's"Comedy of the Noctes, " are not quite wide of themark " There is a body of truest humour in the' Noctes Ambrosianæ, ' and this we say, though weDefects ofthe "Noctes." 179believe that Wilson had not quite the spontaneity ofrollicking Rabelaisian fun that he is credited withby his disciples. The truth is , the Noctes ' recurrently pass into the merest manufacture andword-spinning, simply because Wilson would allowhimself to be tempted into veins, and to deal withsubjects , which disclosed the play of sentiments andmoods, strictly speaking, alien altogether from thatform of fun. Why, the very introduction of Thomasde Quincey, though it served very well as a temporary expedient, was distinctly a false note, betraying at every turn the emergence of a sympathywith a side of De Quincey's nature, i.e. , the dreamyside, which, to a really sensitive reader, makes theShepherd's outbreaks too often grate and jar somehow like a false note. No, no; Wilson was ahumorist, but in the Noctes ' he was beguiledinto touching strings that snapped under his heavytouch, and his hand on the tenser strings are thereafter seen to be less firm for a while. Still, he hasthe unique gift of going on, as though there were nodiscord, as though everything came to him withequal relish, and demanded, as it received , equal expression. In spite of the greatness of the Noctes,'viewed in one aspect, Wilson was greater than them;but then the effort to sustain them in no slight degree confirmed his discursiveness , his brilliant andsometimes erratic demonstrations. "6One who was well acquainted with the gatheringsfrom which Wilson drew his suggestions for theNoctes, thus speaks of De Quincey's part in them" De Quincey wound along through all the uproar his own quiet, deep current of philosophical and180 De Quincey's Life and Writings.poetic imaginings, tinged with that soft shade whichoverlies all his better converse as well as writing,and reminds you of his favourite words-' The grace of forest charms decayed,And pastoral melancholy. "Two of the greatest poets of our own day-poetswho have in a remarkable degree combined sincereself- analysis with nice dramatic presentation-agreein regarding the need of reactionary escape fromsolitude to society, of which we have spoken, as insome very special and subtle way indicating poetic sensibility and power. Mr. Matthew Arnold, inthat graceful poem, in which, more exhaustivelythan elsewhere, he has summed up the special moraland intellectual burdens of the time, and his ownrelations to them, has this verse:-"Ah, two desires toss aboutThe poet's feverish blood!—One drives him to the world without,And one to solitude."Mr. Robert Browning, again , under the phantasy of" Parting at Morning," significantly presents uswith the following as a complete poem: —"Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,And the sun looked over the mountain's rim;And straight was a path of gold for him,And the need of a world of men for me."And, assuredly, De Quincey, in the need that fellupon him, in the reaction , alike for contact withnature and the refreshment of solitude, and for thestimulus of social intercourse, showed some tokenof the poetic quality, and from it derived an indefin-Over-exalted Sensibility.181able consistency and balance of character-that keensympathy and ready imagination alongside of quietpatience and discreet toleration , which is utterlyalien from the ordinary conception of him as a meredreamer.Over- exalted sensibility does not generally coexistwith wide and keenly individual sympathies: the reverse indeed. If the reader recalls to mind Swift, orSterne, or Rousseau, he will at once perceive what ismeant. Even the mildly- sustained sympathetic impulses in Cowper owed much to accidental but exceptionally happy associations of a domestic kind, andwould undoubtedly, but for these, have passed into adiseased and perverted egotism, intensified by the gloomytheological atmosphere into which at intervals he wandered, as if under the dictate of some relentless fate.In De Quincey, the nervous irritation which, as he says,"travelled rapidly over the disk of his life, " lifted or washeld in suspense for a brief space, when he could relievehimself from morbid preoccupations, by the presentmentof striking characters or situations which called hissympathies and his humour into play. No more perfectinstance of this could be cited than the picture he hasgiven us of those hours of escape from self-communionduring his residence in Grasmere, when at nightfall hewould sally forth, and engage his imagination in tracingout the course of the evening through its householdhieroglyphics from the windows which he passed orsaw; or his confession of some kind of compulsion leading him to fraternise with the Spanish-Galway gipsieson Glasgow Green; or his patient listening to the longwinded petitions of the beggars at Lasswade, of which182 De Quincey's Life and Writings.his daughter has humorously told us. We even seesome trace of it in the fun which, in later years, he takesout of that Saturday-night search for a stationer's shop,and his finding one-"the last rose of summer "—stillopen, to enable him to gratify himself by finishing aletter to his daughter. Nay, it may be that somethingwas gained to this side of his nature under the resultsof these simplicities and imprudences, which led himseveral times amongst poorer and less fastidious people,in whom he most often found good points in spite of hisown fastidiousness in certain respects. At all events,a remarkable humour and observant patience go alongwith his exalted sensibilities; supporting his keen andalways kindly interest in the commonplace people abouthim as well as his generally kindly interest in thedistinguished people he had met a point this whichsuggests a remarkable contradiction in a certain unsympathetic writer, when she in one breath condemns DeQuincey for visionary helplessness and diseased introspection, and comments severely on his proclivities togossip, &c. This same writer, we may remark by theway, here shows, in spite of her rare endowments, asignificant lack of discernment or subtlety of analysis,when she discredits his power of will, as having beenexhausted in his earliest struggles with opium, and yetadmits that in his later years he " abstained, or almostabstained," under the necessity of fortune-(a mistake,as we have seen, for in his later years no necessity suchas this implies lay upon him even to pen a line) . Forcritical discernment, this is about equal to that lady'ssage deliverance, sagely repeated, that Lord Macaulay"wanted heart "-the existence of a healthy, sponta-ACritical Puzzle. 183neous, unaffected, boyish good- heartedness being evidenton every page of his writings, and fully attested indetail by his memoir; while she would actually seem tocredit him with subtlety, and delicate discernment of thenuances of thought and imagination-in all of which, inany true and distinguishing sense, Lord Macaulay wasas signally deficient as he was signally blessed withhonest open English goodness of heart.*Wemeanwhile return to our proper subject, from suchone-sided pretence of characterisation, to say, that it wasmainly by means of these links binding him to commoninterests and sympathies -links which opium nevercancelled, or even greatly weakened-that De Quinceysaved himself from lapsing into a life purely artificial,morbid, and helpless. The more credit to him thathe did so, though the critical puzzle of his characteris increased. One side of his nature, we have all alongfreely admitted, constantly tended that way, committinghim to solitude, to constant reverie, to complete prostration under opium, to final and irrevocable relaxation ofthe will. This tendency to real life it was, declaringitself recurrently and with great strength, which chieflyenabled him to persevere in exercise, and force himself,as he says, into companionship with his fellow-men; andthese two things did more to aid his final escape fromopium than any other two causes put together. That is apoor analysis which would acknowledge a result, and yet

• And so this lady, accredited as a critic far above her

deserts, blunders in the most of the cases of the great menshe has tried to focus and to photograph, unless, indeed, wheredirect fact or gossip plentifully existed for her guidance as totraits.184 De Quincey's Life and Writings.remove to a background the elements of character thatmade it possible; and this is precisely what has beendone in the case of certain critics who have dealt, asthey thought, severely by Thomas de Quincey. Wehave from first to last acknowledged frankly his weak-:nesses, his lack of practical power in certain respects;but the puzzle of his character rests precisely here—thatin combination with dreamy abstraction, helplessness,and over- sensibility amounting to disease, there shouldhave existed great powers of observation, sympathy,humour, self- possession, dignity, and courtesy of manner; and it is no ungracious or ungrateful thing to say,that we have found but little help to understanding itfrom such critics as these. Yet we humbly think it isworth being studied and understood , if it possesses anysuch interest at all as would tempt one to write anarticle upon it.In spite of such writing as we have here reprobated,it is only when such elements of character are recognised,and when a sense of the complexity and difficulty whichthey present leads on to a suspense of dogmatism and amood of sympathy, that we can possibly find any realmeaning in such passages as the following:-" I, whose disease it was to meditate too much andto observe too little, and who, upon my first entranceat college, was nearly falling into a deep melancholy,from brooding too much on the sufferings I hadwitnessed in London, was sufficiently aware of thesetendencies in my own thoughts to do all I could tocounteract them. I was, indeed , like a person who,according to the old Pagan legend, had entered the caveof Trophonius; and the remedies I sought were to forceHis Reveries. 185myself into society, and to keep my understanding incontinual activity upon subtleties of philosophic speculation. But for these remedies I should certainly havebecome hypochondriacally melancholy. In after years,however, when my cheerfulness was more fully reestablished, I yielded to my natural inclination for asolitary life. At that time, I often fell into such reveriesafter taking opium; and many a time it has happenedto me on a summer night -- when I have been seated atan open window, from which I could overlook the sea ata mile below me, and could at the same time command a.view of some great town standing at a different radius ofmy circular prospect, but at nearly the same distance—that from sunset to sunrise, all through the hours ofnight, I have continued motionless, as if frozen, withoutconsciousness of myself as of an object any way distinctfrom the multiform scene which I contemplated fromabove. Such a scene in all its elements was not unfrequently realised for me on the gentle eminence ofEverton. Obliquely to the left lay the many- languagedtown of Liverpool; obliquely to the right, the multitudinous sea. The scene itself was somewhat typical ofwhat took place in such a reverie. The town of Liverpool represented the earth, with its sorrows and itsgraves left behind, yet not out of sight, nor whollyforgotten. The ocean, in everlasting but gentle agitation, yet brooded over by dovelike calm, might notunfitly typify the mind, and the mood which thenswayed it. For it seemed to me as if then first I stoodat a distance, aloof from the uproar of life; as if thetumult, the fever, and the strife, were suspended; arespite were granted from the secret burdens of the186 De Quincey's Life and Writings.heart; some sabbath of repose; some resting fromhuman labours. Here were the hopes which blossomin the paths of life, reconciled with the peace which isin the grave; motions of the intellect as unwearied asthe heavens, yet for all anxieties a halcyon calm; tranquillity that seemed no product of inertia, but as ifresulting from mighty and equal antagonisms; infiniteactivities, infinite repose. "The wholly abnormal cast of his idiosyncrasy on oneside is seen in the exceptional effects which opium produced upon him. Instead of the dreamy depressionand sense of blankness which are generally experiencedunder its effects in the first instance, he acknowledges onlya sensation of delight; instead of compelling him to adreamy solitude, it stimulated him to a more active andlively interest in the lot of others. When not used ingreat excess, it steadied his thoughts and concentratedthem; for it is very noticeable, that in the periods whenhe chiefly complains of the electrical rapidity and rush ofhis thoughts being such that only one out of fifty couldhe detain and write down, he was abstinent or almostabstinent.It has been often remarked that the "Confessions "bear evidence of the exalted, idealised character due toopium; and that they are to be taken rather as theimpressions of events seen through a vista of years,burdened with dream memories, than as a faithful recordof facts and incidents. In one sense this is true; inanother it is not. We believe that they are faithful tofacts, so far as facts, in such a sensitively intellectualand imaginative nature, could be separated from theimpressions produced by them. However much theAn Ideal Life. 187matter-of-fact or scientific reader might desiderateclearer details on certain points, the ordinary common.sense is satisfied by the recurrence of brief episodes,which are presented with a Defoe-like sincerity andcirc*mstantiality, as Charles Knight says, which conveyor restore the impression of psychological or ideal faithfulness; and in this lies the writer's art. To De Quinceyhimself, deducting what he felt was due to the necessityof disguise, even in the later forms of the work, it wasall in the strictest sense true. There was no conscious"elevation " or departure from fact. But one element,already hinted at, must be distinctly emphasised andhere exhibited in some of its specific bearings. It isessential to De Quincey's freedom that he should belifted above certain lines of thought, or even of perception, which would necessitate a recognition of materialor merely sensuous elements for their own sake. He willnot consent to view the fact in itself, and honestly confesses that his relation to the fact is the one essential.And so far he is egotistic; but egotistic only because hisnature was framed for an ideal life. In all relations itis true that, as Mr. Hill Burton has said, pressing andimmediate needs alone could extort from him theacknowledgment of a material world, and that onlywhile the needs lasted. We see this as clearly inthe "Confessions " as anywhere. Observe how the details which he gathers and crystallises round a series ofleading incidents are in his view wholly subordinatedto the dreams. All is from the first viewed simplyas leading up to them, and drawing such importanceas they individually possess in his eyes from this fact.The only unity in his view is to be found in the dreams;188- De Quincey's Life and Writings.66and hence the sympathetic demand made upon thereader at the very outset, if justice is to be done tothem in the reading. The final object of the wholerecord," he says, "lay in the dreams. For the sakeof these the entire narrative arose. " The phantasy notonly works in alliance with the logical faculty, but commands it, like a pilot who for the nonce supersedes thecaptain. So, too, when he distinctly tells that, thoughhis physical sufferings were sometimes " appalling," heholds that his " greatest misfortune " was his failing torecover any trace of Ann of Oxford Street, and that hisdisease is studiously spoken of in general only. Hisphysical sufferings, his hunger, his gnawing pains,all in effect pass from his memory in view of the oneleading impression of that loss, which is thus exalted, and artistically finds its justification in the place.accorded to her in the dreams. For the same reasonit is that, though his sufferings are spoken of as inexpressible, and figures derived from the convulsions ofnature -earthquake, volcano, and tempest -used toillustrate them, there is no attempt to discriminatestrictly between the sufferings of the body and thesufferings of the mind. Even the thoughtful readeris apt to lose sight of the collateral record of specificdisease that clearly runs along with this record ofmental impressions, and to become oblivious of thefact that any such ever existed. And this the morethat, mainly to relieve what would otherwise have beena monotonous and painful recital, he allows himself toslip into the use of the word " enjoyment" in referenceto his opium-eating in a special sense.The verypopularity of the " Confessions " has in this way comeLooks to Remote Possibilities. 189to bear against his character, when only one side of themis followed and the other ignored. If, for the moment,he permits himself to acknowledge his communicativeness of personal details, it is at once justified by an ulterior reason bearing on possibilities the most remote;while his apology must be taken to bear rather on hisanalysis of moods and feelings than on his presentationof facts and outward details generally. He writes inone place:-"You will think, perhaps, that I am too confidentialand communicative of my own private history. It maybe so. But my way of writing is rather to think aloudand follow my own humours, than much to inquirewho is listening to me.... The fact is, I imaginemyself writing at a distance of twenty-thirty-fiftyyears ahead of this present moment, either for the satisfaction of the few who may then retain any interest inmyself, or of the many (a number that is sure to becontinually growing) who will take an inextinguishableinterest in the mysterious powers of opium. "The tendency, so marked and pervading, to ignorethe outward and material in view of mental or ideal impressions, points to a possibility which, unless checked,as it was in his case, by nearly counterbalancing qualities,is apt to pass into morbid melancholy, if not into insanityitself. This is the susceptibility to fall under one overruling impression or train of thought, without the powerto find checks to it in outward occurrences. We see itclearly in many incidents in the autobiographic sketches-in the trance by the side of his sister's corpse; in theconfession that his brother's announcement that theinhabitants of his imaginary kingdom had tails like190 De Quincey's Life and Writings.monkeys affected him as keenly as if it had been areal circ*mstance; we see it also in that complete prostration under sorrow at the death of little KatherineWordsworth, and the illusions of the eye thence resulting. These are but extreme phases of that excessiveabstraction and high-strung idealism which manifestedthemselves so powerfully in his writings, and mighteven be said, paradoxical as the remark may be thought,to have determined his political position . He was aLiberal by his sympathies, though a Tory in name.What he revolted against in ultra-Liberalism was itsearly alliance with a utilitarian and purely materialpurpose. This is a point which has been so well putby a very able writer that we cannot do better thanquote his words here:-" He was, in fact, a Tory from the spiritual andideal side of Toryism; and during the rude materialstruggle of those early years, this aspect of the creedwas necessarily much out of sight. Latterly, however, and immediately after the Reform Bill, he becamea Tory of the strictest sect. But this was rather because he revolted from the unimaginative and utilitariancharacter of Radicalism than because he approved thewhole practical policy of the Tories. He was in manyrespects a Liberal in the truest sense of the word. Hewas ready to challenge all comers, to investigate allproblems, to hold up every truth to the light. "And this in spite of his keen analytic intellect, which,so to speak, only gave a more elevated platform fromwhich to contemplate the larger questions of politics.It is exceedingly characteristic of him that, in hisclose - thoughted essay on the " Political Parties ofPolitical Parties. 191Modern England," he should endeavour to establish anecessity for the existence of the two great parties ascomplemental rather than as opposing or harshly exclusive, which they must seem to be when looked at fromthe accidental point of view, where merely temporaryand personal elements prevail. But he sees a " spiritualprinciple " behind all this; and expresses his surprisethat "interpretations so idle of the refined differencesbetween two parties, arising in the very bosom of civilisation , and at the most intellectual era of the most intel-·lectual of nations, -interpretations so gross ofdifferencesso spiritual, could ever have been entertained by reflective men. " The two parties divide the functions of theConstitution; but, in dividing these, they still distributetheir care over the whole. Parties as depositories ofprinciple he regards rather than parties as seekers ofpower; and he holds, and shows by many instances, thatin great crises their interests collide and harmonise toaugment stability of institutions. The enormity of evil,he holds, has come by political depravity, when partieshad become personal parties. They then need to beraised to the higher level of principle by national misfortune or crises.Another striking point may be noted in connectionwith his idealising tendency. It is this, that althoughshy and sensitive in the extreme, shrinking from contact with artificial life in all its forms, he was remarkably fearless. His love of night-wandering might betaken to prove this, no less than his liking, that laynear to his innocently Bohemian propensity, for newsurroundings. He was, in this sense, remarkably independent of circ*mstances: given quietude, he was almost192 De Quincey's Life and Writings.anywhere at home. Mr. Charles Knight speaks of hisbeing haunted by fears and imaginations; but thesealmost invariably resulted from some contact with artificial life, from which his one healthful relief was escapeto nature and solitude. On this point, Mrs. Baird Smithvery well says:-66 There was one feature of my father's character whichdeserves to be pointed out,-this was the demand forthe excitement of fear. This used to account to us fora great many of his curious habits, and his exaggerateddifficulties about petty matters. He was quite incapableof fear in the real sense of the word, so much so that hecould not understand it in us as children or young people;and when he was chilling our marrow with awesomestories of ghosts, murders, and mysteries, he only thoughthe was producing a luxurious excitement, though I cansafely say I have never conquered the eerie terrors ofthose times. This enjoyment of the excitement of concealment and lurking enemies, &c. , has always accountedto us in some measure for his positive dislike to havinghis affairs looked into and set straight, and it is borneout by his settling down much like other people whenthe excitement became burthensome to him throughgrowing years."These peculiar characteristics, we believe, may betaken, in conjunction with others, to account so far forhis aversion to allow any business man to undertake thearrangement of his affairs, which would at any time,even when most disordered , have been comparatively easy.First, we can imagine that he shrank from the exposureof what would inevitably have borne, to such an one, theappearance of simplicity and folly in himself, and next,His Religious Vein. 193he was haunted by fears that any one who had been inan intimate relation with him might suffer rudeness orloss at the hands of an agent.Of the deep religious vein which had a subtle affinitywith this high-strung idealism, and which penetrates hismore serious writings, much might be said. For thepurely sceptical attitude he has no favour: it is, in hisview, highly irrational, as discrediting the most authoritative voices vested in man's higher nature. And hisreligious impulses, which were allied with so much thatwas dreamy and ideal, were amenable to the most logicalconstructions and justifications in his own hands. Asexhibiting this very efficiently, we may be permitted toquote from a writer to whom we must acknowledge ourselves indebted:-"Of the essays which we style religious, the generaltone is that of a moderate High Churchman, but ofone, nevertheless, who in any theological controversywould choose to take his own ground. With theEvangelical clergymen of the period it is not in hisnature to sympathise. Both the doctrines and themanners of that school were repulsive to him. Buthe seems to have been perfectly indifferent to manypoints which in the Anglo-Catholic theory are essentials. Episcopacy he upheld because it was practicallythe best form of Church government for England. Ofbaptismal regeneration he thought so little, that heactually had a dispute with Wordsworth as to whetherit was the doctrine of the English Church or not. Norwas he convinced until Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, theelder, whom they appointed arbiter, assured him therecould be no doubt about the matter. Even then, howVOL. II. N194 De Quincey's Life and Writings.ever, he fidgeted under the burden of the discovery, andprophesied that before long that very question wouldagitate the Church of England to the centre-a prediction verified afterwards by the now half- forgottenGorham case. On the question of inspiration his viewswere in accordance with the most advanced EnglishChurchmen of the present day. He seems to havethought there was a good deal in Dr. Newman's theoryof development, not as tending to favour Romanism,but as helping to harmonise Scripture with modernthought. He appears to mean that concurrently withthe progress of mankind both in knowledge andcivilisation will the matter of the Bible become clearer,. and he instances the difference of our own interpretation of Scripture texts upon witchcraft and slaveryfrom that of former generations. If we ever thoughtthat Scripture enjoined us to burn or drown any poorold woman against whom her neighbours had a grudge,or that it sanctioned the sale and purchase of humanbeings and their consequent treatment like beasts,why may we not be under equal delusion upon certainother points now? But the successive disappearance oferrors before the gradual advance of truth was development; and De Quincey accordingly believed that moreof it was probably in store for us." In all the cardinal doctrines of Christianity, DeQuincey was a steadfast believer. His reply to Humeupon miracles, though very short, and perhaps littleknown, well deserves the attention of students of divinity.His vindication of Christianity as a peculiar religion,such that it cannot be regarded either simply as one ofa series, or co-ordinate with other equally widespreadVindication ofChristianity. 195religions, is a masterly performance. He calls attentionto the fact that in no other religion but Christianity andthose which are connected with it is morality recognisedas religious. The national worship or cultus has beenin all other religions wholly separated from questions ofvirtue and vice. In Christianity alone is our duty to ourneighbour made part of our duty to God. In Judaismthis is partially the case; in Mohammedanism less so;but still the influence of a true revelation is to bedetected in the one as well as in the other. Theoriginality and subtlety of De Quincey's mind are nowhere more conspicuous than in this essay; and it isworthy of observation that an intellect at once so powerful and so keen as his, and a boldness of inquiry whichshrank from no length of investigation, should neverhave carried its possessor beyond the confines of revelation."-Quarterly Review , 1861 .The fable of the chameleon does not lack applicationin the reading of character. It results from the singularcomplexity of elements in the man we are studying—acomplexity which we have honestly endeavoured to recognise and to understand -that, as there were two Richmonds in the field, so there are already various DeQuinceys in biographical literature. How reconcile, forinstance, the De Quincey of Wilson, of Charles Knight,of Miss Mitford, of Mr. Hill Burton, of Mr. J. T. Fields,of Hawthorne, and others, with the De Quincey of MissM——————, and those who have followed her? They cannotall be true and exhaustive. Taken as complete portraits,they simply exclude each other. We cannot be far wrong.in such a case, to prefer what is sympathetic and genialto what is hard, unresponsive, and dogmatic, knowing as196 De Quincey's Life and Writings.we do that in all such cases it is the heart that sees;or, in other words, that the eye sees what it brings withit the power of seeing, and however quick by itself, seesbut the outside, the coat, the clothes, the colour of thepaper in which the real coin is wrapped up.Thus in De Quincey we see emerge out of a combination of faculties usually regarded as alien to it,a warm interest in life in its varied aspects, vicarious sympathies , not to any degree artificialised , asin Rousseau and men of his type, by perverted sensibilities that have been fed by analysis of prurientexperiences. Nor in De Quincey's case do we seeany trace of his submerging the individual in a general haze of pseudo-humanitarianism, as is inevitablythe tendency of sentimentalism, pure and proper.His peculiar interest in humanity does not lessen hiskeenness of sympathy with individual cases. He hasall an Englishman's love for getting at the fact, atthe individual. It is his keen individual interestthat makes his dreams so touching, notwithstandingthe exceptional atmosphere in which his great narrative for the most part moves, and also-though itmay surprise some to read it-imparts to much ofhis writing an evident love for innocent gossip.How much, for example, do his writings owe tosuch personal touches as this:-:-" How feelingly I learned in London, as heretofore I had learned on the wild hillsides in Wales,what an unspeakable blessing is that of warmth! Amore killing curse there does not exist, for man orwoman, than that bitter combat between the weariness that prompts sleep and the keen searching coldthat forces you from the first access of sleep to startBlessing of Warmth.6197up horror - stricken, and to seek warmth vainly inrenewed exercise, though long since fainting underfatigue. . . . O ancient women, daughters of toil andsuffering, amongst all the hardships and bitter inheritances of flesh that ye are called upon to face,not one-not even hunger-seems in my eyes comparable to that of nightly cold. To seek a refugefrom cold in bed, and then, from the thin, gauzytexture of the miserable, worn- out blankets, not tosleep a wink, ' as Wordsworth records of poor oldwomen in Dorsetshire, where coals, from local causes ,were at the very dearest, -what a terrific enemy wasthat for poor old grandmothers to face in fight! .About this time ( 1802) a hideous sensation began tohaunt me as soon as I fell into a slumber, which hassince returned upon me at different periods of mylife, viz. , a sort of twitching ( I knew not where,but apparently about the region of the stomach),which compelled me violently to throw out my feetfor the sake of relieving it. This sensation comingon as soon as I began to sleep, and the effort torelieve it constantly awaking me, at length I sleptonly from exhaustion , and through increasing weakness (as I said before) , I was constantly fallingasleep and constantly awaking. Too generally thevery attainment of any deep repose seemed as ifmechanically linked to some fatal necessity of selfinterruption. It was as though a cup were graduallyfilled by the sleepy overflow of some natural fountain,the fulness of the cup expressing symbolically thecompleteness of the rest; but then , in the next stageof the process, it seemed as though the rush andtorrent-like babbling of the redundant waters, when-198 De Quincey's Life and Writings.running over from every part of the cup, interruptedthe slumber which, in their earlier stage of silentgathering, they had so naturally produced. Suchand so regular in its swell and its collapse- -in itstardy growth and its violent dispersion-did thisendless alternation of stealthy sleep and stormyawaking, travel through stages as natural as theincrements of twilight, or the kindlings of the dawn:no rest that was not a prologue to terror; no sweettremulous pulses of restoration that did not suddenly explode through rolling clamours of fiery disruption.99And this leads us to a point where we must useand attempt to justify a certain phrase which, aswe have hinted , will no doubt be felt at first tobe somewhat startling in reference to De Quincey.This is the John Bull element which we referred toin our introductory chapter, and which, incredibleas it may appear, lay deep in De Quincey's nature,in association with all a dreamer's love of solitude, anerratic if still inoffensive vein of Bohemianism, anda speculative subtlety more like that of a Germanthan of an Englishman. This John Bull elementto a great extent sprang out of, and depended upon,his love of human nature in its uncorrupted simplicity. The poetic vein of sentiment, conjoined withdeep reverence for ancient forms with which thismost readily allies itself, tends inevitably to a certainconservatism of nature. De Quincey was thus far aconservative. And we must needs confess , that hedid not escape some of the prejudices which are common to all such dispositions. Taken on the side ofsympathy, they are necessarily patriotic rather than4The John Bull Element. 199cosmopolitan; and wide as may be their eclecticismand openness to new thought, as such, and eager asthey may be for originality in any form, they areapt to have implicit confidence in the customs amongwhich they have been reared. His devotion to theChurch of England is to be accounted for rather onthis ground, than on that of a full acceptance of herformulas, or sympathy with any system that couldgive colour to the least claim of sacerdotalism. Andthe same reason may be given for some of his socialpreferences. One of his critics , indeed , makes goodcause against him on this ground. After havingcondemned some of his views of French and Germanmanners, the critic winds up-" One cannot but regret that the vulgar prejudice of the old-fashionedJohn Bull should have been embodied in the pagesof a master ofour language. " But it is quite possibleto put too rigid a construction on an isolated passage;and certainly De Quincey, in spite of his John Bullism, was sometimes inclined to deal as severely bycertain elements in English life and manners as hecould have done by anything French or German.In one place, for example, we meet with this incisiveanalysis of a weak point:-"Nobody can more readily acknowledge than myself the integrity which lies at the bottom of ourinsular reserve and moroseness. Two sound qualitiesare at the root of these unpleasant phenomenamodesty or unpresumingness in the first place, andsincerity in the second. To be impudent was somuch of the essence of profligacy in the ideas of theancients, that the one became the most ordinary200 De Quincey's Life and Writings.expression for the other; and sincerity again, ordirectness of purpose, is so much of the essence ofconscientiousness, that we take obliquity or crookedness for one way of expounding dishonesty, or depravity of the moral sense-and, according to theirnatural tendencies , no doubt this is true. But suchthings admit of many modifications. Without absolute dissimulation , it is allowable and even laudableto reject, by a second or amended impulse, what thefirst involuntary impulse would have prompted; andto practise so much disguise as may withdraw fromtoo open notice the natural play of the human feelings. By what right does a mau display to another,in his very look of alienation and repulsion at hisfirst introduction, that he dislikes him, or that he isdoubtful whether he shall like him? Yet this is thetoo general movement of British sincerity. Theplay of the feelings, the very flux and reflux of con-

Viz., in the word improbus. But so defective are dictionaries,that there is some difficulty in convincing scholars that the leadingidea of improbus, its sole original idea is—impudence, boldness, oraudacity. Great is the incoherency and absurdity of learnedmen in questions of philology. Thus, Heyne, in a vain attemptto make out (consistently to make out) the well- known words,"labor improbus omnia vincet, " says that improbus means pertinax. How so? Improbus always originally has the meaningof audacious. Thus Pliny, speaking of the first catalogue of starsmade by Hipparchus, calls it, " labor etiam Deo improbus," anenterprise audacious even for a superhuman being. Here is thevery same word labor again qualified by the same epithet. Andfive hundred other cases might be adduced in which the sense ofaudacity, and that only, will unlock all, as by a master key.Salmasius fancied (see his De Pallio of Tertullian) that the trueidea was the excessive or enormous, whatever violated the common standards in any mode of disproportion.Dr. Johnson's Talk.201tending emotions, passes too nakedly, in the veryact and process of introduction, under the eyes ofthe party interested. Frankness is good; honesty isgood; but not a frankness and an honesty whichcounteracts the very purposes of social meetingsfor, unless he comes with the purpose of being pleased,why does a man come at all into meetings, not ofbusiness or necessity, but of relaxation and socialpleasure?" I am not apt to praise the Continent at the expense of my own country; but here is an instancein which, generally speaking, the Continental tasteis better than ours. No great meeting is complete inGermany, in France, or in Italy, unless the intellectof the land—its scholarship, its philosophy, its literature-be there by deputation; the table is notfull ' unless these great leading interests are thererepresented. We inaugurate our wine-cups by remembering the king's health; we inaugurate (let itnot be thought profane to make such an allusion)our great civil transactions by prayer, and remembrance of our highest relations: in reason , then, andby all analogy, we should inaugurate and legitimate,as it were, our meetings of festal pleasure by thepresence of intellectual power and intellectual graceas the ultimate sources upon which we should all beglad to have it thought that our pleasures depend.Aristocracy of Britain! be not careless of the philosophy and intellect of the age, lest it be thoughtthat your pursuits and taste exist in alienation fromboth. Dr. Johnson had talked himself into beingso much talked of, that he had he lived for anothergeneration-would have become indispensable to202 De Quincey's Life and Writings.fashionable parties. Coleridge, who was, most assuredly, far superior in creative power and fertility ofnew intuitions to Dr. Johnson, and immeasurablysuperior in the philosophic understanding (for indirect philosophic speculation Dr. Johnson nevereven attempted anything, except in one little pamphlet against Soame Jenyns) , was scarcely beginningto be heard of amongst the higher circles of England when he died. reason for comparinghim with Dr. Johnson is on account of their comThemon gifts of colloquial power. And it may be mentioned that three persons in all , from the ranks ofintellectual people, have had a footing in privilegedsociety-I mean not merely an admission there, buta known and extensive acceptation. These threewere-Lord Byron, Dr. Johnson, and Sir WalterScott. Now, it is observable that the first was, insome sense, a denizen of such society in right ofbirth and rank; and of both the others it is remarkable that their passes were first countersigned bykings -Dr. Johnson's by George III. , Sir Walter'sby George IV. "There was, however, one point on which he did.not represent the John Bullism of his day; andtherein he showed, as we think, a distinct forecastand anticipation of later social ameliorations. He didnot believe in flogging in any form. He held to theprinciple that " all corporal punishments whatsoever,and upon whomsoever inflicted, are hateful, and anindignity to our common nature-enshrined in theperson ofthe sufferer. . . . As man grows more intellectual, the power of managing him by his intellectand his moral nature, in utter contempt of all...His delight in Crowds.""203appeals to his mere animal instincts of pain, mustgo on pari passu. This is but one of the convictions in which he was confirmed, if indeed it was.not created in him, by his contact with classes ofpeople from whom men, bred in the classes he hadbeen bred in, generally hold affectedly aloof.His peculiar delight in crowds and demonstrations—a characteristic utterly unexpected , looking at himfrom the common point of view-might be citednot inaptly as another expression of this JohnBullism, more especially as the intensity of thedelight was invariably determined by some patriotioor other idea lying outside the mere concourse initself. Many instances of this are to be met within his various writings, and in letters. Particularlydo we recall a most vigorous, and at the same timedelicate and suggestive description of the arrival ofBlucher in London-a sight to which Lamb accompanied him. De Quincey's words, which show how,if cultured, he had nothing of the nil admirari order,transport us back to an old era:" Marshal Blucher, who still more powerfully[than the Czar] converged upon himself the interestof the public, was lodged in a little quadrangle of St.James's Palace (that to the right of the clock-towerentrance. ) So imperious and exacting was thegeneral curiosity to see the features of the old soldier-this Marshal ' Forwards, ' as he was always calledin Germany, who had exhibited the greatest meritof an Abdiel fidelity on occasion of the mightyday of Jena- that the court was filled from anearly hour of every morning, until a late dinnerhour, with a mob of all ranks, calling him by his204 De Quincey's Life and Writings.name, tout court, Blucher! Blucher! ' At shortintervals, not longer in general than five minutes,the old warrior obeyed the summons throughout theday, unless he was known to be absent on somepublic occasion. This slavery must have been mostwearisome to his feelings. But he submitted withthe utmost good-nature, and allowed cheerfully forthe enthusiasm which did so much honour to himself and to his country. In fact, this enthusiasm onhis first arrival in London, showed itself in a waythat astonished everybody, and was half calculatedto alarm a stranger. He had directed the postilionto proceed straightway to Carlton House-his purpose being to present his duty in person to theRegent, before he rested upon English ground." This was his way of expressing his homage tothe British Nation, for upholding, through all fortunes, that sacred cause of which he also never haddespaired. Moreover, his hatred of France and thevery name French was so intense, that upon thattitle also he cherished an ancient love towardsEngland. As the carriage passed through the gateway of the Horse Guards, the crowd which had discovered him, became numerous. When the gardenor park entrance to the palace was thrown open toadmit Blucher, the vast mob, for the first and thelast time, carried the entrance as if by storm.opposition from the porters, the police, the soldierson duty, was in vain; and many thousands of peopleaccompanied the veteran, literally hustling hiscarriage, and, in a manner, carrying him in theirarms to the steps of the palace door-on the top ofwhich, waiting to receive him, stood the EnglishAllMarshal " Forwards." *205Regent. The Regent himself smiled graciously andapprovingly upon this outrage which, on any minoroccasion, would have struck him with consternation ,perhaps, as well as disgust. Lamb, as well asmyself, witnessed part of the scene; which was themost emphatic exhibition of an uncontrolled impulse-a perfect rapture of joy and exultation, possessinga vast multitude with entire unity of feeling, that Ihave ever witnessed. . . . Marshal Blucher, at least,could have no reason to think us an arrogant people,or narrow in our national sensibilities to merit,wherever found. He could not but know that wehad also great military names to show-one or twogreater than his own; for in reality, his qualitieswere those of a mere fighting captain , with no greatreach of capacity, and of slender accomplishments.Yet we that is to say, even the street mob of London-glorified him as Lord Nelson was never glorified,certainly more than they ever did the Duke ofWellington. " *And if he was faithful to a healthy John Bullismin this enthusiasm for patriotic crowds, he as certainly reflected it in his way of disposing, as if by

• One of the few persons still living, who, like De Quincey,

witnessed this spectacle, viz. , Lord Albemarle, thus writes of itin his " Recollections of Fifty Years: "-" In the month of June1814, there was a whole menagerie of ' lions ' in the persons ofthe allied sovereigns and their most distinguished generals.They had come over to pay a visit to that ally whose powerful co-operation had enabled them to hurl from the throne themightiest tyrant with which the world had been afflicted inmodern times. I formed one of the crowd that assembled onWestminster Bridge to witness the arrival of Field- Marshal VonBlucher, or • Blucher,' as the Londoners used to call him. We206 De Quincey's Life and Writings.anticipation, of the rights-of- woman theory. Thispassage occurs in the eloquent essay on " Joan ofArc! "" Woman, sister, there are some things whichyou do not execute as well as your brother, man;no, nor never will. Pardon me if I doubt whetheryou will ever produce a great poet from your choirs,or a Mozart, or a Phidias, or a Michael Angelo,or a great philosopher, or a great scholar. Bywhich last is meant-not one who depends simplyon an infinite memory, but also on an infinite andelectional power of combination; bringing togetherfrom the four winds, like the angel of the resurrection , what else were dust from dead men's bones,into the unity of breathing life. If you can createyourselves into any of these great creators , why haveyou not?" Yet, sister woman, though I cannot consent tofind a Mozart or a Michael Angelo in your sex,cheerfully, and with the love that burns in depths ofadmiration, I acknowledge that you can do onething as well as the best of us men-a greater thingthan ever Milton is known to have done, or MichaelAngelo, -you can die grandly, and as goddesseshad been waiting a good hour and a half, when we heard loudcheering from the Surrey side, intermingled with cries of' Blucher for ever. ' The object of this ovation turned out to bea fat, greasy butcher, mounted on a sorry nag, and carrying ameat-tray on his shoulder. Shortly afterwards Marshal ' Forwards ' appeared in a barouche drawn by four horses, which,from the density of the crowd, were obliged to go at a foot'space. We gave him a most enthusiastic reception, and he returned our greetings by holding out his hand to be shaken bythe men and kissed by the women."Marie Antoinette. 207would die, were goddesses mortal. If any distantworlds (which may be the case) are so far ahead ofus Tellurians in optical resources, as to see distinctlythrough their telescopes all that we do on earth,what is the grandest sight to which we ever treatthem? St. Peter's at Rome, do you fancy, on EasterSunday, or Luxor, or perhaps the Himalayas? Ohno! my friend: suggest something better; theseare baubles to them; they see in other worlds , intheir own, far better toys of the same kind. These,take my word for it, are nothing. Do you give itup? The finest thing, then, we have to show them,is a scaffold on the morning of execution. I assureyou there is a strong muster in those far telescopicworlds on any such morning, of those who happen tofind themselves occupying the right hemisphere topeep at us. How, then, if it be announced in somesuch telescopic world by those who make a livelihood of catching glimpses at our newspapers, whoselanguage they have long since deciphered, that thepoor victim in the morning's sacrifice is a woman?How, if it be published in that distant world thatthe sufferer wears upon her head, in the eyes ofmany, the garlands of martyrdom? How, if itshould be some Marie Antoinette, the widowed queen,coming forward on the scaffold, and presenting tothe morning air her head, turned grey by sorrow,daughter of Cæsars kneeling down humbly to kissthe guillotine, as one that worships death? How,if it were the noble Charlotte Corday, that in thebloom of youth, that with the loveliest of persons ,that with homage waiting upon her smiles wherevershe turned her face to scatter them-homage that208 De Quincey's Life and Writings.followed these smiles as surely as the carols of birds,after showers in spring, follow the reappearing sunand the racing of sunbeams over the hills—yetthought all these things cheaper than the dust uponher sandals, in comparison of deliverance from hellfor her dear , suffering France! Ah! these werespectacles indeed for these sympathising people indistant worlds; and some, perhaps, would suffer asort of martyrdom themselves, because they could nottestify their wrath, could not bear witness to thestrength of love and to the fury of hatred thatburned within them at such scenes; could notgather into golden urns some of that glorious dustwhich rested in the catacombs of earth. "And with respect to the weakness of men in theregard they pay to the personal appearance of eachother, he has a confession to make, which certainlyalso breathes somewhat of the air of John Bullism,though we might regard it as having been in a measure fortified by purely personal considerations." From my very earliest years-that is, theearliest years in which I had any sense of whatbelongs to true dignity of mind-I declare to youthat I have considered the interest which men,grown men, take in the personal appearance of eachother as one of the meanest aspects under whichhuman curiosity presents itself. Certainly, I havethe same intellectual perceptions of differences insuch things as other men have; but I connect noneof the feelings, whether of admiration or contempt,liking or disliking, which are obviously connected.with these perceptions by human beings generally.Such words as commanding appearance, ' ' pre-A Man's " Physics." 209possessing appearance, ' ' prepossessing countenance, 'applied to the figures or faces of the males of thehuman species , have no meanings in my ears: noman commands me, no man prepossesses me, byanything in, on, or about his carcass. What care Ifor any man's legs? I laugh at his ridiculous presumption in conceiting that I shall trouble myselfto admire or to respect anything that he can producein his physics. What! shall I honour Milo for thevery qualities which he has in common with thebeastly ox he carries-his thews and sinews , hisponderous strength and weight, and the quantity ofthumping that his hide will carry? I disclaim anddisdain any participation in such green-girl feelings.I admit that the feelings I am here condemning arefound in connection with the highest intellects; inparticular, Mr. Coleridge, for instance, once said tome, as a justifying reason for his dislike of a certaincelebrated Scotsman, with an air of infinite disgust-'that ugh! ' (making a guttural sound as if ofexecration) he ' (viz. , the said Scotsman) was sochicken-hearted. ' I have been assured, by the way,that Mr. Coleridge was mistaken in the mere matterof fact; but supposing that he were not, what areason for a philosopher to build a disgust upon!And Mr. Wordsworth, in or about the year 1820, inexpressing the extremity of his nil admirari spirit,declared that he would not go ten yards out of hisroad to see the finest specimen of man (intellectuallyspeaking) that Europe had to show; and so far,indeed, I do not quarrel with his opinion , but Mr.Wordsworth went on to say that this indifference didnot extend itself to man considered physically; andVOL. II."210 De Quincey's Life and Writingsthat he would still exert himself to a small extent(suppose a mite or so) , for the sake of seeingBelzoni. That was the case he instanced, and, as Iunderstood him, not by way of general illustrationof his meaning, but that he really felt an exclusiveinterest in this particular man's physics. Now,Belzoni was certainly a good tumbler, as I haveheard; and hopped well on one leg, when surmounted and erected by a pyramid of men and boys;and jumped capitally through a hoop; and did allsorts of tricks in all sorts of styles, not at all worsethan any monkey, bear, or learned pig, that everexhibited in Great Britain. And I would myselfhave given a shilling to have seen him fight thatcursed Turk that assaulted him in the streets ofCairo; and would have given him a crown for catching the circumcised dog by the throat and effectuallytaking the conceit out of his Mohammedan carcass;but then that would have been for the spectacle ofthe passions, which, in such a case, would have beenlet loose as to the mere animal Belzoni- (who afterall was not to be compared to Topham, the Warwickshire man, that drew back by main force a cart,and its driver, and a strong horse) —as to the mereanimal Belzoni, I say, and his bull neck, I wouldhave much preferred to see a real bull or the Darlington ox. The sum of the matter is this: allmen, even those who are most manly in their styleof thinking and feeling, in many things retainthe childishness of their childish years: no manthoroughly weeds himself of all. And this par.ticular mode of childishness is one of the commonestinto which they fall the more readily from the forceHighest Mode of Intercourse. 21 Iof sympathy, and because they apprehend no reasonfor directing any vigilance against it. But I contendthat reasonably no feelings of deep interest arejustifiable as applied to any point of external form orfeature in human beings, unless under certain reservations one of which is, that they shall have referenceto women; because women, being lawfully the objectsof passions and tender affections, which can haveno existence as applied to men, are objects also,rationally and consistently, of all other secondaryfeelings (such as those derived from their personalappearance) which have any tendency to promote andsupport the first. Whereas between men the highestmode of intercourse is merely intellectual, which isnot of a nature to receive support or strength fromany feelings of pleasure or disgust connected withthe accidents of external appearance: but exactly inthe degree in which these have any influence at allthey must warp and disturb by improper biasses;and the single case of exception , where such feelingscan be honourable and laudable amongst the malesof the human species, is when they regard suchdeformities as are the known products and expressions of criminal or degrading propensities. Allbeyond this, I care not by whom countenanced, isinfirmity of mind, and would be baseness if it werenot excused by imbecility. "The personal point obtrudes itself on one or twooccasions in the course of his multifarious writings.For example, in defending himself from the possiblecharge that he had been tempted to slip into therecital of certain circ*mstances in relation to Dr.212 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Parr in order to a disparagement of his personalappearance, he writes:-" I, that write this paper, have myself a mean,personal appearance; and I love men of mean appearance. Having one spur more than other mento seek distinction in those paths where nature hasnot obstructed them, they have one additional chance(and a great one) for giving an extended development to their intellectual powers. Many a man hasrisen to eminence under the powerful reaction ofhis mind, in fierce counter- agency (sometimes evenmore nobly, in grand benignant indifference) , to thescorn of the unworthy, daily evoked by his personaldefects, who with a handsome person would havesank into the luxury of a careless life under thetranquillising smiles of continual admiration . "But, though a conservative by instinct, and asevere critic of manners, how easily, how gracefully,he can yield himself to the sentiment, from which atfirst manners derive their significance and value, butwhich by lapse of time too often dies out of them, toembody and justify itself in exceptional actions. Wehave a striking instance of this in the dying wordsof Kant, when he called for his friend, with the wish," that I should kiss him.""The pathos which belongs to such a mode offinal valediction is dependent altogether for itseffect upon the contrast between itself and the prevailing tone of manners amongst the society wheresuch an incident occurs.In some partsofthnent, there prevailed during the last century a mosteffeminate practice amongst men of exchangingkisses as a regular mode of salutation on meetingFinal Valedictions.after any considerable period of separation.213Undersuch a standard of manners , the farewell kiss of thedying could have no special effect of pathos. But innations so inexorably manly as the English, any act,which for the moment seems to depart from theusual standard of manliness, becomes exceedingly impressive when it recalls the spectators ' thoughts tothe mighty power which has been able to work sucha revolution-the power of death in its final agencies.The brave man has ceased to be in any exclusivesense a man: he has become an infant in his weakness he has become a woman in his craving fortenderness and pity. Forced by agony, he has laiddown his sexual character, and retains only hisgeneric character of a human creature. And hethat is manliest amongst the bystanders, is also thereadiest to sympathise with this affecting change.Ludlow, the Parliamentary general of horse , a manof iron nerves , and peculiarly hostile to all scenicaldisplays of sentiment, mentions, nevertheless , inhis Memoirs, with sympathetic tenderness, the caseof a cousin, —that, when lying mortally wounded onthe ground, and feeling his life to be rapidly welling,entreated his relative to dismount and kiss him.'Everybody must remember the immortal scene onboard the Victory, ' at 4 P.M. , on October 21 , 1805,and the farewell, Kiss me, Hardy, ' of the mightyadmiral. And here, again, in the final valediction ofthe stoical Kant, we read another indication , speakingoracularly from dying lips of natures the sternest,that the last necessity-that call which survives allothers in men of noble and impassioned hearts-—isthe necessity of love, is the call for some relenting6214 De Quincey's Life and Writings.caress, such as may simulate for a moment somephantom image of female tenderness in an hourwhen the actual presence of females is impossible. ”Springing out of this John Bullism, too, we notea very active interest in the leading public movementsof his day. He read the newspapers as regularly asany county member of Parliament, not resting content with political news merely, but passing downwith most curious interest upon details, such aspolice-court reports, criminal trials, and so forth;and he was wont to exercise his ingenuity in trying.to guess at the circ*mstances that had precipitatedthe offence, or in following up the divergent linesof evidence and bringing them all to one point, totrace and identify the criminal. That his knowledge of human affairs was very keen, and hadbeen sharpened by dwelling much and often onthe principle that lies behind the alternate coursesof conduct possible in some of the more difficultaffairs of daily life, is proved by his essayon "Casuistry, " which, in its latter part, comesas near to laying down the true principle in certain very frequent domestic entanglements as anysuch writing could possibly do, -showing how veryfar indeed he was from living apart from any phaseof human life; and how as his experience grew moremature, the habit of never letting go a detail till hehad ranged it under a principle was trained andstrengthened. Had this not been so, he certainlycould not have written that article on " Casuistry."But if any further proof were needed of the justness of his claim to be a philosopher -one to whomnothing that concerned human nature was withoutDuel with Intemperance. 215interest-we might make extract of this most sagacious passage, showing the bearing that the temperance movement has upon good cookery-a point thatdeserves, even at this day, all the emphasis such anauthority can give it. Bad cookery and neglect ofexercise, he holds, are the two chief inducing reasonsfor the increasing love of alcohol. He is graveenough in his view of the evil , but his ready sympathy with acute and morbid forms of sufferingfrom appetite is enough to enable him to relieve thetreatment by airy gleams of humour, and indeed toscarcely thought such a subjectHe writes: —poetise it, as wecould be poetised."One object, to which the gladiator matched insingle duel with intemperance must direct a religiousvigilance, is the digestibility of the food: it must bedigestible, not only by its original qualities , but alsoby its culinary preparation. In this last point weare all of us Manicheans all of us yield a cordialassent to that Manichean proverb which refers themeats and the cooks of this world to two opposite fountains of light and of darkness. Oromasdes it is , orthe good principle, that sends the food; Ahrimanes,or the evil principle, that everywhere sends the cooks.Man has been repeatedly described, or even defined , asby differential privilege of his nature, as a cookinganimal. ' Brutes, it is said, have faces, -man onlyhas a countenance; brutes are as well able to eat asman, -man only is able to cook what he eats. Suchare the romances of self-flattery. I, on the contrary,maintain that many thousands of years have notavailed, in this point, to raise our race generally tothe level of ingenious savages. The natives of the216 De Quincey's Life and Writings.-Society and the Friendly Isles, or of New Zealand,and other favoured spots , had, and still have, anart of cookery, though very limited in its range;the French have an art, and a real art, and verymuch more extensive; but we English are aboutupon a level (as regards this science) with the ape,to whom an instinct whispers that chestnuts may beroasted; or with the aboriginal Chinese of CharlesLamb's story, to whom the experience of manycenturies had revealed thus much, viz. , that a dishvery much beyond the raw flesh of their ancestorsmight be had by burning down the family mansion,and thus roasting the pig-stye. Rudest of barbariandevices is English cookery, not much in advanceof this primitive Chinese step, a fact whichit would not be worth while to lament, were it notfor the sake of the poor trembling deserter from thebanners of intoxication , who is thus, and by noother cause, so often thrown back beneath the yokewhich he had abjured. Past counting are the victims of alcohol, that, having by vast efforts emancipated themselves for a season, are violently forcedinto relapsing by the nervous irritations of demoniaccookery. Unhappily for them, the horrors of indigestion are relieved for the moment, however ultimately strengthened by strong liquors; the relief isimmediate, and cannot fail to be perceived; but theaggravation , being removed to a distance, is notalways referred to its proper cause. This is thecapital rock and stumbling-block in the path of himwho is hurrying back to the camps of temperance;and many a reader is likely to misapprehend thecase through the habit he has acquired of supposingEnglish Cookery. 217indigestion to lurk chiefly amongst luxurious dishes.But, on the contrary, it is amongst the plainest,simplest, and commonest dishes that such miserylurks in England. Let us glance at these articlesof diet, beyond all comparison of most ordinaryoccurrence-potatoes, bread, and butcher meat. Theart of preparing potatoes for human use is utterly unknown, except in certain provinces of our empire,and amongst certain sections of the labouring class.In our great cities-London , Edinburgh, &c. —thesort of things which you see offered at table underthe name and reputation of potatoes are such that,if you could suppose the company to be composed ofCentaurs and Lapithæ, or any other quarrelsomepeople, it would become necessary for the police tointerfere. The potato of cities is a very dangerousmissile; and, if thrown with an accurate aim byan angry hand, will fracture any known skull. Involume and consistency it is very like a pavingstone; only that, I should say, the paving stone hadthe advantage of it in tenderness. And upon thishorrid basis, which youthful ostriches would repent ofswallowing, the trembling, palpitating invalid , freshfrom the scourging of alcohol , is requested to buildthe superstructure of his dinner. The proverb says,that three flittings are as bad as a fire; and in thatmodel I conceive that three potatoes, as they are foundat many British dinner-tables, would be equal, in principle ofruin, to two glasses ofvitriol. The same savageignorance appears, and not so often , in the bread ofthis island. Myriads of families eat it in that earlystate of sponge which bread assumes during the process of baking; but less than sixty hours will not218 De Quincey's Life and Writings.fit this dangerous article of human diet to be eaten.And those who are acquainted with the works ofParmentier, or other learned investigators of breadand the baker's art, must be aware that this qualityof sponginess (though quite equal to the ruin of thedigestive organs) is but one in a legion of vices towhich the article is liable. A German of much research wrote a book on the conceivable faults in apair of shoes, which he found to be about six hundred and sixty-six; many of them, as he observed ,requiring a very delicate process of study to find out;whereas the possible faults in bread, which are notless in number, being also, I conceive , about equal tothe number of the Beast, require no study at all forthe detection- they publish themselves through allvarieties of misery. But the perfection of barbarism,as regards our island cookery, is reserved for animalfood; and the two poles of Oromasdes and Ahrimanes are nowhere so conspicuously exhibited. Ourinsular sheep, for instance, are so far superior toany which the continent produces, that the presentPrussian minister at our court is in the habit ofquestioning a man's right to talk of mutton, as anything beyond a great idea, unless he can prove a residence in Great Britain . One other case he cites ofa dinner on the Elbe, when a particular leg of mutton really struck him as rivalling any which he hadknown in England. The mystery seemed inexplicable; but, upon inquiry, it turned out to be an importation from Leith. Yet this incomparable article,to produce which the skill of the feeder must cooperate with the peculiar bounty of nature, callsforth the most dangerous refinements of barbarismMachinery of Digestion. 219in its cookery. A Frenchman requires, as the primary qualification of flesh-meat, that it should betender. The English universally, but especiallythe Scots, treat that quality with indifference, orwith bare toleration. What we require is that itshould be fresh, that is , recently killed ( in whichstate it cannot be digested except by a crocodile,or perhaps here and there a leopard); and we present it at table in a transition state of leather,demanding the teeth of a tiger to rend it in pieces,and the stomach of a tiger to digest it.•The whole process and elaborate machinery ofdigestion are felt to be mean and humiliating, whenviewed in relation to our mere animal economy. Butthey rise into dignity, and assert their own supremeimportance, when they are studied from another station, viz. , in relation to the intellect and temper: noman dares then to despise them. It is then seen thatthese functions of the human system form the essential basis upon which the strength and health of ourhigher nature repose; and that upon these functions,chiefly, the genial happiness of life is dependent. Allthe rules ofprudence , or gifts of experience that life canaccumulate, will never do as much for human comfort and welfare as would be done by a stricter attention , and a wiser science , directed to the digestivesystem. In this attention lies the key to any perfectrestoration for the victims of intemperance: and,considering the peculiar hostility to the digestivehealth which exists in the dietetic habits of our owncountry, it may be feared that nowhere upon earthhas the reclaimed martyr to intemperance so difficult220 De Quincey's Life and Writings.a combat to sustain; nowhere, therefore, is it soimportant to direct the attention upon an artificialculture of those resources which naturally, and bythe established habits of the land, are surest to beneglected. The sheet-anchor for the storm- beatensufferer, who is labouring to recover a haven of restfrom the agonies of intemperance, and who has hadthe fortitude to abjure the poison which ruined , andwhich also for brief intervals offered him his onlyconsolation, lies beyond all doubt, in a most anxiousregard to everything connected with this supremefunction of our animal economy. And, as few menthat are not regularly trained to medical studies canhave the complex knowledge requisite for such aduty, some printed guide should be sought of aregular professional order. Twenty years ago, Dr.Wilson Philip published a valuable book of thisclass , which united a wide range of practical directions as to the choice of diet, and as to the qualities andtendencies of all esculent articles likely to be foundat British tables , with some ingenious speculationsupon the still mysterious theory of digestion. Thesewere derived from experiments made upon rabbits;and I notice them chiefly for the sake of remarking,that the rationale of digestion as suggested there,explains the reason of a fact, which merely as a facthad not been known until modern times, viz. , theinjuriousness to enfeebled stomachs of all fluid.A robust stomach may be equal to the trying taskof supporting a fluid such as tea for breakfast; but fora feeble stomach, and still more for a stomach artificially enfeebled by bad habits, broiled beef, or somethingequally solid and animal, but not too much subject" All Ear!" 221to the action of fire, is the only tolerable diet. This,indeed, is the one capital rule for a sufferer fromhabitual intoxication, who must inevitably labourunder an impaired digestion: that as little as possible he should use of any liquid diet, and as little aspossible of vegetable diet. "So much for his interests in the difficulties ofdomestic and social life: not less keen was his concern for those great national developments, on whichindividual well- being and freedom so much depend;for, as we have said already, whilst he was a conservative by name and attachment, he was by sentimentand sympathy a liberal , owing chiefly to his excessiverespect for the individual will which, as we have seen,led him, unlike the genuine conservative of his day, tooppose on principle any and every form of corporalpunishment. His proneness to see a common natureunderlying every possible abnormal manifestationprecluded him from being in the specific sense a Tory,or, indeed, a party man. It was characteristicof him to note as a defect in Charles Lamb's character (with which he otherwise was so fully insympathy) , that " he had no ears for the cannonof Waterloo. " De Quincey himself was, to usetwo words from Milton's " Comus, " " all ear " forthese voices in the interludes of his rapt self- communings, which seemed only to give them the deepereffect when they were heard. And not only so. Fewmen have been able to combine with dreamy meditativeness and speculative power an interest in contemporary affairs so eager, and so exact and detaileda knowledge of the various influences and counterinfluences, out of which our present constitution and.222 De Quincey's Life and Writings.our political life have grown. To read some articleson De Quincey, one would gather that, if he was anything but a dreamer, he was a mere bookworm, deeplydevoted to Greek; and more inclined to squabble overan accent or a favourite reading than to possess himself of the spirit of the author. Whereas in politicaland social matters, precisely as in literature , he hadno regard for the past as the past, save as it aided toenlighten the present. Who would have expectedDe Quincey to have gathered up, on the spur of themoment, the whole development of political eloquencein a single paragraph as in this passage:-" Up to the era of James I. , the eloquence of eitherHouse of Parliament could not be very striking.Parliament met only for the despatch of business;and that business was purely fiscal, or (as at timeshappened) judicial. The constitutional functions ofParliament were narrow; and they were narrowedstill more severely by the jealousy of the executiveGovernment. With the expansion, or rather firstgrowth and development of a gentry, or third estate,expanded, pari passu, the political field of theirjurisdiction and their deliberative functions. Thiswidening field , as a birth out of new existences , unknown to former laws or usages, was, of course,not contemplated by those laws or usages. Constitutional law could not provide for the exercise ofrights by a body of citizens, when, as yet, that bodyhad itself no existence. A gentry, as the depositoryof a vast overbalance of property, real as well aspersonal, had not matured itself till the latter yearsof James I. Consequently the new functions, whichthe instinct of their new situation prompted themPolitical Eloquence. 223to assume, were looked upon by the Crown, mostsincerely, as unlawful usurpations. This led, as weknow, to a most fervent and impassioned struggle,the most so of any struggle which has ever armedthe hands of men with the sword. For the passionstake a far profounder sweep when they are supportedby deep thought and high principles."This element of fervid strife was already, foritself, an atmosphere most favourable to politicaleloquence. Accordingly, the speeches of that day,though generally too short to attain that large compass and sweep of movement, without which it is difficult to kindle or to sustain any conscious enthusiasmin an audience, were of a high quality as to thoughtand energy of expression, as high as their circ*mstantial disadvantages allowed. Lord Strafford'sgreat effort is deservedly admired to this day, andthe latter part of it has been pronounced a chefd'œuvre. A few years before that era all the oratorsof note were, and must have been, judicial orators;and amongst them Lord Bacon, to whom everyreader's thoughts will point as the most memorable,attained the chief object of all oratory, if what BenJonson reports of him be true, that he had hisaudience passive to the motions of his will. ButJonson was, perhaps, too scholastic a judge to be afair representative judge; and, whatever he maychoose to say or think, Lord Bacon was certainly tooweighty-too massy with the bullion of originalthought-ever to have realised the idea of a greatpopular orator-one who wielded at will a fiercedemocracy,' and ploughed up the great deeps ofsentiment and party strife, or national animosities,224 De Quincey's Life and Writings.like a Levanter or a monsoon. In the School ofPlato, in the palestra Stoicorum, such an oratormight be potent; not in fæce Romali. ”Or under intense patriotic feeling and sympathywith the sufferings of a people, to have writtenthis:--" It is a favourite doctrine with some of the radicalreformers (thanks be to God, not with all) to vilifyand disparage the war with France from 1793 to1815, not ( as might perhaps be consistently done)during some of its years, but throughout and unconditionally-in its objects, its results , its principles. Even contemplating the extreme case of aconquest by France, some of the radicals maintainthat we should not have suffered much; that theFrench were a civilised people; that, doubtless, they(here, however, it was forgotten that they were notthe French people, but the French army) wouldnot have abused their power, even supposing them tohave gained possession of London. Candid reader!read Duppu's account of the French reign in Rome;any account of Davoust's in Hamburg; any accountof Junot's in Lisbon. "And precisely as the facts of history-in whichhis remarkably retentive memory made him facileprinceps were regarded by him as of value in thedegree in which they aided a solution of the problems of the day; so exactly with literature-theclassics were with him of value only as they couldyield commentary on the greater literature (as heheld it) of his own land. He has been called pedantic; but with slight reason. If his mode ofspeech might sometimes savour overmuch of clas-Neglected Gold.66225sical reference, his spirit was anti-pedantic. Heregarded it as a peculiar privilege that in early lifeall his sensibilities had been laid hold of by thegreatness of our own literature; and his whole influence was given to upholding its proper place, and toreducing, by all legitimate means, the overweeningfavour felt in high places for the Greek and Latinauthors. " It is, indeed, a pitiable spectacle, " hesays in one place, to any man of sense and feeling who happens to be really familiar with thegolden treasures of his own ancestral literature, anda spectacle which moves alternately scorn and sorrow, to see young people squandering their time andpainful study upon writers not fit to unloose the shoe'slatchet of many amongst their own compatriots;making painful and remote voyages after the drossyrefuse, when the pure gold lies neglected at theirfeet."Devoted as he was to Homer, at one place heexclaims Show me a piece of Homer's handiwork that comes within a hundred leagues of thatdivine prologue to the Canterbury Tales, or of theKnight's Tale, or The Man of Law's Tale, or of theTale of the Patient Griseldis. " He makes bold tohint at the not very creditable reason for this affectedand exaggerated preference:-" As must ever be thecase with readers not sufficiently master of a language, to bring the true pretensions of a work to anytest offeeling, they are for ever mistaking for somepleasure conferred by the writer, what is in fact thepleasure naturally attached to the sense of a difficulty overcome. " And to this very acute and explicit passage, which could never have come from theVOL. II. P226 De Quincey's Life and Writings.pen of one who was not an independent thinker aswell as a great Grecian, he adds this note: " Therecan be no doubt that this particular mistake hasbeen a chief cause of the vastly exaggerated appreciation of much that is mediocre in Greek literature. "Even in the lower range of eloquence and rhetoric,he sees reason to magnify our own English authors.Where among the writers of Greece or Rome, he asks ,will you find anything to match the opening passageof Sir Thomas Browne's urn-burial, beginning:-Now, since these bones have rested quietly in thegrave, under the drums and tramplings of threeconquests, " &c.66He may be right or wrong in his opinion here—that is another matter altogether; his opinion , soexpressed, is enough for illustration of our presentposition.Referring to one point on which he has been frequently criticised , Mr. Minto makes these admirablyjust and pointed remarks:-" His dogmatic judgments of Plato, Cicero, Dr.Johnson, and other eminent men, and his strongexpression of natural and political prejudice, aresometimes quoted as signs of a tendency to domineer. It may safely be asserted, that whoever takesup this view has not penetrated far into the peculiarpersonality of De Quincey. Whatever might bethe strength of his experiences-and these were oftenexaggerated for comic effect-there have been fewmen of equal power more unaffectedly open to reasonable conviction. When he had made up his mind,he took a pleasure, usually a humorous pleasure, inputting histhat was nonew light.Not Jealous or Irritable. 227opinion as strongly as possible; butindex as regarded his susceptibility toThis we may reasonably infer from hischaracter as revealed in his works; and if we needfurther evidence, we have it in the words of his personal acquaintance, Mr. Burton, who speaks of his' gentle and kindly ' spirit, and his boyish ardour atmaking a new discovery. Equally mistaken is thecharge ofjealousy, which comes from some admirersof Wordsworth and Coleridge. He always, and withobvious sincerity, professed an admiration for theextraordinary qualities of these men, but he knewexactly where their strength lay; he knew that bothwere men of special strength , combined with specialinfirmity; and in his ' Recollections ' of them, whiledoing all justice to their merits, he did not scrupleto expose their faults. On this ground he is chargedwith jealousy. But before we admit a charge soinconsistent with what we know of his characterotherwise, it must be known that his criticisms areunfair, or that they contain anything that can be construed into an evidence of malice. Had De Quinceybeen a jealous, irritable man, instead of being"gentle and kindly, ' as he was, the universallyattested arrogance and contemptuous manner ofWordsworth would have driven him to take partwith the Edinburgh Review, ' and in that casethe great poet's reputation might have been considerably delayed. "By way of pendant to this well-weighed passage,we will add one remark. Even the worst chargethat has ever been preferred against De Quinceyone to which we do not feel that there is any excep-228 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tional call to plead guilty-i.e. , the charge of makingtoo free with the private life of those with whom hehad been on terms of intimacy, ought clearly tocarry with it a corrective to what has frequentlybeen urged, on the other hand and in the samebreath, as a fault-a lack of warm interest in theordinary concerns of his fellow- men. There are twosorts of gossip-one kindly, proceeding from thatsimple expression of neighbourly interest, withoutwhich life would speedily slide into a dull, monotonous, ant-like round of daily exercises; the other,cynical, morbid, ungentle, mischievous. We maintain that, even in the cases where specific chargeshave been made, there is so much more of the onethan of the other, that any little dipping of thebalance to one side is soon set right. A wise readerwill not linger over anything that is open to criticismin this regard; it is something that even those whoare most bitter in holding forth what they think aweed or two, are so ready to confess that the fieldhas produced so many beautiful flowers.Notwithstanding De Quincey's remarkably quickperceptions of natural beauty, and his dependence onthe suggestion of various outward manifestations forthe full return of certain moods, at once the deepestand most evanescent, he has given us few descriptions of nature proper and for its own sake. Heloves to look at nature through a veil of humanassociation . This may often be of the most gossamery nature; but there assuredly it is; constantlydiverting his eye from the more prominent objects inthe landscape. Even the human interest that lies ina name will divert him. In the opening of the EssayEnjoyment of Nature. 229on Bentley, we have what promises to be an exquisite picture of Watenlath in Cumberland; but itall too soon reveals itself that the little sketch wasintroduced in a really original way, to point an oldmoral, that in the loveliest scenes

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"Man alone is vile ."And yet he is no cynic; it is the gentler emotions ,the better passions, that he loves to show forth, andhe is drawn into such reflections by the stern call oftruth. Though not a " word-painter, " as the common idea runs, he is full of suggestions on thetrue moods in which to enjoy nature, and on theircultivation. At one place, for example, he says verywisely " It is of great importance for the enjoyment of any natural scene, to be liberated from thenecessity of viewing it under circ*mstances of hasteand anxiety; to have it in one's power to surrenderone's self passively and tranquilly to the influencesof the objects as they gradually reveal themselves;and to be under no summons to crowd one's wholevisual energy and task of examination within asingle quarter of an hour. "66A short time before the preparation of the " Collected Works " was begun, a paper of an original , ifnot unique character, was forwarded to the editor ofHogg's Instructor,"' and duly appeared in thecolumns of that magazine. It was written by aGerman , who, having read the " Confessions of anEnglish Opium- Eater, " was so struck by it, that heat once set about possessing himself of all that hadbeen written by the same author. In his ownquaintly realistic way, this German tells of his230 De Quincey's Life and Writings.difficulties and disappointments, and how at last hesucceeded; but he intersperses his account with somuch keen criticism and appreciative remark, thathis paper may be taken as presenting, in spite of itsoff- hand and easy style, something of a " Germanestimate; " and as such we here present it in itsoriginal form:-" DER ENGLISCHE OPIUMESSER. "A Fragment from a German.Many years ago-many enough to give me awondrously kind fellow-feeling in Horace's Eheufugaces, Posthume, Posthume! -when I first essayedthe study of English under the tutelage of ProfessorS- , I was advised by that worthy philologian, ifI wished to attain anything like a philosophicalacquaintance with that language, to pay particularand scrupulous attention to the writings of Thomasde Quincey. At his instigation, I got the only workof that gentleman procurable at that time, and inthat place (Bonn) , viz. , the " Confessions of an EnglishOpium-Eater," and was, of course, struck with thevigour, the pathos, the humour, the psychologicalsubtlety, the logical acumen, the imaginative wealth,and the felicitous " word- painting " of that strangestof autobiographies. My admiration was-again Imay say, of course-increased and deepened byfurther study of the narrative, together with growingfamiliarity with the language over which it exercisesso comprehensive a sway, so consummate a mastery;and hence I became more and more anxious to procure whatever other writings the Opium-Eater, mightA German Estimate.have given to the world. Professor S231had bidme, by all means, study his opera omnia. Had hewritten much? was my inquiry. Much every way,was the reply; both in quantity and quality; multa etmultum. In vain, however, did I make search at ourlibraries and foreign booksellers for the completeseries for which my head and heart yearned sobeseechingly. One bibliopole vexed me by sendingme the æsthetical publications of the French Quatremère de Quincey. Another disappointed me by forwarding a work attributable, indeed, to the realSimon Pure, but upon a subject infinitely repugnantto all my personal predilections and literary antecedents to wit, " The Logic of Political Economy. "Another peremptorily assured me that the " Confessions " were the only production of the Opium- Eater;and, secondly, that the " Logic " was the work of aman who wrote upon nothing but the vexed andvexatious questions of the " Wealth of Nations. "By dint of perseverance, I succeeded in " overhauling " " Klosterheim , " a novelette of German structureand story, but which did little to magnify myreverence for the object of my research. Now andthen, however, in a stray magazine or review ofEnglish or Scottish origin, I perused articles whichappeared to me marvellously akin in style and sentiment to the " Confessions; " but all intercourse withProfessor S happening to be at an end, I couldnot make private assurance doubly sure, and theEnglish whom it was my lot to fall in with were,I am sorry to say, shockingly ignorant of the genealogy of such articles , and of the history of this mymodel author. And here I cannot but express my232 De Quincey's Life and Writings.sense of irritation provoked by that author, in notsaving me all this trouble by collecting his multifarious writings into some compact and collectiveform, like other honest and (some of them) infinitelyinferior scribes . I knew, for instance, that ThomasCarlyle's papers were originally scattered over numerous periodicals; but I had only to apply for his"Works," and forthwith they reached me in thesystematic shape of five uniform volumes. In likemanner, I have since procured the similarly publishedpapers of Macaulay, Jeffrey, Sydney Smith, Alison,Henry Taylor, Stephen, Rogers, Lord Mahon, Prescott,Wilson, Hartley Coleridge, Gilfillan , Leigh Hunt,and others. But to gather together those of DeQuincey, you must as I at last discovered-youmust toil through successive years of some half- dozenjournals, well known in Great Britain by the namesof their respective publishers, such as Blackwood,Tait, Macphail, and Hogg; as also the " EncyclopædiaBritannica, " the "North British Review," and the"LondonMagazine. " Surely it cannot be thatwritingsof such a master-allowing for all their eccentricities ,crotchets (Grillenspielen) , and vagaries—would notcommand a sale? The affirmative proposition would,to my way of thinking, involve a metaphysical nutto crack unequalled for hardness and impracticabilityby anything in Hegel or Schelling. But now to dropmy first-person singularity, and to say a few wordson the subject of this sketch.In the cloud-world (die Nebelwelt) of dreams, whendeep sleep falleth on man, and his thoughts wanderthrough eternity, and he cannot tell whence theycome or whither they go-our own Jean Paul isA Vast Lunatic Asylum. 233reputed the arch-dreamer (Erzträumer) . But I question whether he is not surpassed by De Quincey inthe stupendous awe, the oppressive reality, the intensesignificance, the colossal sublimity of those visionsof the night. De Quincey himself somewhere says.that Richter is wanting in the severe simplicity, thehorror of the too much, belonging to Grecian architecture, which is essential to the perfection of a dreamconsidered as a work of art; that, in short, he is tooelaborate to realise the grandeur of the shadowy.However this may be, the critic is at least competentto pass judgment, and may preface and ratify hiscriticism with an experto crede. In a sense verydifferent from that of Pope, in the " Dunciad, " hasthe goddess of dreams"O'er his anointed head,With mystic words, the sacred opium shed."The whole earth, it has been said, every night abouttwelve o'clock, becomes a vast lunatic asylum—withone providential precaution , that the same powerwhich lets loose our minds ties down our hands andfeet there is a train of past associations moving on,and linked into each other by innumerable unseenfilaments; and there are animal movements alsogoing on at the same time, which produce impressions on the internal nerves and convey them to thebrain; and from the collisions, crossings, and combinations of these two trains, under no other guidanceupon the railroad of human consciousness , there arisethat terrible crash and confusion which we call madness and dreaming. But upon this railroad thereare travellers of every degree, and De Quincey always234 De Quincey's Life and Writings.monopolises a special engine, and journeys express ,at a rate illimitable by the time- table of mechanicalclerks and parliamentary trains, ay, and of pursy firstclass travellers to boot. His dreams, while we atonce recognise their truthfulness and reality, are suigeneris; they are illuminated by a dim religious lightthat never was on sea or land. " They sanctifythe low with the lofty. They harmonise the incoherent, so that we see a thousand discrepantfancies66" By down-lapsing thoughtStream onward, lose their edges, and so creep,Rolled on each other, rounded, smoothed, and broughtInto the gulfs of sleep."Sometimes the dreams are blended with appallingassociations -encompassed with the hour and powerof darkness-shrouded with the mysteries of deathand the gloom of the grave. Sometimes they arepervaded with unimaginable horrors of Orientalimagery and mythological tortures: the dreamer isoppressed with tropical heat and vertical sunlight,and brings together all the physical prodigies ofChina and Hindostan. He runs into pagodas , andis fixed for centuries at the summit, or in secret:rooms; he flees from the wrath of Brahma throughall the forests of Asia; Vishnu hates him; Seevalays wait for him; he comes suddenly on Isis andOsiris; he has done a deed, they say, at which theibis and the crocodile tremble; he is buried for athousand years in stone coffins with mummies andsphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternalpyramids. Anon there dawns upon him a day—ashe expresses it in his solemnly impassioned mannerByron's Manfred. 235" a day of crisis and of final hope for humannature, then suffering some mysterious eclipse andlabouring in some dread extremity: somewhere, heknew not where-somehow, he knew not how-bysome beings, he knew not whom " ( if you, reader,know anything to excel this in dream- literature, youhave the advantage of me)-" a battle, an agony, astrife was conducting-was evolving like a greatdrama or piece of music; with which his sympathywas the more insupportable, from his confusion as toits place, its cause, its nature, and its possible issue.He, as is usual in dreams (where, of necessity, wemake ourselves central to every movement) , had thepower, and yet had not the power, to decide it. Hehad the power, if he could raise himself, to will it;and yet again had not the power, for the weight oftwenty Atlantics was upon him, or the oppression ofinexpiable guilt. " But I cannot trust myself to continue the fascinating work of quotation—even of adream from which he awoke in struggles, and criedaloud, " I will sleep no more! " Surely never did.man, like this man, realise the Shakespearian phrase,"the fierce vexation of a dream. " And well may wefancy that in those days, happily bygone, when theopium tyranny was upon him, his nightly prayermust have been like Banquo's:-"Aheavy summons lies like lead upon me,And yet I would not sleep. Merciful Power!Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that natureGives way to in repose! "For his fate resembled that of Byron's Manfred, whenthe voice of Incantation rang in his ears:-236 De Quincey's Life and Writings."Though thy slumber may be deep,Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;These are shades which will not vanish,These are thoughts thou canst not banish,And to thee shall night denyAll the quiet of her sky."The last couplet, however, would seem wanting inapplicability, if literally understood; for the OpiumEater has the credit of having been very heterodoxin his observance of the times and seasons of repose,interpreting them by contraries. Thus the EttrickShepherd addresses him in one of the " Noctes: "" Mr. de Quinshy, you and me leeves in twa different warlds, and yet it's wonnerfu' hoo we understan' ane anither sae weel's we do-quite a phenomena. When I'm soopin ', you're breakfastin'; whenI'm lyin' doun, after your coffee you're risin ' up;as I'm coverin' my head wi' the blankets, you'repittin' on your breeks; as my een are steekin ' likesunflowers aneath the moon, yours are glowin' liketwa gas-lamps; and while your mind is masterin'poleetical economy and metapheesics, in a desperatefecht wi' Ricawrdo and Cant, I'm heard by thenicht wanderin' fairies snorin' trumpet - nosedthrough the land o ' Nod. " Are not these thecharacteristics to charm my countrymen? I haveoften marvelled, indeed , that De Quincey is not anidol amongst us, so analogous is his psychologicaltemperament, in many notable respects, to ournational type. But then he must be read in his own.language, for a spell lies in his ipsissima verba.This may be one cause of his faint hold upon us;and possibly another may be the round terms in·Services to German Literature. 237which he ridicules us and our literature, albeit hehas, in point of fact, done very much to secure forthat literature a respectful reception in his nativeland,Fain would I linger over the " Confessions," and tellhow his visions varied-how at one time he gazedon such pomp of cities and palaces as was never yetbeheld by waking eye, unless in the clouds -atanother, on silvery expanses of water-at another,on a rocking sea paved with innumerable humanfaces, imploring, despairing, surged upwards bythousands, by myriads, by generations, by centuries,till, in infinite agitation , his mind tossed and surgedwith the ocean. Or that dream of quite meltingpathos and holy serenity, when it was Easter Sundayin the East, and very early in the morning-nighunto Jerusalem-when his eye rested up a form,sitting on a stone, ard shaded by Juda palms.Ah, is not De Quincey also among the poets? Atleast he sings melody of the rarest and the sweetestto my inmost spirit. But I must pass on; dreamingis perhaps contagious. (Methinks I hear his aside-Not such dreaming as that, my dear sir! )99 Now for his other works: pauca verba. " Klosterheim " and the " Logic of Political EconomyI have alluded to. His contributions to periodicalssweep over a vast area of topics. The most compendious and not the least correct of possibletitles for them would be, De omnibus rebus etquibusdam aliis. They might be divided into historical, biographical , critical , political , personal, andmiscellaneous. Under the first head come hispapers on the Cæsars, Cicero, Herodotus, the238 De Quincey's Life and Writings.Essenes, Secret Societies, Christianity, the CalmuckTartars, &c. Under the second, those on Coleridgeand Society at the Lakes, Kant, Goethe, Milton, Pope,Shakespeare, Goldsmith, Bentley, Parr. Underthe third, those on Bennett's Ceylon, Mure's ModernGreece, James's Charlemagne, Lessing's Laocoon,Landor's Works, Schlosser's Literary History, Plato'sRepublic, Nichol's System of the Heavens , Gilfillan's Gallery of Literary Portraits, the Poetry ofWordsworth, Homer and the Homeridæ , Whately'sRhetoric, and a host besides. Under the fourth,those on the Aristocracy of England, China, andthe Opium Question, the Canton Expedition , theIrish Repeal Agitation, the English Corn Laws,Hints for the Hustings, &c. Under the fifth, thoseon his Autobiography, the exquisitely- affecting Suspiria de Profundis, and the Sketches from Childhood.Under 9 last, comes a delicious miscellany, including treatises and jeux d'esprit, wandering fromCasuistry to the King of Haiti, from War to Style,from Protestantism to Dinner Real and Reputed,from Antigone to Lord Carlisle, from Joan of Arc toMurder considered as one of the Fine Arts, fromMiracles to a Templar's Dialogues, from Logic tothe Sphinx's Riddle, from a Household Wreck tothe Literature of his Infancy, from the NauticoMilitary Nun of Spain to a Vision of Sudden Death,from Greece under the Romans to the English MailCoach. His intellect is omnivorous. All is , or istreated as, fish that comes to his net; if for no otherpurpose, at least to be called over the coals. Hismemory is prodigious. Like the man in " Juvenal,'he can tell you, at a moment's notice, all aboutThe " Great Logician.""Nutricem Anchise, nomen patriamque novercaAnchemoli; dicet quot Acestes vixerit annos,Quot Siculus Phrygibus vini donaverit urnas, "239and an infinity of similar minutia. Whatever subjecthe takes up, he invests with characteristic attractionsof depth, scholarship, imagination, wit, and humour.He combines the seldom harmonising elements ofsevere logical precision and florid fancy. ArchdeaconHare calls him " the great logician of our times. " *His writings evidence an almost"Seraphic intellect and forceTo seize and throw the doubts of man;Impassioned logic, which outranThe hearer in its fiery course. "" Oh, Mr. North, Mr. North, " shouts the Shepherd in another of the " Noctes "-when De Quinceyis about to refute one of his post-prandial propositions" I'm about to fa' into Mr. de Quinshy's hauns,sae come to my assistance, for I canna thole bein'pressed up backwards, step by step, intill a corner,--

• This is in “ Guesses at Truth,” p. 333, edition of 1871 , where

Archdeacon Hare writes:- " So deplorable was the dearth ofthought in England after the death of Burke, that, while Godwin's deeper fallacies were scarcely touched by his opponents,they buoyed themselves up with the notion that he had beenoverthrown by the bulkiest instance of an ignoratio eleuchi inthe whole history of pseudo-philosophy-the " Essay on Population; " a work which may have merits in other respects, butwhich, with reference to its primary object, the refutation ofCondorcet and Godwin, is utterly impotent, all its argumentsproceeding on a hypothesis totally different from that which itundertakes to impugn, as has been convincingly shown by thegreat logician of our times in one of the "Notes from the Pocketbook of au English Opium- Eater." -ED.240 De Quincey's Life and Writings.till an argument that's ca'd a clencher clashes inyour face, and knocks your head wi' sic' force againstthe wa' that your crown gets a clour, leavin' a dentin the wainscoat. " Nothing of the kind can excel therichness of his philosophical language, the jewelledpanoply of his style. It does indeed bristle withscholasticisms -but how they tell! You feel , as youread, that here is a man who has gauged the potentiality of every word he makes use of who hasanalysed the simples of his every compound phrase.Our philosophical vocabulary owes him many a wingedword, and phrases which " a while back were scatteredabout promiscuously, as if they all stood for prettymuch the same thing, he has stamped afresh , so thatpeople begin to have some notion of their meaning. "There are critics who complain of his discursive tendency, a complaint to which I can in no sense subscribe. John Foster, the celebrated essayist, has madesimilar strictures on Coleridge, whose surpassingsubtlety he describes as constantly descrying the mostunobvious relations, and detecting the most veiledaspect of things; tempting him to depart from themain line of his thought, to indulge in collateralmatter; so that, after advancing one acute thought,and another, and another, he perceives among theseprimary ideas so many secondary ones -so manybearings, distinctions, and analogies-so many pointings towards subjects infinitely remote- that in theattempt to seize and fix in words these secondarythoughts, he will suspend for a good while the progress toward the intended point. This is true ofColeridge's distinguished disciple, and, let me add,benefactor. But let those who will cavil at the seriesThe Peripatetic Instinct.241of digressions and parentheses in which he indulges.On the other hand, I revel in them. Never do I feeldisposed to quarrel with this peripatetic instinct. DeQuincey himself calls it an intermitting necessityaffecting his particular system, like that of migrationthat affects swallows. " Nobody, " says he, " is angrywith swallows for vagabondising periodically, andsurely I have a better right to indulgence than aswallow: I take precedency of a swallow in any company whatsoever. " This very quality must (me saltemjudice) impart a singular charm to his conversation-an art of which he is so renowned a master. Muchwould I give, and far would I pilgrimise, to hear himexemplify in talk the nil tangit quod non ornat. Byall accounts" His talk is like a stream which runsWith rapid change from rocks to roses;It slips from politics to puns;It glides from Mahomet to Moses;Beginning with the laws which keepThe planets in their radiant courses,And ending with some precept deepFor dressing eels or shoeing horses."This magister sententiarum, this dreamer of dreams,has acquired a strange power over my inner life ,arousing within, as perhaps no other prose writerhas done, thoughts which do often lie too deep fortears. As, on the one hand, he excites my mirth toa boisterous pitch, by his grave whimsicalities, hislogical quips , and cranks, and wanton wiles , " ay,and even by his slang, which is so gentlemanly evenin its excesses -so, on the other hand, he sways myspirit to and fro, to the very top of his bent, by his66VOL. II.242 De Quincey's Life and Writings.sublime pathos. How grand and awe- inspiring isthe melancholy of his retrospective glances!fearfully he makes one feelHow"This is truth the poet sings,That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."So that one is tempted to continue the strain—"Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be putto proofIn the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof."My heart is full enough to bid him a cordial andgrateful farewell-too full to continue a rhapsodyabout him and all his works. Jam satis superque ofmy Teutonic babble.We have spoken of the dependence of De Quincey'ssensibilities on certain sensuous gratifications; audthis leads us shortly to speak of his exceeding delight in the pleasures of the ear, and his opium- eating-two points the more demanding notice from usin that both have left unmistakeable manifestationsin his writings.I. Though we shall speak of some points of stylehereafter, it may be permitted us to remark here, asrevealing a personal characteristic, that his exceeding care for cadence in his writing, in any movementthe least impassioned, shows a distinct and specialartistic instinct. His "poetic prose " is in the good,and not in the sinister sense , musical--that is , itmoves by defined gradations, and rests on a distinctprinciple of opposition of clauses, giving balance andharmony. This effect might be formally gained asthe result of mere study; but the peculiarity ofThe Musical Element. 243De Quincey's case is, that here instinct went handin-hand with rule, and his style submits and harmonises itself, as we have said, with the motive or scaleof impressions to be interpreted. To those who areable to appreciate this point, which, however, requiresat once an originally musical ear, and long tutoringto the survey of sentences in their structural wholeness, it will hardly seem too much to modify andapply to himself the words he applied to another—" The strife and fluctuation of his thoughts and emotions in the grander of his opium-dreams maintaintheir alternations with a force and inevitable recurrence, like the systole and diastole, the contraction andexpansion, of some living organ. " That we are notwrong inthis might almost be proved by the fact that,implicitly in his judgment of style, the musical elementwas the one that he was first affected by. It wasthis which had drawn him to Coleridge, which had,when he was yet a mere boy, made the study ofEuripides a luxury to him. It was the one thingthat he desiderated in Lamb and in his writings;and though it must be confessed that, like his hesitancy of speech, the jerky and unbalanced nature ofLamb's writing, irregular and without structure asit was, in some indefinable way aided his peculiar wit,coming as it did for the most part suddenly, and inseparate flashes; yet the least sense of music wouldhave certainly led him to impart somewhat moreof variety to his essays in point of mere sentencestructure. With peculiar conviction De Quincey hasput this on record:-" The sense of music as a pleasurable sense, or asany sense at all other than of certain unmeaning244 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and impertinent differences in respect to high andlow, sharp or flat, was utterly obliterated as with asponge by nature herself from Lamb's organisation.Rhythm or pomp of cadence, or sonorous ascent ofclauses, in the structure of sentences, were effects ofart as much thrown away on him as the voice of thecharmer upon the deafadder. We ourselves, occupying the very station of polar opposition to that ofLamb, being as morbidly perhaps in the one excessas he in the other, naturally detected this omissionin Lamb's nature at an early stage of our acquaintance. "And nothing was with De Quincey limited in itsinterest of application to literature merely. It ishere the case with the pleasures of the ear, as wehave already found it to be with many other things.This is how the presence or absence of certainrhythmic sounds came to affect him, as modifyingeven the impression of natural solitudes:--" In northern England there are no sheep-bells,which is an unfortunate defect as regards the fullimpression of wild solitudes , whether amongst undulating heaths or towering rocks; at any rate, it is sofelt by those who, like myself, have been trained toits soothing effects upon the hills of Somersetshire-the Cheddar, the Mendip, or the Quantock-orany other of those breezy downs which once constituted such delightful local distinctions for four orfive counties in that south-west angle of England.At all hours of the day or night this silvery tinklewas delightful; but after sunset, in the solemn hourof gathering twilight, heard (as it always was) intermittingly, and at great varieties of distance, it formedThe Lake ofConiston. 245the most impressive incident for the ear, and themost in harmony with the other circ*mstances of thescenery, that perhaps anywhere exists—not excepting even the natural sounds, the swelling and dyingintonations of insects wheeling in their vesper flights.Silence and desolation are never felt so profoundlyas when they are interrupted by solemn sounds, recurring by uncertain intervals and from distantplaces. But in these Westmoreland heaths and uninhabited ranges of hilly ground too often nothing isheard, except occasionally the wild cry of a birdthe plover, the snipe , or perhaps the raven's croak.The general impression is therefore cheerless; andthe more you are rejoiced when, looking down fromsome one of the eminences which you have beengradually ascending, you descry, at a great depthbelow, the lovely lake of Coniston. The head of thislake is the part chiefly interesting, both from thesublime character of the mountain barriers , and fromthe intricacy of the little valleys at their base.approach from Ambleside or Hawkshead, thoughfine, is far less so than that from Grasmere, throughthe valley of Tilberthwaite, to which, for a coup dethéâtre, I recollect nothing equal. Taking the lefthand road, so as to make for Mark Coniston, andnot for Church Coniston, you ascend a pretty steephill, from which, at a certain point of the little gorgeor hawse (i.e. , hals, neck or throat-viz. , the dip inany hill through which the road is led) , the wholelake, of six miles in length, and the beautiful foregrounds, all rush upon the eye with the effect of apantomimic surprise-not by a graduated revelation ,but by an instantaneous flash. "The246 De Quincey's Life and Writings.The influence of music, as it affected his literaryproduct, is indeed manifest; and to trace it out fullywould require at once great sympathy and the nicestknowledge of technical points. That lies beyond ourcapability; but we may, we think, quite justifiably insert under this head his own confession of his dependence on musical association and suggestion:-" A chorus of elaborate harmony, displayed beforeme, as in a piece of arras work, the whole of my pastlife-not as if recalled by an act of memory, but asif present, and incarnated in the music: no longerpainful to dwell upon: but the detail of its incidentsremoved, or blended in some hazy abstraction; andits passions exalted, spiritualised, and sublimed. "In connection with this special experience, he thusendeavours to make clear the philosophic principleexhibited in it:" The mistake of most people is to suppose thatit is by the ear they communicate with music, and,therefore, that they are purely passive to its effects.But this is not so; it is by the reaction of the mindupon the notices of the ear (the matter coming bythe sense, the form from the mind) , that the pleasureis constructed; and therefore it is that people ofequally good ear differ so much in this point fromone another. Now opium, by greatly increasing theactivity of the mind, generally increases, of necessity, that particular mode of its activity by whichwe are able to construct out of the raw material oforganic sound an elaborate intellectual pleasure. "•As the power of gratifying this peculiar musicalappetite was made possible to him in the Londonopera at a time when the opium experiences wereHis Memory. 247passing through a transforming phase, we are surelynot passing beyond the region of sound criticism intathat of mere conjecture when we suggest, whether itmight not be that something of his exceptional experience of opium in preserving the moral affectionsin a state of clearness and elevation , might not bedue in some degree to this sensibility to musical impression, happily gratified at a critical time.The peculiar power of the ear for the musicalaffinities by words, and the subtle processes of association by remoter analogies , were, as we take it, themain elements in his wonderful memory. We noticethis point here, because we are not sure that themusical element was not the more efficient elementof the two in this remarkable result. Even histenacious record of dates , the reader will havenoticed, was not the outcome of mere memory, butrather the flower of an imaginative process by whichcertain sounds actually became the symbols of memorable events -the eighteenth of June, the gloriousday of Waterloo, the twenty-first of October, thememorable day of Trafalgar, and so on-the verysounds carrying with them imperishable and greatsuggestions. He, at all events, would not havedeemed himself complimented had he been praisedfor a vast Jedidiah- Buxton- like memory for figures,facts, or words. He has himself given his own rationale of it in one of his sketches:-66 Rarely do things perish from my memory thatare worth remembering. Rubbish perishes instantly. Hence it happens that passages in Latin orEnglish poets, which I never could have read butonce (and that thirty years ago) , often begin to248 De Quincey's Life and Writings.blossom anew when I am lying awake unable tosleep. I become a distinguished compositor in thedarkness; and, with my aërial composing- stick, sometimes I set up ' half a page of verses, which wouldbe found tolerably correct if collated with the volumethat I never had in my hand but once. I mentionthis in no spirit of boasting. Far from it; for, onthe contrary, among my mortifications have beencompliments to my memory, when, in fact, any compliments that I had merited were due to the higherfaculty of an electric aptitude for seizing analogies,and by means of these aërial pontoons passing overlike lightning from one topic to another." Still it is a fact that this pertinacious life ofmemory for things that simply touch the ear does, infact, beset me. Said but once, said but softly, notmarked at all , words revive before me in darknessand solitude; and they arrange themselves graduallyinto sentences, but through an effort, sometimes of adistressing kind, to which I am in a manuer forcedto become a party. "The very word " guardian, " he confesses in anotherplace, kindles a fiery thrilling in his nerves; so muchwas that special power of guardianship, as wieldedby one of four, concerned in the sole capital error ofhis boyhood.II. We now pass to the consideration of opium inrelation to De Quincey's mind and character. Whetheror not we may be disposed to qualify somewhat hisassertions of the early awakening in his childhood ofsensibilities and ideas that in normal cases lie latenttill early adolescence, if in some cases they are everproperly developed at all, there can be no doubtPremature Fancy. 249whatever that his imagination and the whole rangeof his poetic perceptions were awakened whilst hewas yet a mere child of four or five at most. Ideasof time, of life , of death, and their ineffable mysteries, had even thus early, in opposition to Wordsworth's teaching, surged in upon his dawningintelligence. Unlike Hawthorne in many things ,he was certainly like him in this, that " his fancyripened prematurely, and taught him secrets he couldnot otherwise have known. " His circ*mstanceswere such as to repress the tendency rather than toencourage it. True, he expresses his gratitude thathe was mostly brought up amidst gentle sisters ratherthan among rough brothers; but how generally isthis position only taken advantage of by a healthythoughtless boy that he may play the petty tyrant withimpunity. But if he had been constitutionally lesssensitive, less premature, that slight experience oftyranny from his elder brother might have awakenedin him something wholly different from that " passionfor being despised " of which he tells us; and hismother's severe, Puritanic habit of mind, which hadheen confirmed by contact with members of theClapham sect, and by the reading of the literaturemost in fashion amongst them, would certainly havetended to form a very different style of character,had not the native direction of his energies beenas decided as they were in quality delicate. Thatreverence for the individual will which we haveseen operating in his boyhood, and driving himthe very gentlest of boys-to face the desolateness.of Wales and the hunger of London rather thanyield himself up on his guardian's terms, betokens a250 De Quincey's Life and Writings.peculiar self-dependence in certain directions. Now,where such elements of determination are present, theinevitable result of early acquiescence in the ordinaryand formal regulations of life is to obliterate the vagueand early dreams of beauty and wonder which maybe presumed to be common to childhood, howeverearly they may be erased in the consciousness -apoint which the " Ode to Childhood " may be saidto have made a commonplace, though it is but arevived Platonism. Had De Quincey proceeded toOxford at the time he wished, instead of going toManchester, his whole life might have taken a different development. Very strong indeed must be thecharacter which could resist the attractive power ofthe current of undergraduate life. To live apartfrom it, how were it possible for a youth, unless indeed he brought with him the weight of outwardexperiences as strange and anomalous as anythingDe Quincey had dreamed? Before he had finishedhis first year at Oxford-a year of isolation andgreat suffering, as he tells us he had tasted opiumin the hope of relief from neuralgic pains. Underits influence the whole of his infancy revived itself,even in his waking consciousness. According to hisown account of his earlier experiences, the opium, asit purified the moral affections , elevated the imagination, gave to it also a larger scope, a power tore- create the experiences and phantasies of infancy,already becoming dim. It is noticeable that he distinctly tells us the first revelations of opium at Oxfordwere solely of this character. And though, under thenecessary pains that emerge from the indulgence ofanything in excess, these came to be complicated and"The Ministry ofOpium." 251mixed up with other impressions, yet a certain lawand order prevail , which do for them precisely whatthe application of the most rigid law of art would havedone—and that results simply from the central ideaof childhood, and its purity and love and mystery,obtaining everywhere. The constant emergence ofthe death-chamber of his little sister, and of Ann ofOxford Street, imparts a sweet, near, natural, and alsoa grand semi- mystic air; and it is to this, as we havesaid, that the general influence of these dreams of DeQuincey is mainly due. Let no reader suppose thatwe justify opium indulgence. Far from it. We herespeak of the effect of opium only in its earlier stages ,and before it was used by him to counteract the evilswhich had been originated by itself. And let noman fancy that the use of opium will make him aglorious dreamer, or inspire him with poetry. Whatwe say is , that it may help a man of deep sensibilities , and with the dreaming propensity profoundly vested in his constitution, to revive moreclearly in the consciousness what else had almostfaded out of it, as Mr. James Montgomery says;and this it did in De Quincey's case. We arenow merely trying to trace out and estimate whatwe may regard as due to the " ministry of opium "in the body of dream- literature which De Quinceyhas left to us; and this , we presume to think, comespretty near to it. The cloudy grandeur; the mysticand far-withdrawn beauty of his imagery; the presence of the most ideal forms along with the almostpathetic counter-presence of the most real forms,transmuted and spiritualised, yet real and recognisable, —this is the chief peculiarity of these earlier252 De Quincey's Life and Writings.dreams, and the opium influence is, we think, traceable in it. This it is that gives them such power overreaders generally, dimly awakening in their consciousness the echo, as it were, of a sweet, distant,long- forgotten strain , which it may be they have onlyhitherto heard in sleep , but which sets an indefinablecharm even about the ways of that secret life formany days. This is of the essence of poetic impression, and so far as we derive these impressionsfrom De Quincey, we are compelled to regard himas at least in near alliance with poets like Keats andShelley, Chenièr and Schiller.If De Quincey was right in attributing to therough treatment of his brother a beneficial awakeningand withdrawal from his dreamy seclusion , we mayperhaps attribute to the circ*mstances which ledhim to opium, the more efficient revival of thoseearlier impressions of a dream-world beyond theactual and tangible, and apart from it, which werein some danger of fading from his mind under rudecontact with the world. The slaves in the WestIndies considered death as a passport to their nativecountry dream was the one doorway by which DeQuincey could pass into his native land of childishphantasy. Opium, at first, at all events, reconciledwhat the rude usage had dispelled, or threatened todispel; and whatever may fall to be urged againstopium in the abstract, and taken in the great excess into which both De Quincey and Coleridge weretempted, it would ill become any one who prizesthe special quality of the gift either has brought tous from the dim land of dream, to look at them onlywith the eye of the stern moralist when they yieldedNursery Experiences. 253too deeply to the seduction of that potent drug,which soothed not only sensitive shattered nerves,but had once so recomposed them as to become theagent of elevating delights for us and for future.generations. De Quincey himself has well tracedout the co- efficient causes:-" He who has reallyread the Confessions ' will be aware that a stricterscrutiny of the past, such as was natural after thewhole economy of the dreaming faculty had beenconvulsed beyond all precedents on record, led meto the conviction that not one agency, but twoagencies, had co-operated to the tremendous result.The nursery experience had been the ally and thenatural co-efficient of the opium. For that reasonit was that the nursery experience has been narrated. Logically it bears the same relation to theconvulsions of the dreaming faculty as the opium.The idealising tendency existed in the dream- theatreof my childhood; but the preternatural strength ofits action and colouring was first developed after theconfluence of the two causes. ' And he elsewhereadds: The minutest incidents of childhood wereoften revived. I could not be said to recollectthem; for, if I had been told of them when waking,I should not have been able to acknowledge them.as parts of my past experience. But, placed asthey were before me in dreams like intuitions, andclothed in all their evanescent circ*mstances andaccompanying feelings, I recognised them instantaneously. "66One word we must add here. To us it seems asthough both the experiences bred of the rough usagewhich compelled him to a sense of the stern qualities254 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of the real world, and the experiences bred of theopium by which he reopened for himself the gate ofdreams, were necessary to produce the character-soshrewd and so kindly, yet so solitary and full ofsorrow; so radiant of sympathy and sensitive to thefinest thrill of emotion, yet so unaffected by manyforms of sympathy; with so keen an eye for manyof the problems of life , and so able to lay downrules for action, yet himself so incapable of actionunder any practical rule; and exhibiting at everypoint that gentleness and benign intelligence whichusually proceed only from large and wise commercewith mankind, built on a foundation of genialnature and deep-rooted good sense.There is yet another point which may not unfitlybe noticed here. In the movement of De Quincey'spowers, and that in his highest moments, there isevidently a remarkable detachment of the intellectfrom the dreaming faculty. During the most absorbing succession of images, his intellect, as it were,takes up a station apart, carefully observes andcompares. He is at once creative and self- analysing.Those elusive and impalpable shades of feeling, whichmost men remember but can in nowise definethose images which seem only half-born , and whichflit in a debateable land, like the mystic state.between sleeping and waking—were with De Quinceydefinite realities which he could deal with, recallingand representing them almost at will . If his life,as has been said in a certain place, were all a dreamor a vision, it was a dream which he made real tohimself by his power to reconstruct it. And theinterest of the phenomenon is increased when weAdvantages and Disadvantages. 255come to perceive that the intellect employed in thisservice lost thereby little of its edge for dealing witha certain order of practical relations—as seen in hispassion for political economy, not to speak of othermatters. There can be no doubt that the balance,which in his case might so easily have been disturbed,under specific pains, in union with other causes , leading to morbid preoccupations, as he himself fearedwas to be his fate at Oxford, was to a certain extent,at all events, maintained in true adjustment by hisexperiences in the earliest stages of opium-eating.And this the more especially that, by the aid derivedfrom it, he was enabled at a most critical period tostudy with enjoyment the great English authors whileyet his sense of natural simplicity and genuine powerwas fresh and keen. There is no position but has itsadvantages and disadvantages. When De Quinceywrites of the " pains of opium, " it would be simplyand only harrowing if he had not also been able totell of its pleasures and benefits. It is to these onlythat we now refer.And this is hardly going a step further than adistinguished physician, who was not likely to takeother than a scientific view of the case, is distinctlyinclined to go, as we shall see on a later page, whenhe expresses his firm belief that it " helped to keepactive and entire during so many long years of bodilyfeebleness that large and constant-working brain—in a word, that it fed it, " and saved De Quinceyfrom one of the worst trials of the student, -severe headaches; a kind of suffering to which hewas a stranger.De Quincey himself directly endorses this point: -256 De Quincey's Life and Writings." The expansion of the benigner feelings incident toopium is no febrile access ( like that in the case ofwine) , but a healthy restoration to that state whichthe mind would naturally recover upon the removalof any deep- seated irritation of pain that had disturbed and quarrelled with the impulses of a heartoriginally just and good. . . . The Opium- Eater (1speak ofhim who is not suffering from any disease orother remote effects of opium) feels that the divinerpart of his nature is paramount; that is , the moralaffections are in a state of cloudless serenity, andover all is the great light of the majestic intellect. "Somewhat to our surprise, we find him confessingthat in his youth he laboured under a singular inability to express his thoughts to his satisfactionanother reason, it may be, why he eschewed theordinary student-society at Oxford. He says thathis infirmity in this respect was a cause of greatregret to himself; and we are led to infer that thedevelopment of his rare powers of expression was anew source of pleasure. And what was true of conversation was true also of writing. " I laboured ,"he says, " like a sibyl instinct with the burden ofprophetic woe, as often as I found myself dealingwith a topic in which the understanding combinedwith deep feeling to suggest mixed and tangledthoughts. " We have no direct statement from himself as to the effect which was produced upon him inthis respect by opium; but, as it was admitted byall that his conversation in the earlier years was farmore brilliant while he was under that stimulus, itmay be that he also owed something to the opium inthe full development of the power of language-thatALiterary Tonic. 257instinct for nicer shades and keen capacity to drawtribute from the commonest and most ordinaryphrases. Indeed , his confession , which is so expressive of something absolutely original in character,that even under opium he felt impelled to go outand mix with the crowds of common people in thethronged thoroughfares of London, might, we think,without violence to his own acknowledgments, bebrought into a closer relation with a confession hemade elsewhere, as showing how, even in the commonspeech, he found a constant tonic, like iron, for theblood of literature, to check the fantasticality andwire- drawn refinements to which it is constantlyexposed in the hands of professed writers and rhetoricians merely. " The market-place and the highway," he says, " are rich seed-plots for the sowing andreaping ofmany indispensable ideas. " And this fromthe man who has been treated as a writer of gorgeousdictionary-English and impassioned prose only!Another point naturally arises here, on which aword may be said. It is that of conscience in literature. De Quincey, even while he is dealing withdreams and vagaries, which might be presumed totempt to great looseness and excursion, keeps hisintellect in such direct control that every statementmay be said to be checked, looked at in relationto the whole, and each experience in relation toothers, bodily to mental, and so on. This is shownin the care with which all the sensational and activeeffects that accompanied his dream-experiences in thevery crises were followed and analysed, and the concern he exhibits that no statement should pass untilit had undergone this kind of " verification. " WhatVOL. II.R258 De Quincey's Life and Writings.66has surprised the most careful readers is this, —that ina species of writing which might yield itself so easilyto mere fanciful " filling up, " the continual returnon actual events, incidents, and characters, shouldnot seem inconsistent or out of place. It is hardlypossible that any mere " invention " could have supplied the links of association, or that anything buta severe sincerity " could have accomplished it.This sincerity it is, fortifying itself by what mightelse have seemed the very madness of extremes,which imparts the air of unity and interest to hisfrank revelations of the workings of his mind bothin the " Autobiographic Sketches " and in the" Confessions. " The inner life would have been.uninteresting from its very remoteness from anyordinary standard, had it not been, for most part,and by deliberate purpose, presented in combination with outward facts and influences which constantly affected and modified it. And this waslargely accomplished by the emergence of ordinarysympathies, which linked the life of outer circ*mstance and the inner experiences together. We seethis in his love of children, his pity for the forlorn,and his power of sympathetically placing himself inthe position of others. Even his most exceptionalexperiences take their rise in feelings and sentimentsthat have universal significance and suggestion , -aswitness the trance by his sister's corpse, his delusions resulting from his grief for little Kate Wordsworth, and many others. And though his naturaltendency is to throw mere outward and material circ*mstances out of account, the very manner in whichhe is compelled thus to recognise them in his mostA Conscience in Literature. 259elevated moments, gives a unity and a convincingsense of reality, felt the more the more that we realisehis natural repulsion from what pertains solely tothat which is physical , sensuous, or outward. Lookedat in this way, we feel that even his dreams presentevidences of a dominating conscience.We should not like to follow some writers , anddetect the presence of opium influence in some of themasterpieces of the world's nursery literature. Butan authority, who is by no means to be set lightlyaside, deliberately gave it as his opinion that toopium or narcotic influence we are indebted for the" Arabian Nights:"-" Those stories seem to every reader like the vast,interminable, and half - connected imagery of adream. Not that their style is obscure; on thecontrary, it is eminently simple, clear, and direct, asto the language itself. But the inimitable tone ofassured veracity in which the most improbable eventsand impossible incidents are narrated is exactly likethe process through which the mind passes in adream-seeing, believing, and connecting togetherexperiences the most opposite in time, quantity, andnature-which all appears as vivid and true as themost simple event of the waking hours. "About the correctness of such a theory as this,opinions may well be divided; but there can be nodoubt that opium has played its own part from remote antiquity till now in the production of greatimaginative works. Homer has his nepenthes; andthe poppy (Papaver somniferum) was sacred toSomnus, not surely without some reason other thanthe dull promotion of drowsiness. But passing from260 De Quincey's Life and Writings.this line of remark, we shall step out of this section.by presenting a few sentences from the distinguishedFrench translator ofthe " Confessions" and " Suspiria"-a criticism which has much of truth and delicacy,though with every expression we do not fully agree.It will be observed that there is no reserve in thepraise of these opium -dreams in respect of theirremarkable literary quality:-" Parmi les drogues les plus propres à créer ceque je nomme l'Idéal artificiel, laissant de côtéles liqueurs, qui poussent vite à la fureur matérielleet terrassent la force spirituelle, et les parfumsdont l'usage excessif, tout en rendant l'imagination de l'homme plus subtile, épuise graduellement ses forces physiques, les deux plus énergiquessubstances, celles dont l'emploi est le plus commode et le plus sous la main , sont le haschischet l'opium. L'analyse des effets mystérieux et desjouissances morbides que peuvent engendrer cesdrogues, des châtiments inévitables qui résultentde leur usage prolongé, et enfin de l'immortalitémême impliquée dans cette poursuite d'un fauxidéal, constitue le sujet de cette étude."Le travail sur l'opium a été fait, et d'une manièresi éclatante , médicale et poétique à la fois que jen'oserais rien y ajouter. Je me contenterai donc,dans une autre étude, de donner l'analyse de ce livreincomparable qui n'a jamais été traduit en Francedans sa totalité. L'auteur, homme illustre , d'uneimagination puissante et exquise, aujourd'hui retiréet silencieux, a osé, avec une candeur tragique, fairele récit des jouissances et des tortures qu'il atrouvées jadis dans d'opium, et la partie la plusA French Estimate. 261dramatique de son livre est celle où il parle desefforts surhumains de volonté qu'il lui a falludéployer pour échapper à la damnation à laquelle ils'était imprudemment voué lui- même.66 6• •Dans la dernière partie des Suspiria, ' il faitencore comme avec plaisir un retour vers les annéesdéjà si lontaines , et ce qui est vraiment précieux, làcomme ailleurs , ce n'est pas le fait, mais le commentaire, commentaire souvent noir, amer, désolé;pensée solitaire, qui aspire à s'envoler loin de ce solet loin du théâtre des luttes humaines; grands coupsd'aile vers le ciel; monologue d'une âme qui futtoujours trop facile à blesser. Ici comme dans lesparties déjà analysées , cette pensée est le thyrse dontil a si plaisamment parlé, avec la candeur d'un vagabond qui se connaît bien. Le sujet n'a pas d'autrevaleur que celle d'un baton sec et nu; mais lesrubans, les pampres, et les fleurs peuvent être, parleurs entrelacements folâtres, une richesse précieusepour les yeux. La pensée de De Quincey n'est passeulement sinueuse; le mot n'est pas assez fort:elle est naturellement spirale. D'ailleurs, ces commentaires et ces réflexions seraient fort longs aanalyser, et je dois me souvenir que le but de cetravail était de montrer, par un exemple, les effetsde l'opium sur un esprit méditatif et enclin à laréverie. Je crois ce but rempli. Il me suffira dedire que le penseur solitaire revient avec complaisance sur cette sensibilité précoce que fut pour lui lasource de tant d'horreurs et de tant de jouissances:sur son amour immense de la liberté, et sur lefrisson que lui inspirait la responsibilité. "

262 De Quincey's Life and Writings.De Quincey was like Rousseau in one thing-hedid not spare himself. He was utterly frank in hisconfessions, so far as they went, and much of theircharm lies in this. The reader will have seen thatwe have been able to verify not a little even inthe " Confessions " by reference to other papers , andfind that he did not understate in any matter of factwhat it was inevitable he should refer to. Now, withrespect to the matter of opium, we find him in 1855confessing to four separate and signal submissionsunder its influence. The first was in 1813-16, priorto his marriage; the second immediately after it, in1817-18; the third in London in 1824-25; and thefourth in the period between 1841-44. We are unable to present exact details relative to the period of1824-25; he himself, as we have seen, gave full details of the two earlier lapses in his appendix to thefirst edition of the " Confessions, " and of his experiences in the process of reduction; and in the fourthand last instance, we have found jottings amongst hispapers, together with the most passionate expressionsof his convictions of the evil that excessive opiumeating had brought upon him, and these have beengiven on an earlier page. While , therefore, it wouldbe quite correct for Thomas Hood, as we have seen ,to speak of De Quincey in 1825 as drinking opiumas another would drink claret (" within that circlenone durst drink but he ") , it is presumably a mistaken repetition of his words to apply them to 1845.Another thing to bear in mind is , that, in spiteof his sympathy with rude life, he was unequalto bear any part in quarrels and bickerings, andcould only shyly retreat from them, at whatever costNot Extravagant. 263to himself. Like Izaak Walton, he loved " peace andquietness," and sometimes he sacrificed too much toobtain them, by escaping from an unpleasant orapparently harsh procedure at the moment, only ofcourse to find it facing him, in a far grimmer aspect,at no distant date. In this respect, he was as simpleas a child, and it needs to be admitted at once thatalike in giving, in lending, and in the making ofbargains, his conduct of his affairs often seemed toborder on absolute imbecility.It would be the extreme of biographical perversion to pretend anything else. He always hadboundless expectations of what he could earn by hispen, and at the same time an utter want of power ofwriting, except when the fit happened to be uponhim. His anticipations of the produce of his writings were thus always disappointed . Nevertheless,up to the last moment, it was his habit to fill slipsof paper with the most minute jottings of incomeand expenditure, exhibiting the most modest ideasof living, so far as he himself was concerned, butalso betraying a childishly hopeful expectancy ofgreater productiveness in the future than in the past.In his earlier years he was more prone to act onthese ill-founded hopes than later in life; but thisarose from the fact that he had come, more andmore, to see the necessity of letting his family, incertain things, manage for him.In 1831 , for example, he took a large furnishedhouse in Great King Street, Edinburgh, under a calculation presuming on a steady amount of marketable production. He failed in this; and most of hisdifficulties in Edinburgh, precipitating him into cir-264 De Quincey's Life and Writings.c*mstances which ever afterwards it caused him exquisite pain to think of, resulted simply from hisincapacity to face creditors, and to do what themost ordinary common- sense might have suggestedto arrange his affairs on a satisfactory footing. Hechose to leave his affairs to arrange themselves. It issimply denied, however, that there was anything moreblameworthy than this lack of practicality and business tact, which was, and had all along been, combined with a generosity and a charity so open andunstinted, as might, if it had been dispensed witha view to advertisem*nt, have made him widelyknown as a philanthropist.Added to all this, as has been said, was his habitof magnifying little daily difficulties into portentousevils from which he needed to escape. These traits ,doubtless, had something to do with his change oflodgings in some instances; and, associated with acertain love of novelty and an almost childish likingfor mystery in innocent matters, account for muchwhich has been made unjustly to bear a sinister aspect.It needs to be clearly stated, too, that, notwithstanding the appearance of poverty in attire he alwayspresented, he had been wise enough, after a certaindate, to leave entirely in the hands of his wife , as hedid later in the hands of his daughters, small annuitiesderived from legacies-first from his father, secondfrom his uncle, Colonel Penson, and third from hismother. It was by these moneys chiefly that acomfortable home was maintained; so that at noperiod in his later years could it be said that he waseither homeless or reduced to beggary or want ofordinary necessaries. Through his own simplicity,No Tendency to Monologue. 265unstinted generosity, and the mismanagement, orworse, of lawyers, a considerable part of what hehad originally inherited at one time or other, hadbeen lost; but, happily, enough remained for this.And with reference to the years 1844-46 in particular,the sternest documents are existent to show thatthroughout the whole of that period he not only didnot overdraw his account with " Tait's Magazine, " butthat through these years a balance lay at his credit,and that sometimes his ordinary payments wereallowed to remain in the cashier's hands for monthsafter the dates on which they were due, by his failing to call or to apply for the money. If, then , heever borrowed sixpences, it is clear that he was notunable to pay them back, and that such borrowings,if we admit they took place, arose from irregularitiesthat showed absence, simplicity, and lack of commonprudence; but that he could hardly have been the" sponge " he has in one place been plainly represented to be.Another point which may have a bearing oncertain statements that have recently passed currentis this that those who knew him best never foundthat it was his habit to usurp the talk or to fall intolengthened monologue. Professor Wilson , ProfessorMasson, Mr. Hill Burton, Mr. Jacox, his own daughters,and many others, all declare that nothing was moreopposed to his habit. His consideration for othersand his courtesy were too marked to permit this.Upon general deliverances on the ethics of conversation , it would hardly be legitimate to base a positivestatement as to his own actual tendency, but takenin connection with the clear evidence of those who266 De Quincey's Life and Writings.knew him well, the following passages on conversation may have a certain weight, as they certainlyhave a certain autobiographic colouring:—" The habit of monologue, such as that of Coleridge,lies open to three fatal objections: 1. It is antisocial in a case expressly meant by its final cause forthe triumph of sociality; 2. It refuses all homage towomen on an arena expressly dedicated to their predominance; 3. It is essentially fertile in des longueurs. Could there be imagined a trinity of treasonsagainst the true tone of social intercourse more appalling to, say, a Parisian taste? Having originallya necessity almost morbid for the intellectual pleasures that depend on solitude, I am constitutionallysomewhat careless about the luxuries of conversation.I see them, like them, in the rare cases where theyflourish, but I do not require them. Yet my deliberate judgment is , that Coleridgian talk, even managedby a Coleridge, defeated the very end of socialmeetings. Without the excitement from a reasonable number of auditors, and some novelty in thecomposition of his audience, Coleridge was hardlyable to talk his best. Now, at the end of somehours, it struck directly on the good sense of thecompany-Was it reasonable to have assembled six,ten, or a dozen people for the purpose of hearing aprelection? Would not the time have been turnedto more account, even as regarded the very objectwhich they had substituted for social pleasure, instudying one of Coleridge's printed works, sincethere the words were stationary and not flying, sothat notes might be taken down, and questions proposed by way of letter on any impenetrable difficul-His Advantages for Conversation. 267ties; whereas a stream of oral teaching, whichran like the stream of destiny, was impassive to allattempts at interruption . . · •"I pitythe poor Indian , if he finds (as I sometimesdo), these three bad returns for his impenetrablepoliteness: first, that his fellow- interlocutor profitsby his forbearance, so as to obtain unlimited audiencefor himself, but thinks not of improving by it , so asto allow an undisturbed course to the reply; secondly,translates the immovable politeness into an admiration of his own eloquence, and dispenses it accordingly; thirdly, uses the deep attentive silence,which both is honesty to the argument and courtesyto the person, as a mere handle for saying the samething sixteen times over—a torment to which my owngreat practice in composition renders me painfullysensitive. So that now, in practising this rigour ofpatient listening, which unaffectedly I do uniformly,I suffer often a real martyrdom. I hope there issome wreath of laurel or amaranth in reserve forthat really difficult virtue of listening patiently to onewho abuses your indulgence immoderately. In thatcase I have a large arrear of claims to bring forward. I speak of this not in any spirit (thoughpossibly a tone) of jest, for jest it is not. I speaksorrowfully, and also because, in relation to thefuture, I have reason to speak fearfully. For my unlimited good nature is destined to be a snare for meto the end of my life."And among the great advantages he had for colloquial purposes, and for engaging the attention ofpeople wiser than himself, he enumerates these:-66 Having the advantage of a prodigious memory,268 De Quincey's Life and Writings.and the far greater advantage of a logical instinctfor feeling in a moment the secret analogies andparallelisms that connected things else apparentlyremote, I enjoyed these two peculiar gifts for conversation: first, an inexhaustible fertility of topics ,and, therefore, of resources for illustrating or forvarying any subject that chance or purpose suggested; secondly, a prematurely awakened sense ofart applied to conversation. I had learned the useof vigilance in evading with civility the approach ofwearisome discussions , and in impressing, quietlyand oftentimes imperceptibly, a new movement upondialogues that loitered painfully, or see-sawed unprofitably. "With his irrepressible passion for collecting booksand papers, and his utter incapacity to assort themand to dispense with what was useless , we can easilyunderstand how it came about that deposits of papersgrew here and there-" snowing him up," as hisphrase was so that he could only betake himself elsewhere helplessly. In two cases, it is true that, owingto this , he found himself in the hands of personswho, though they cleared out the papers , and let therooms to others, still maintained their claim upon himfor the rent during long periods whilst the saidpapers remained in their custody. Among his letterswe find a few memorials of such cases, quaintlyamusing to us as we read them, though, doubtless ,they were grave enough to him as he wrote them.But even here he did not fail to lighten up hisstatement of the question by that naïve humourwhich was so characteristic of him in all his difficulties. The following is part of a letter written to hisad*stressing Problem. 269daughter Emily in 1855, while she was on a visit toher sister, Mrs. Craig, in Ireland—Mrs. Craig beingthe " Maggy " referred to as likely to throw light onthe distressing problem:-6" What caused my consternation was Miss M- ' sdemand of one hundred guineas and upwards. ' Itis true that I believe any such debt, even if ever dueas to any fraction , to have (in the phrase of RomanLaw) prescribed. ' But-and this is the deadlydrawback upon my consolation in that direction—she, this fatal Miss M- , holds papers and booksof mine. I do not seriously urge this as the mortalsting of the case, because, if it is possible that I door can really owe her the sum which she alleges, Iwould assuredly pay her, whether holding or notholding any such pledge. I know not how this is.Can Maggy throw any light upon it? Payments, inthe meantime, such as I could , I have made to her;somewhere about ten guineas in the last threemonths. "99And if it should be of any interest to our readersto learn De Quincey's own opinion of what, no doubt,was the family of that woman who has been represented as "tracking him from lodging to lodgingand seizing his papers, because of arrears of rent, wehere subjoin it , in absolute confidence that all thepoint will thus be taken out of that foundationless ,but hardly well-intended, bit of gossip. The letterwas addressed to his daughters, and it need scarcelybe said that his gentle nature would not have allowedhim to write with such vehemence but under a senseof the greatest injustice:-That man who for years has persecuted me with claims of the270 De Quincey's Life and Writings.most fantastic kind died on Friday last. It seems he was utterlybroken down by drink. But a new persecution has replaced theold one. Since Saturday his two sons have besieged me withapplications the most violent for pecuniary aid in burying him.Their pride is dismally disturbed at the thought of his having apauper's funeral. But, of course, I have refused to interfere.After being often dismissed, and for perhaps a dozen times reinstated at the earnest intercession of influential people, who couldnot resist the misery manifested by his ruined wife, he offendedmore than ever, and finally was solemnly discharged for ever.There went to wreck seventy guineas a year, on which, with theirsmall family and his wife's economy, they might have lived incomfort. But not content with sacrificing that, he would notsuffer his wife to obtain a livelihood by letting lodgings, suchwere the uproars that he kicked up every night. I suppose thata more absolute wreck of decent prosperity never can have beenexemplified. Driven mad by ill-usage and something very likestarvation, for all the furniture and clothes gradually disappearedat the pawnbroker's, she also took to drinking by fits and starts.Luckily she could not often obtain drink. But at times she didobtain it, and drank to excess. In one of those excesses it wasthat she fell backwards on the area steps of a house in GeorgeSquare, and five or six days after (having been found by the policewith her skull fractured) died in the infirmary, not recognising,I believe, anybody whatever up to the moment of her death.Owing to various circ*mstances -loss of teeth, resulting from that early neuralgic affection , and weak-,ness , most probably ulceration, of the stomach, due tohis sufferings in London, which often caused him inexpressible agony-it is literally true that he never ate,not to say enjoyed, a dinner. It is easy for thosewho have never suffered to criticise and to talk ofthis weakness and that weakness, as indicated in hisindulgence in opium; but the truth is , that he wasan opium-eater in a more essential sense than isconveyed by any passing and superficial use of thenow common phrase. And we say this althoughA Charge Met. 271we have fully in our view his own deliverances onthe evil that excessive opium-eating wrought on him.at various periods in inducing strange forms of nervous suffering. But how many who would condemnhim with unqualified phrase are but pharisaicthrowers of the first stone-themselves often injuredby wine, by spirits, or by over-eating? Opium was DeQuincey's mainstay-the only food that his delicatesystem not unfrequently could receive. And while hefrankly confesses the evils that excesses in it hadwrought upon him, he deliberately records his conviction, in the later years of his life, that but for ithe would have been in his grave thirty years before.As to opium in itself, and taken in due limit, hewill acknowledge nothing save benefit; but he regardshimself as deeply wronged when it is suggested aspossible that his " Confessions " had had an alieninfluence in leading young men to become opiumeaters. When this charge was on one occasiondeliberately made, he thus met and disposed of it: —Whatever were the impelling principles to the publication ofthe opium " Confessions," whether motive that was distinctly contemplated or impulse that was obscurely felt, there will remaina perfectly separate question as to the practical result. For aconscientious man will grieve over those consequences from hisacts which he never could have designed, and will charge uponhimself those seductions which he had not even suspected.Here, then, opens an admirable occasion for the extent of mypower by laying bare the world of mischief which I have caused;and, secondly, the fairest excuse possible for resuming my enchanter's wand in order that I may exorcise the evil spirits whichI have evoked. Listening to others, as Coleridge for instance, Iought first to be horror- struck at the havoc which my revelationshave produced; and next, under the coercion of conscience, Iought to find the necessity for redressing this havoc by revela-272 De Quincey's Life and Writings.tions still more appalling. There in 1822 is your bane; here in1845 is your antidote. Oh, stratagems of vanity! but I rejectboth . I have neither done the evil in past times with which Iam charged, nor am I at present seeking to repair it. The firstis not a fact; the second is not a possibility.I remember at this moment with laughter the case of a man ona sick- bed, who was deploring to his confessor the awful mischieflikely to affect his own and future generations from an infidelbook that he had published. But the kind- hearted father entreated him to take comfort, upon the ground that, except for astray trunkmaker or so, and a few vagabond pastrycooks, noman, to his own certain knowledge, had ever bought acopy. Whereupon the sinner leaped out of bed, and being amember ofthe " fancy," he proceeded to floor the confessor, as aproper reward for his insulting consolations.For my own part, I cannot in a literal sense appropriate thebenefit of the good father's suggestion. It is past all denyingthat in 1822 very many people (trunkmakers not included) didprocure copies, and cause copies to be multiplied, of the opium"Confessions." But I have yet to learn that any one of these peoplewas inoculated by me, or could have been, with a first love for adrug so notorious as opium. Teach opium- eating! Did I teachwine-drinking? Did I reveal the mystery of sleeping? Did Iinaugurate the infirmity of laughter?InYet still I may have sharpened the attention, or I may havepointed a deeper interest, to this perilous medicine. But thesecases are accidents perhaps in a world where comparatively sofewcan be left to their own free choice in matters of daily habit―are such slight undulations upon the face of society as we seearising on the sea from the passing of a steamboat; they subsidealmost immediately into the mighty levels around them.any ten cases of this nature, five will probably cure themselves byoriginal defect of natural preconformity to the drug-four by coercion of circ*mstances barring all means of procuring opium.The opium- cater goes to sea, to jail, to the hulks, to a hospital, or he is ordered off on a march; and in any of these casesthe chain is broken violently. But then for the one case remaining? As to that, there is reason to think, from the vastdiffusion of opium in all its forms, that any individual temptationmust have been the causa occasionalis only, and not the causasine qua non of such a habit. A man has read a description ofIntroductions to Opium-Eating. 273the powers lodged in opium; or, which is still more striking, hehas found these powers heraldically emblazoned in some magnificent dream due to that agency. This by accident has been hisown introduction to opium-eating. But if he never had seen thegorgeous description or the gorgeous dream, he would (fifty toone) have tried opium on the recommendation of a friend fortoothache, which is as general as the air, or for ear-ache, or (asColeridge) for rheumatism; and thus, without either descriptionor dream, he would have learned the powers of opium on thesurer basis of his own absolute experience.Consequently, I deny the opening to any large range of mischief; and not believing in any mischief caused by my " Confessions," equally I deny the opening to any compensating power ofdetaining men from opium. My faith is, that no man is likelyto adopt opium or to lay it aside in consequence of anything hemay read in a book. A book may suggest it; but, in default ofthe book, every day's intercourse with men, and every day's experience of pain, would have made the same suggestion.Taking this in connection with his deliberate statement in the final form of the " Confessions ," published in 1856, we can only conclude that, onmaturer deliberation, and yet fuller experience, hemodified the view we have referred to so far as toreturn to his earlier idea that a moderate indulgencein his case was necessary even to sustain life. Hiswhole case suggests, indeed, that he suffered fromchronic gastralgia-attested, as it seems to be, bythe gnawing pains in the stomach, his incapacity forsolid food, even in very small quantity, and his nervous horror, which only opium could relieve. Thisview seems to gain support from his own statementin that letter to Miss Mitford, where he thus meetsthe suggestion that his nervous sufferings might be

• See Appendix,-" Medical View of De Quincey's Case."

VOL. II. S274 De Quincey's Life and Writings.some horrible recoil from the long habit of usingopium to excess:—" This seems improbable, " he says, " for morereasons than one; because previously to any considerable abuse of opium-viz. , in the year 1812-I hadsuffered an unaccountable attack of nervous horror,which lasted for five months, and went off in onenight, as unaccountably as it had first come on, inone second of time. I was at the time perfectlywell; was at my cottage in Grasmere, and had justaccompanied Mr. Grosvenor Bedford, an old friendof Southey's, round the Lake district. "CHAPTER XX.CRITICISMS AND CHARACTERISTICS—Continued.E have followed some of De Quincey's moremarked personal characteristics, it now becomes our business to deal with some featuresmore special to his writings. First of all, we remarkon the compass of his vocabulary. Language is hispliant servant. It is true that in some of his writings.he might seem to an unsympathetic and insensitivereader to be merely exercising a faculty of bringingout new verbal combinations. But in these instances.it will be found, on more careful analysis, that hisstyle corresponds to the subject, and that there is nodivorce between them. It is, indeed, the subtle andinsinuating harmony-the sense of his having givenadequate utterance to whole regions of sentiment andfeeling that had heretofore lain in a neglected " debateable land " between prose and poetry, that constitutes his claim to be reckoned as the first writerof " impassioned English prose, " in which a carefulbalance of correspondent structure was thus faithfullymaintained. He had passed through peculiar and276 De Quincey's Life and Writings.wholly abnormal experiences-did he or did he notadopt the most effective form by which not only toconvey a coherent idea of these experiences, but toawaken in the reader something correspondent to therhythmic movement of feeling and phantasy in himself in these more elevated and dream- stirredmoments of his life? In dealing with " Reminiscences " of childhood in his autobiographic sketches,did he present to the mirror of memory an imagesufficiently clear to recall to the mind of the ordinaryreader a sense of something distant, sweet, vague,and innocent " more deeply interfused than is thelight of setting suns "? The fact of the wide interestwhich " The Opium Confessions " and the " Sketchesof Infancy " have awakened, and the place they havemaintained as genuine and permanent additions toour literature, amply suffice to attest this." In that succession of dreams," says Mr. Bayne,"which seems to me to constitute De Quincey's masterpiece, there is , over all the splendour and terror, aclear serenity of light which belongs to the veryhighest style of poetic beauty. The conceptions arevery daring, but each form of spurious originality isabsent the fantastic and the grotesque; there is themystery of the land of dreams, yet so powerful isthe imagination which strikes the whole into being,that the wondrous picture has the vividness andtruth of reality; while, with every change of sceneand emotion, the language changes too-now rich,glowing, and bold, when the idea is free, sunnyjoyousness -now melting into a gentle, spiritualmelody of more than Eolian softness-and nowrising to a harmonic swell that echoes the everlast-A Master of Style. 277ing gallop of the steeds which drag the triumphalcar. "But if De Quincey is to be ranked as the chiefmaster of impassioned prose, not the less may it beclaimed for him that he has produced specimens ofas clear, simple, idiomatic English as is to be foundin the literature of our century. A gentleman ofour acquaintance, indeed, was wont to maintainthat, in one respect, it was a pity that De Quincey'smerits in other directions had been so completelyovershadowed by those of his first great work- that,in point of fact, the " Confessions of an OpiumEater " taken by itself gives a wholly erroneousview of De Quincey's powers as a master of style.Were we asked for a specimen of graceful vigorousEnglish which might be set before a student as astandard up to which he should make it his businessto work, we should have no hesitation in pointing tothe essays on Shakespeare, and Casuistry, and certain sections of the " Political Economy," as preeminently suited for this purpose.A good authority seemed to think very differentlyfrom the writer we have already dealt with of DeQuincey's style as applied to Political Economy. Mr.M'Culloch, in his " Literature of Political Economy,"says of the " Templar's Dialogues: "-" They are unequalled, perhaps , for brevity, pungency, and force.They not only bring the Ricardian theory of valueinto strong relief, but triumphantly repel, or ratherannihilate, the objections urged against it by Malthus in his pamphlet, ' The Measure of Value Statedand Illustrated,' and in his Political Economy, and278 De Quincey's Life and Writings.by Say and others. They may be said , indeed, tohave exhausted the subject. """ *In opposition , indeed , to the idea that De Quinceyis " pompous " and " over-coloured " in style, weregard him as having erred in some slight degreein many parts of his essays by want of dignity, andthe excessive use of colloquialisms and even of slangphrases. In not a few cases these are undoubtedlyused with great tact, force, and point. The newapplications which he gives to old phrases indeedforms one of the delights of the student. Not toencumber our page with separate references, it willperhaps suffice that we mention the article onGoethe's " Wilhelm Meister," to which certainly nocritic could raise the objection that has been raisedto the style of other works of his--as " pompous "or over-coloured, " It lies wholly beyond ourscope here to enter on a minute and technical analysis of his style, which, besides , would be so far awork of supererogation , since the reader who wishesa good guide in that line will find it ready to hishand in Mr. Minto's admirable and conscientiousHandbook.tPassing from merely technical considerations ofstyle, the student should note the variety and therange of his topics, and the complete ease and

• In this it would seem that the heads of the Government

colleges in India agree with us with respect to the " PoliticalEconomy," for they made a condensation of the work, andpublished it at Allahabad, to serve as a text-book for theirclasses in this science.+ Manual of English Prose Literature. By William Minto,M.A. William Blackwood & Sons.His Extensive Range. 279Inthoroughness with which they are invariably treated.The most recondite inquiries , as well as the mostdramatic and affecting incidents in common life;biographies at once simple and profound in analysis;dreams; logical systems rigid and exact applied topractical affairs; the most incisive criticisms, ranging from discourses on the dramatic poets of Greeceto reviews of the latest compilations of anecdotes;humorous jeux d'esprit disguised as real narratives;sketches of manners and circ*mstantial fictions thatlook as though they were most historical; -all attesta marvellous faculty of memory, of analysis , ofcombination, of playful and creative humour.every scrap that comes from his hand we see themixing and toning of many influences, to impartthat final and unaffected felicity which belongs to afew only of the writers of any age-to Irving orHawthorne among Americans, to Herder or Goetheor Heine among Germans, to Sainte Beuve or Girardin among French writers , to such as Thackerayor Matthew Arnold among ourselves . We cannot findthe space to describe the circle of illustrative quotation we should have liked-one or two salient andcontrasted specimens must suffice. Here is a littlepicture from Kate, the Spanish military- naval nun ,a production which, while giving much informationas to Spain and her relations at the date it bears,abounds in quaint and humorous passages, subduedby unexpected tender touches, and all wrought to oneingenious climax of exaggerated tragi- comedy:-" Kate's prudence whispered eternally, that safetythere was none for her, until she had laid theAtlantic between herself and St. Sebastian's. Life280 De Quincey's Life and Writings.was to be for her a Bay of Biscay; and it was odds,but she had first embarked upon this billowy life fromthe literal Bay of Biscay. Chance ordered otherwise. Or, as a Frenchman says, with eloquentingenuity, in connection with this very story,Chance is but the pseudonyme of God for thoseparticular cases which He does not choose to subscribeopenly with His own sign-manual. ' She crept upstairs to her bedroom. Simple are the travellingpreparations of those that, possessing nothing, haveno imperials to pack. She had Juvenal's qualification for carolling gaily through a forest full ofrobbers; for she had nothing to lose but a changeof linen , that rode easily enough under the leftarm, leaving the right free for answering the questions of impertinent customers. As she crept downstairs , she heard the crocodile still weeping forth hissorrows to the pensive ear of twilight, and to thesympathetic Don Francisco. Ah, what a beautifulidea occurs to me at this point! Once on thehustings at Liverpool, I saw a mob orator, whosehowling mouth, open to its widest expansion, suddenly some larking sailor, by the most dexterous ofshots, plugged up with a paving-stone. Here now,at Valladolid , was another mouth that equally required plugging. What a pity, then, that some gaybrother page of Kate's had not been there to turnaside into the room, armed with a roasted potato,and, taking a sportsman's aim, to have lodged it inthe crocodile's abominable mouth! Yet, what ananachronism! There were no roasted potatoes inSpain at that date ( 1608) , which can be apodeiktically proved, because in Spain there were noPicture ofGoldsmith.281potatoes at all; and very few in England. Butanger drives a man to say anything."In contrast with this over-bubbling facetioushumour, which bursts out on you at the most unexpected points, and which, so to say, turns upon itself,let us now set down this exquisitely simple summingup of the genius of Goldsmith, and the alleviationsin his lot brought by simple health and genial goodnature and hopefulness of disposition:-" My trust is, that Goldsmith lived on the wholea life which, though troubled , was one of averageenjoyment. Unquestionably, when reading at midnight, in the middle watch of a century which henever reached by one whole generation, this record ofone so guileless, so upright, or seeming to be otherwise only in the eyes of those who did not know hisdifficulties , nor could have understood them; whenrecurring also to his admirable genius, to the sweetnatural gaiety of his oftentimes pathetic humour, andto the varied accomplishments, from talent or erudition, by which he gave effect to endowments so fascinating, one cannot but sorrow over the strife whichhe sustained, and over the wrong which he suffered.A few natural tears fall from every eye at the rehearsal of so much contumely from fools, which hefaced unresistingly, as one bareheaded in a hailstorm; and worse to bear than the scorn of fools,was the imperfect sympathy and jealous self-distrust-

• “ I do not allude chiefly to his experience of childhood, when

he is reported to have been a general butt of ridicule for hisugliness and his supposed stupidity; since, as regarded the latterreproach, he could not have suffered very long, having already282 De Quincey's Life and Writings.ing esteem which to the last he received from hisfriends. Doubtless he suffered much wrong; but so,in one way or other, do most men: he suffered alsothis special wrong, that in his lifetime he never wasfully appreciated by any one friend-something of acounter-movement ever mingled with praise for him;he never saw himself enthroned in the heart of anyyoung and fervent admirer; and he was alwaysovershadowed by men less deeply genial, thoughmore showy, than himself; but these things happen,and will happen for ever, to myriads amongst thebenefactors of earth. Their names ascend in songsof thankful commemoration, yet seldom until the earsare deaf that would have thrilled to the music. Andthese were the heaviest of Goldsmith's afflictions:what are likely to be thought such-viz. , the battleswhich he fought for his daily bread—I do not numberamongst them. To struggle is not to suffer. Heavengrants to few of us a life of untroubled prosperity,and grants it least of all to its favourites. . . . If,therefore, Goldsmith's life had been one of continualstruggle, it would not follow that it had thereforesunk below the standard of ordinary happiness. Butthe life-struggle of Goldsmith, though severe enough(after all allowances) to challenge a feeling of tendercompassion, was not in such a degree severe as hasbeen represented. He enjoyed two great immunitiesfrom suffering that have been much overlooked; andat a childish age vindicated his intellectual place by the verseswhich opened to him an academic destination. I allude to hismature life , and the supercilious condescension with which evenhis reputed friends doled out their praises to him."Immunitiesfrom Suffering.283such immunities that, in our opinion , four in five ofall the people ever connected with Goldsmith's works,as publishers, printers, compositors (that is, mentaken at random) , have very probably suffered more,"upon the whole, than he. The immunities werethese 1st, from any bodily taint of low spirits. Hehad a constitutional gaiety of heart; an elastichilarity; and, as he himself expresses it, a knackof hoping '—which knack could not be bought withOrmus and with Ind, nor hired for a day with thepeaco*ck throne of Delhi. How easy was it to bearthe brutal affront of being to his face described as'Doctor Minor,' when one hour or less would dismissthe Doctor Major,' so invidiously contradistinguished from himself, to a struggle with scrofulousmelancholy; whilst he, if returning to solitude anda garret, was returning also to natural cheerfulness.There lay one immunity, beyond all price, from amode of strife, to which others, by a large majority,are doomed-strife with bodily wretchedness. Another immunity he had of almost equal value, andyet almost equally forgotten by his biographers—viz. , the responsibilities of a family. Wife andchildren he had not. They it is that, being a man'schief blessings, create also for him the deadliest ofhis anxieties, that stuff his pillow with thorns,that surround his daily path with snares. Supposethe case of a man who has helpless dependantsof this class upon himself, summoned to face somesudden failure of his resources; how shatteringto the power of exertion, and, above all, of exertionby an organ so delicate as the creative intellect,dealing with subjects so coy as those of imaginative284 De Quincey's Life and Writings.sensibility, to know that instant ruin attends hisfailure. ..." All the motions of Goldsmith's nature moved inthe direction of the true, the natural, the sweet, thegentle. In the quiet times, politically speaking,through which his course of life travelled, he found amusical echo to the tenor of his own original sensibilities. In the architecture of European history, asit unfolded its proportions along the line of his ownparticular experience, there was a symmetry with theproportions of his own unpretending mind. Our revolutionary age would have unsettled his brain. Thecolossal movements of nations, from within and fromwithout; the sorrow of the times, which searches sodeeply; the grandeur of the times, which aspires soloftily; these forces, acting for the last fifty yearsby secret sympathy upon all fountains of thinkingand impassioned speculation , have raised them fromdepths never visited by our fathers, into altitudes toodizzy for their contemplating. This generation andthe last, with their dreadful records, would have untuned Goldsmith for writing in the key that suitedhim; and us they would have untuned for understanding his music, had we not learned to understandit in childhood, before the muttering hurricanes inthe upper air had begun to reach our young ears, andforced them away to the thundering overhead, fromthe carollings of birds amongst rustling bowers. "The concluding words of the essay on Shelleymight be cited as a contrasted specimen in thebiographical department: —" When one thinks of the early misery which hesuffered, and of the insolent infidelity which, beingOn Shelley and Swedenborg.285yet so young, he wooed with a lover's passion, thenthe darkness of midnight begins to form a deep impenetrable background, upon which the phantasmagoria of all that is to come may arrange itself introubled phosphoric streams and sweeping processionsof woe. Yet again, when one recurs to his graciousnature, his fearlessness, his truth, his purity fromall fleshliness of appetite, his freedom from vanity,his diffusive love and tenderness, -suddenly out ofthe darkness reveals itself a morning of May, forestsand thickets of rose advance to the foreground , andfrom the midst of them looks out the eternal child ,'cleansed from his sorrow, radiant with joy, havingpower given him to forget the misery which hesuffered, power given him to forget the misery whichhe caused, and leaning with his heart upon thatdove-like faith against which his erring intellect hadrebelled. "No careful reader of De Quincey could supposethat he would have much sympathy with the formaldreamer and theological seer, Swedenborg. Hiscriticism of the man and his system is not exhaustive, but is so incisive and suggestive, as faras it goes, and withal so little known, that we giveit a place here, as indicating variety of interest andof style:-" Of all writers, Swedenborg is the only one Iever heard of who has contrived to strip even theshadowy world beyond the grave of all its mysteryand all its awe. From the very heaven of heavenshe has rent away the veil: no need for ' seraphs totremble while they gaze; ' for the familiarity withwhich all objects are invested, makes it impossible286 De Quincey's Life and Writings.that even poor mortals should find any reason totremble. Until I had seen his books, I had notconceived it possible to carry an atmosphere soearthy, and steaming with the vapours of earth ,into regions which, by early connection in our infantthoughts with the sanctities of death, have a holdupon the reverential affections such as they rarelylose. In this view, I should conceive that Swedenborg, if it were at all possible for him to become apopular author, would at the same time become immensely mischievous. He would de-religionise menbeyond all authors whatsoever. . . . Swedenborg, insome senses, was certainly not charitable. He hadbeen scandalised by a notion which, it seems, hefound prevalent among the poor of the Continent—viz. , if riches were a drag and a negative force onthe road to religious perfection, poverty must be apositive title per se to the favour of Heaven. Grievously offended with this error, he came almost tohate poverty as a presumptive indication of thisoffensive heresy; scarcely would he allow it an indirect value, as removing in many cases the occasionsor incitements to evil. No; being in itself neutraland indifferent, he argued that it had become erroneously a ground of presumptuous hope; whilst therich man, aware of his danger, was in some degreearmed against it by fear and humility. And, in thiscourse of arguing and of corresponding feeling, Swedenborg had come to hate the very name of a poorcandidate for heaven, as bitterly as a sharking attorney hates the applications of a pauper client. '99De Quincey's inveterate propensity to digression,and to a kind of guerilla defence of his text byIdea ofthe Picturesque. 287footnotes, has already been referred to in thesepages. This tendency proceeded alike from his excessive acuteness of memory for facts, and his rarepower of seizing and exhibiting the secondary andless obvious relations of things, no less than froman extreme conscientiousness that did not allowhim to leave statements so unqualified as oratorsand more popular writers have found it to betheir interest to leave them. It is confessedly adrawback in view of immediate popular effect, however beautiful may be the traits of character itestablishes. But these notes abundantly show theman of immense resource, who does not need coldlyto reckon the value of what he thus throws awaywhat with but very slight labour might not seldomhave been made to stand for a separate and valuableessay. The following note on the picturesque issimply an ordinary footnote, as De Quincey esteemsits" The idea of the picturesque is one which did notexist at all until the post- Christian ages; neitheramongst the Grecians nor amongst the Romans;and therefore, as respects one reason , it was that theart of landscape- painting did not exist ( except in aChinese infancy and as a mere trick of inventiveingenuity) among the finest artists of Greece. Whatis the picturesque, as placed in relation to the beautiful and the sublime? It is (to define it by thevery shortest form of words) the characteristicpushed into a sensible excess. The prevailing character of any natural object, no matter how littleattractive it may be for beauty, is always interestingfor itself, as the character and hieroglyphic symbol288 De Quincey's Life and Writings.of the purposes pursued by nature in the determination of its form, style of motion , texture of superficies , relation of parts, &c." Thus, for example, an expression of dulness andsomnolent torpor does not ally itself with grace orelegance; but, in combination with strength and otherqualities, it may compose a character of serviceableand patient endurance, as in the cart-horse, havingunity in itself, and tending to one class of usessufficient to mark it out by circ*mscription for adistinct and separate contemplation. Now, in combination with certain counteracting circ*mstances, aswith the momentary energy of some great effort,much of this peculiar character might be lost, ordefeated, or dissipated. On that account the skilfulobserver will seek out circ*mstances that are inharmony with the principal tendencies, and assistthem; such, suppose, as a state of lazy relaxationfrom labour, and the fall of heavy drenching raincausing the head to droop, and the shaggy mane,together with the fetlocks, to weep. These, andother circ*mstances of attitude, &c. , bring out thecharacter or prevailing tendency of the animal insome excess; and, in such a case, we call the resulting effect to the eye, picturesque-or, in fact,characteresque. In extending this speculation toobjects of art and human purposes, there is something more required of subtle investigation. Meantime it is evident that neither the sublime nor thebeautiful depends upon any secondary interest of apurpose, or of a character expressing that purpose.They (confining the case to visual objects) court theprimary interest involved in that (form, colour, tex-An Aim in his Digressions. 289ture, altitude, motion ) which forces admiration, whichfascinates the eye, for itself, and without a question ofany distinct purpose; and instead of character-thatis, discriminating and separating expression, tendingto the special and the individual-they both agree inpursuing the Catholic, the Normal, the Ideal. "But amid all this digression , and guerilla defenceby footnotes, it is most interesting to watch withwhat deftness he worms his way through all thedistracting reminiscences, right to the point whichhe had in his eye at starting. A sense of ingenioussimplicity, of unconscious masterliness , rises uponthe reader what had at first tantalised him becomes a source of endless attraction and interest.Curiosity in his course and the movements possibleto him is stimulated the more that we read, precisely as in watching the half-aerial gyrations ofsome thoroughly-finished dancer. An acute critic,whom we have still amongst us, has very effectivelyseized this point in the following passage:-" The goal indeed is always kept in view; howevercircuitous the wandering may be, there is always areturn to the subject; the river's course is alwaysseawards but there are no fixed embankments,between which, in straight, purpose-like course, thestream is compelled to flow: you are led aside inthe most wayward manner, and though you mustallow that every individual bay and wooded creek isin itself beautiful, yet, being a Briton, accustomedto feed on facts, like the alligators, whom the oldnaturalists asserted to live on stones, and thinking itright to walk to the purpose of a book with that firmstep and by that nearest road which conduct you toVOL. II. T290 De Quincey's Life and Writings.your office, you are soon ready to exclaim that thisis trifling, and that you wish the author wouldspeak to the point. But there is some witcherywhich still detains you, the trifling seems to beflavoured with some indefinable essence, whichspreads an irresistible charm around: you recollectthat nature has innumerable freaks. . . . Then yourtrust becomes deeper, your earnestness of study redoubles; you are profoundly convinced that here isno pretence, no unnatural effort; your murmuringturns to astonishment at the complexity, richness ,and strangely- blended variety of nature's effects. Ifyour experience is the same as ours most honestlywas, you will proceed from a certain pleasurable titillation to the conviction that, however hampered,however open to objection, here is an intellect, in allthe great faculties of analysis , combination, and reception, of a power and range which you are at a lossto measure or define. We must take into account,in judging of the powers of De Quincey, the factthat his life has been shadowed by one great cloud,which would have fatally obscured any ordinary intellect; that he has seen the stars through a veil,and that we have to mete the power of that visionwhich could pierce such an obstruction. It must beremembered, too, that the mind of Mr. de Quinceyis , on all hands, admitted to be one of a very singular and original kind. It is pre- eminently characterised by two qualities, which are partially regardedwith suspicion by hard thinkers, and tend to lowerthe expectation of the reader who is in search of substantial intellectual sustenance: we mean humour,and what we can only call mysticism. De QuinceyThe North American Review. 291is essentially and always a humourist, a humouristof a very rare and delicate order, but whose verydelicacy is mistaken by hard minds for feebleness. '99 The North American Review," in noticing oneof the earlier volumes of " The Collected Works,'thus ingeniously followed up the same line of remark: —" We are struck at once by the exquisite refinement of mind, the subtleness of association , and theextreme tenuity of the threads of thought, thegossamer filaments yet finally weaving themselvestogether, and thickening imperceptibly into a strongand expanded web. Mingled with this , and perhapsspringing from a similar mental habit, is anoccasional dreaminess both in speculation and innarrative, when the mind seems to move vaguelyround in vast returning circles. The thoughts catchhold of nothing, but are heaved and tossed likemasses of cloud by the wind. An incident of trivialimport is turned and turned to catch the light ofevery possible consequence, and so magnified as tobecome portentous and terrible. " And after havingmade special reference to the evidences of multifarious reading in the essay entitled " Dinner, Real andReputed, " the reviewer proceeds: -" A barren andtrivial fact, under the power of that life- givinghand, shoots out on all sides into waving branchesand green leaves, and odoriferous flowers. It is notthe fact that interests us, but the mind working uponit, investing it with mock- heroic dignity, or rendering it illustrative of really serious principles; or,with the true insight of genius, discovering, in that292 De Quincey's Life and Writings.which a vulgar eye would despise, the germs ofgrandeur and beauty; the passions of war in thecontests of the rival factions of schoolboys, thetragedy in every peasant's death -bed. . . . . To ourfancy, the refuse of his escritoire must be, like thesweepings of a goldsmith's shop, worthy of themost careful sifting. De Quincey constantly amazesus by the amount and diversity of his learning. Twoor three of the minor papers in the collectedvolumes are absolutely loaded with the life spoils oftheir author's scholarship, yet carry their burden aslightly as our bodies sustain the weight of the circumambient atmosphere. So perfect is his tact in finding ,or rather making, a place for everything that, whileinviting, he eludes the charge of pedantry." It is scarcely to be expected, however, that onewho tries his hand at so many kinds of pencraftshould always excel; yet such is the force of DeQuincey's intellect, the brilliancy of his imagination ,and the charm of his style, that he throws a newand peculiar interest over every subject which he discusses , while his fictitious narratives in general rivetthe attention of the reader with a power not easilyresisted. In this volume now before us , the firstand longest paper presents a very ingenious andelaborate discussion of some of the fundamentalprinciples of political economy, with special reference to the meaning to be attached to the termvalue,' but also touching the subjects of rent,wages, and profits. "To lovers of alliteration , it might sound as somewhat of a warning, if we mentioned that De Quincey,in spite of his wide vocabulary and his aptitude forDislike of Alliteration. 293phrase, had a horror of excessively alliterative sentences. In going over his MSS. and proofs, wehave come on many instances of this. Sometimes hewould write, say, " inextricably interblended, " or" inextricably interlinked, " but the first word isdeleted.CHAPTER XXI,THE LAST DAYS.T cannot be said that the end came to DeQuincey quite unexpectedly; though he himself was reluctant to admit that it was so near.He had outlived the allotted threescore and ten; hadseen many men, his fellow-workers, of far more robustphysical build than himself, fail and pass away; but hecherished his plans and prospects with a kind of childlikefaith, and was, in his own way, industrious and hopeful almost to the last. Tokens of weakness had, however, been unmistakeably proclaiming themselves for thelast two years. The slightest extra effort tried him,and left him exhausted. An hour's search after apage of copy gone astray amongst his multifariousstrata of printed matter, or the struggle to recover areference, would prostrate him for days; laudanum,which he was now compelled to resort to more than foryears he had done, on account of increasing nervouspains, lost its effect, and his sleep was broken and fitful.Little " worries," which before had been set aside byeffort of will, took possession of his mind, and distractedDr. Warburton Begbie's Visits. 295him in the midst of his labours. But he was so gentle,so hopeful, so possessed by the fear of giving unnecessary trouble or concern to others, that he would not forweeks listen to the suggestion of the friend who was nowmost often with him, in his rooms in Edinburgh, that aphysician should be called in, or that his daughtershould be sent for. At length new symptoms madethemselves manifest, and he consented that his daughtershould be brought to him, and that Dr. WarburtonBegbie should pay him a visit. This physician, whopassed away in March 1876, and who was as noted forhigh culture and chivalric devotion as for his professionalskill, was unwearying in his attentions, and was so deeplyinterested in his patient, that he not only brought hisdistinguished father and one other eminent physician toconsult about the case, but carefully set down for thebenefit of relatives and friends his impressions in an account of those last days. This writing has never beforehad a more extended use; and as it has been put intoour hands, and as we ourselves had benefited by Dr.Begbie's great skill and goodness, we have a peculiar, ifa mournful, pleasure in here introducing it:—"My first visit to Mr. de Quincey," he writes, " wason the afternoon of Saturday, the 22d October 1859. Ihad never seen Mr. de Quincey before that day, thoughcherishing from boyhood the highest admiration forhim. I found him in the parlour, sitting on a sofa, butresting his head on a cushion placed on a chair beforehim; this posture was assumed not from pain, but byreason of feebleness. He received me with all thatgraciousness and winning kindness of manner and ofspeech for which he was remarkable, and briefly ex-296 De Quincey's Life and Writings.plained the nature of his indisposition. After myexamination, which succeeded the description Mr. deQuincey had given me of his case, he expressed themost ready acquiescence in the employment of theremedial means judged to be necessary. I found Mr.de Quincey then, as for many days thereafter, able andready to speak on all subjects with that clearness ofintellect and perception which were so remarkably his;indicating no failure, as far as I could judge, of themental faculties." The following day, Sunday (October 23d) , Mr. deQuincey was better; the degree of feverishness whichexisted the previous day had passed; he had spent abetter night, slept more, and had awoke with a greaterdegree of refreshment. With a kindness and consideration which deeply impressed me, he acknowledged thebeneficial operation of the remedies that had been suggested; and enlarged, in a manner altogether new to me,upon the peculiar effects they had produced. These,though in no way remarkable in themselves, could onlybe appreciated by one who had learned, as he had, tonotice the consequences-sensational as well as activeof all agencies. Very vividly then, as afterwards onmany occasions, were some of the descriptions in the' Confessions ' brought to my remembrance. On thisoccasion, as on many subsequent visits, Mr. de Quinceyalluded to the habit, in which he had so long indulged,of taking opium. With that noble honesty and candourfor which, no less than for intellectual endowments andhighest mental cultivation, he was distinguished, andwith a child-like simplicity and most captivating kindness, he expressed the feeling -amounting to a deep-De Quincey's Candour. 297seated conviction of what was imperatively demandedthat the physician should be informed, with the mostscrupulous fidelity, as to all the habits of his patient. Ithen learned, as I had been led to believe, that for a longperiod Mr. de Quincey's indulgence in opium was extremely limited; though the total abandonment of itsuse he had found to be (and with this conclusion, in a caseof confirmed habit, medical men will not be disposed todiffer) inconsistent with the enjoyment of that bodilyhealth, but more particularly that state of mental calmness and tranquillity, the possession of which he desiderated above all things. He readily acknowledgedthe perniciousness of habitual indulgence in opium;though he was equally ready to claim for the potentdrug effects eminently beneficial . Quare facit opiumdormire?' is a question put by Molière; but the sleepy,brain-intoxicating quality of opium De Quincey prizednot. How much the substantial power and brilliantfancy of his writings had to do with the opium-eating,I do not inquire; but that it helped to keep active andentire, during so many long years of bodily feebleness,that large and constant-working brain-that, in a word,it fed it I have no manner of doubt. And further,that the almost singular immunity Mr. de Quinceyenjoyed from headache, which, in the course of his longlife, he never knew-a common source of annoyance,oftentimes of misery, to ordinary-living students -waslikely enough due to the opium, I also believe.6"For several days after the visits referred to, Mr. deQuincey's state of health, though causing anxiety, wasnot such as to excite alarm. Two or three times, duringthe course of as many weeks, there recurred slight and298 De Quincey's Life and Writings.transient febrile attacks, such as are incidental to persons who have passed the allotted span of human existence, accompanied by a renewal of his catarrhal complaint. But these passed, leaving him, perhaps, a littleweaker after each; though always manifesting-andthis was, I believe, noticed as a characteristic feature inall the ailments Mr. de Quincey suffered from—a decidedand ready power of rallying. Encouraged to visit himvery frequently, I availed myself of so great a privilege;and for many days spent a short time in the morning,and again at a later hour, with him. On the formervisits, whether seated in his chair or lying in bed, Igenerally found him attempting to read without spectacles, which he never employed. Almost up to the lastmoment, he looked anxiously for the morning papers,and listened with great interest to what was read to himfrom them, if he was not able to read himself. Theknowledge Mr. de Quincey possessed of the most recentevents, political and of general interest, was most amazing,and could only have been acquired by diligent perusalof the periodical press. He had, however, no relish formunicipal matters; still less for sectional ecclesiasticalaffairs. When tired of reading, he was read to bythedaughter whose presence cheered his last days, or by afaithful attendant, for whose comfort, as was invariablyhis character, he manifested the utmost solicitude, bearing many little annoyances that increased trouble mightnot be incurred. In his correspondence, long after hehad ceased to reply to letters -that was forbidden,indeed, during his whole illness-he took the greatestinterest. It would be gratifying to many who wrote tohim in his last days to know how much he valued theirTranquil Composure. 299letters, as well as the little acts-especially the reciprocal attentions of authors-of kindness which so manypaid him. Day after day books were handed in; these,when unable to read, he nevertheless carefully examined.Thus I saw him treat Mr. Allibone's recent Herculeantask, his ' Dictionary of English Literature.' The kindmention in that work of himself, upon which I remarked, led him to speak of what he styled ' the morethan deserved consideration paid him in America, particularly in Boston.'66 During those days of dull November which, with allits gloominess and more than ordinary fog, did not inthe least affect the serenity and tranquil composure of hisspirit, devoutly reverential and adoring-as the amplesttestimony, were that required, could be made by thewriter of these lines-and animated by the most enlargedbenevolence towards mankind, especially towards children, Mr. de Quincey was evidently becoming feebler.He was generally unwilling to think so himself, but attimes referred with perfect composure to the probablynot distant approach of the last enemy. Summoned onone occasion hurriedly by night to his bedside, owing toa tendency to swoon, which then for the first time duringhis illness had alarmed his daughter and attendant, Iarrived to find him better, and to receive from his lipsthose warm and courteous expressions of gratitude whichthroughout life I shall hold in remembrance, coupledwith an apology for disturbing me at so late an hour,adding that his desire to see me had arisen from theconviction that, were the symptoms he suffered to continue or to return, death must occur. This was saidcalmly and most resignedly. During several nights, and300 De Quincey's Life and Writings.latterly by day, when he had fallen into a gentle sleep,his mind wandered. Once or twice, suddenly awakening, he seemed much startled and surprised, and for ashort time there was some difficulty in reassuring himas to the identity both of persons and objects in theroom. At other times, when the mind wandered, thewords which were uttered sufficiently loud to be hearddistinctly revealed the perfect composure within, andnothing he said afforded evidence of that senilis stultitiaquæ deliratio appellari solet. Often he recognised the' footsteps of angels,' and addressed words to the departed.' He enjoyed at such times ' a holy, calm delight,'was often speaking to children, and seemed anxious theyshould be especially cared for; thus at its close verifyingthe character he had enjoyed through life , of extremefondness for the young.·" While for many weeks anxiety as to the result of hisillness had been entertained, it was only on Sunday, the4th December, that alarm was awakened. SuddenlyMr. de Quincey became weaker; and though on Mondayhe had rallied not a little, the duty of summoning anabsent daughter was apparent. On Tuesday he was inhis chair for a short time, and conversed with readiness,though not with the same ease as formerly. Decidedlyweaker in the evening of that day, from the circ*mstancethat he had refused all food, it was only too evident onWednesday morning that his hours on earth werenumbered. He recognised in the forenoon his eldestdaughter, who arrived in time to receive the blessing ofher dying father; and with the single expression of'Thank you ' to those around him, which was utteredwith touching sweetness and radiant expression, heMiss de Quincey's Notes. 301passed into a drowsy state, by degrees became insensible,and thus on the forenoon of Thursday died, his deathbeing ascribable rather to exhaustion of the system thanto specific disease."Miss de Quincey has kindly set down some additional details respecting those last days:-

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" I had been visiting my eldest sister in Ireland,when I received a note from Mr. Hogg, saying thatmy father was not well, and that there were symptoms which caused some anxiety to his medicaladviser. I started for Edinburgh the next day, andarrived at my father's lodgings to find him ratherbetter, but still in bed. He never was well enoughto be removed to our little cottage at Lasswade, so Itook up my abode in his lodgings till his death, abouta couple of months from the time I had heard thathe was taken ill." For some time after I returned he was muchbetter, and usually cheerful. He was attended by hislandlady's sister, Miss Stark, with the most devotedkindness , and by myself. But though wonderfullysweet and gentle in all his ways, there was one difficulty that had to be contended with. His hatred ofanything like rules made it difficult for him to followany medical directions. Life that was to be floatedon stated doses of beef tea, did not seem to his careworn mind worth the struggling for; and as to anymedicine which owed its effect to repeated doses atfixed times, it was set aside as a devil's drench,'which was not fit for a Christian to swallow. Notthat he disliked medicine if he might take it in hisown way, as the following circ*mstance, which hetold to myself and sister some years before his death,6302 De Quincey's Life and Writings.will show -He went one day to dine with a gentleman in Edinburgh. For some reason , which I cannot remember, he was asked to stay all night. Myfather agreed, and was shown into a bedroom thathad lately been occupied by a delicate brother ofthe host. This gentleman had now, however, goneabroad, leaving only a few medicine bottles nearlyempty. These were all neatly arranged on the washstand. My father, left alone, began to examinethem. There were the drops as before, ' the ' teaspoonful to be taken when the cough was bad, '&c. , &c. Surely, he thought to himself, it would behard if one of these mixtures did not suit him.Surely no one would grudge him the heel taps of alot of old medicine bottles. Having read and markedthe labels, he forthwith proceeded to inwardly digestthe contents of the bottles. Soon, however, hisconscience began to prick him. Had he not taken agreat liberty? Perhaps his host wished to try theireffect upon himself, or his wife did. Perhaps theywere to be kept as a tender reminiscence of theabsent brother. The next morning he descended tothe breakfast-table, and with grave propriety madehis apologies to his host for having thus abused hishospitality. Great was his astonishment at thewonderful amiability of Mr. Instead of viewing my father with a stern eye, the apologies werereceived with a burst of laughter, which was in ameasure checked, however, by the fear of evil consequences to my father's health. But Mr.reassured by hearing that something--though whatthe something was could not be discovered - hadbeen decidedly beneficial.wasFancies about Children. 303" All during his illness my father was subject tofits of delirium , though these were seldom of a painful nature. They were chiefly connected with fanciesabout children , and sometimes he would wander backto the days of his own childhood. Still he was alwaysclear enough if any question of politics or historycame up, and would converse with fluency aboutanything in the newspaper that interested him. Tothe last he was able to read without the help ofspectacles-one eye doing all the work, the otherone being invariably closed while either writing orreading." About a week before he died, while sitting upin an easy chair lent him by his kind friend , Mrs.Findlay, he gave me a long account of Froude'sviews upon the history of Henry VIII. One night,when Miss Stark had left him, and I had taken herplace, he woke up from his short sleep, and noticedMiss Stark's absence, and then went on to say, ' Bythe way, I wished to tell you what has displeasedme much.' I saw he was anxious about something,and I went and sat down beside him to listen. Hethen treated me to one of those curious turns thathis passing attacks of delirium would take. I amgrieved , ' he said, at the coarse manners that somerough fellows displayed. ' I said, Why? Whathave they done? " Well, you know, I and the children were invited to the great supper. Doyou know what supper I mean? ' ' No, ' I said.'Well, I was invited to come, and to bring thechildren to the great supper of Jesus Christ. So,wishing the children to have suitable dresses for suchan occasion, I had them all dressed in white. They6663C4 De Quincey's Life and Writings.were dressed from head to foot in white. But somerough men in the streets of Edinburgh, as we passedon our way to the supper, seeing the little things incomplete white, laughed and jeered at us, and madethe children much ashamed. '"We had rarely heard him mention his father'sname during his life, he having died early. Butone day he said , ' There is a thing I much regret,that is , that I did not know more of my dearfather, for I am sure that a juster, kinder man neverbreathed. ' He then went on to tell me many traitsof his father's character which he had learned fromclerks and servants, and which he had treasured upfor years in his memory. At length his illnessbecame so serious that we thought it better to telegraph to his only other daughter within reach, viz. ,Mrs. Craig. She came over from Ireland the daybefore his death. Great was his pleasure at seeingher, though, for some time, we fancied that he didnot know her. Such was his constant thought ofchildren , that he viewed her simply as connectedwith his grandchildren. How is mama? ' he saidwhen he saw her; nor did he address her as anythingelse but mama again. Towards the evening hisweakness became extreme, and he said to my sister,' Mama, I cannot bear the weight of clothes uponmy feet. ' My sister at once pulled off the heavyblankets, and wrapped a light shawl round his feet.Is that better? ' she asked. ' Yes, my love, muchbetter; I am better in every way-I feel muchbetter. You know these are the feet that Jesuswashed,' As the night wore on, our kind friend Dr.Warburton Begbie came and sat with us, as my6Mr. Grinfield's Touching Letter. 305father's life slowly ebbed away. Twice only was theheavy breathing interrupted by words. He had forhours ceased to recognise any of us, but we heardhim murmur, though quite distinctly, ‘ My dear, dearmother. Then I was greatly mistaken. ' Then asthe waves of death rolled faster and faster over him,suddenly out of the abyss we saw him throw up hisarms, which to the last retained their strength, andsay distinctly, and as if in great surprise, Sister!sister! sister! ' The loud breathing became slowerand slower, and as the world of Edinburgh awoke tobusy work and life, all that was mortal of my fatherfell asleep for ever.66 Curiously enough, just as he breathed his last ,the morning letters arrived , and amongst them onefrom an old schoolfellow, the Rev. Edward Grinfield.They had not met for more than fifty years , but thisgentleman, himself suffering from a mortal disease,as he said, wished to exchange a few words withhis old friend before they should both pass out ofthis world. They had not heard of one another foryears, and he hardly knew my father's whereabouts ,still less how ill he had been. ”The following is the letter, touching in its tone,touching in its circ*mstances:-BRIGHTON, December 7, 1855.MY DEAR DE QUINCEY,-Before I quit the world, I shouldardently desire to see your handwriting. In early life, that ismore than sixty years ago, we were schoolfellows, and mutuallyattached; nay, I can remember a boyish paper (" The Observer") on which we were engaged. Yours has been a brilliant.literary career-mine far from brilliant, but, I hope, not unsuccessful as a theological student. It seems a pity that we shouldVOL. II. U306 De Quincey's Life and Writings.not once more recognise each other before we quit the stage. Ihave often read your works, and never without rememberingthe promise of your talents at Winkfield. . . . . It wouldcheer the evening of my days to receive a line from you; forI am, with much sincerity, your old and attached friend ,E. W. GRINFIELDMr. de Quincey was in his seventy- fifth year at thetime of his decease. Students of his writings will remember the mingled humour and pathos that flicker sooddly through that passage at the close of the appendixto the earlier editions of the " Confessions, " in which heanticipatingly disposes of his own body."No man, I suppose, employs much of his time on thephenomena of his own body without some regard for it;whereas the reader sees that, so far from looking uponmine with any complacency or regard, I hate it and makeit the object of my bitter ridicule and contempt; and Ishould not be displeased to know that the last indignitywhich the law inflicts upon the bodies of the worstmalefactors might hereafter fall upon it. And in testification of my sincerity in saying this, I shall makethe following offer. Like other men, I have particularfancies about the place of my burial: having livedchiefly in a mountainous region , I rather cleave to theconceit that a grave in a green churchyard, amongst theancient and solitary hills, will be a sublimer and moretranquil place of repose for a philosopher than any inthe hideous golgothas of London. Yet if the gentlemenof Surgeons' Hall think that any benefit can redoundto their science, from inspecting the appearances in thebody of an opium-eater, let them speak but a word, andA Singular Bequest. 307I will take care that mine shall be legally secured tothem, ie. , as soon as I have done with it myself. Letthem not hesitate to express their wishes upon anyscruples of false delicacy and consideration for myfeelings. I assure them they will do me too muchhonour by ' demonstrating ' on such a crazy body asmine; and it will give pleasure to anticipate this posthumous revenge and insult inflicted upon that whichhas caused me so much suffering in this life. Such bequests are not common; reversionary benefits contingentupon the death of the testator are indeed dangerous toannounce in many cases; of this we have a remarkableinstance in the habits of a Roman prince, who used, uponany notification made to him by rich persons that theyhad left him a handsome estate in their wills, to expresshis entire satisfaction at such arrangements, and hisgracious acceptance of those loyal legacies; but then, ifthe testators neglected to give him immediate possessionof the property, if they traitorously ' persisted in living '(si vivere perseverarent, as Suetonius expresses it), hewas highly provoked, and took his measures accordingly.In those times, and from one of the worst of theCæsars, we might expect such conduct; but I am surethat from English surgeons at this day I need look forno expressions of impatience, or of any other feelingsbut such as are answerable to that pure love of science,and all its interests, which induces me to make such anoffer."No such fate, as he himself with gentlest humour hadsuggested, awaited that fragile body; and, though agrave among the Westmoreland mountains would have308 De Quincey's Life and Writings.been most fitting, there can be no sense of discordin thinking that on the spot where it now rests, besidethe remains of her whom he so loved and mourned , theEdinburgh Castle rock looks gravely down, while thestatue of Wilson is almost within sight.Ever your mostingy,Thomasde Quincey.APPENDIX.I.A MEDICAL VIEW OF MR. DE QUINCEY'S CASEBY SURGEON-MAJOR W. C. B. EATWELL, M.D., F.R.S.,FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, LONDON;AND FORMERLYPRINCIPAL OF THE MEDICAL COLLEGE, CALCUTTA, AND MEMBER OF THE SENATE OF THE CALCUTTA UNIVERSITY.ANY years have now elapsed since I first read the"Confessions of an English Opium- Eater," byThomas de Quincey; and apart from the question of the psychological condition of the giftedauthor of the book, apart from the ethical question involved in his inordinate use, or, as must be admitted,abuse of opium, there arose in my mind certain medicalconsiderations of no small interest and importance, whichI will now briefly state. I came to the conclusion thatDe Quincey had for a great period of his life sufferedfrom a terrible and distressing affection of the gastric nervescalled gastrodynia; and that to this more or less purelyneuralgic affection was superadded an inflammatory condition, probably with ulceration (chronic gastric ulcer)310 Medical View.of the mucous membrane of the stomach; and that whatever might have been the degree of abuse of opium, thisdrug had in reality been the means of preserving and prolonging life. I have characterised this affection of thegastric nerves as a terrible and distressing affection , and Iwill explain my reasons for having done so. At thetime to which I am alluding, I was a medical officer inthe Indian army, and during my experience of severalyears in medical charge of a civil station and district inBengal, I met with a large number of these cases of gastrodynia, the disease exhibiting itself ( as I shall explainmore fully subsequently) in a peculiarly aggravated formamongst the rice- eating inhabitants of Bengal, and drivingthe unfortunate sufferers very frequently to the commission of suicide.About the same period, there appeared in the medicaljournals of London a series of papers by Dr. Brinton, calling attention to the specific character of gastric ulcer, andindicating opium as pre-eminently the remedy for its cure.I believe that these circ*mstances tended to impress themedical aspects of De Quincey's case on my mind at ' themoment, and subsequent events have caused it to be renewed in my recollection . My attention for some yearsafter quitting my appointment in Bengal was speciallydirected to opium, from the fact of my having, as civilsurgeon of Ghazeepore, been entrusted with the duties ofopium examiner to the Benares Opium Agency.It is by no means easy to gain, from the writings ofThomas de Quincey, information sufficiently definite toenable one to state his case clearly, in its medical aspects.The man is so intensely intellectual, so little of a materialist,that when he does condescend to allude to bodily symptoms, it is only in a general way, and rather with a viewof dwelling on their bearing on his mental condition or onHereditary Predisposition. 311their consequences, than for the purpose of exciting sympathy and interest, by depicting the material phenomenaattending his state of disease. Indeed, some of the mostsignificant medical facts in his " Confessions " and " Autobiographic Sketches " are only mentioned parenthetically,whilst others of the highest importance in their medicalbearing are altogether omitted.In order, however, to form an opinion of De Quincey'scase, in any degree satisfactory, it is essential to take a verybroad view of it; and it is impossible to separate the phenomena of his bodily ailments from the mental manifestations which accompanied them-manifestations which datedeven from early childhood, and which had their origin inconstitutional and hereditary predispositions. I proceed,therefore, to consider, in the first place, the hereditary predispositions which may have determined the peculiaridiosyncrasies, bodily and mental, of Thomas de Quincey.The father of De Quincey died at the age of thirty-nineof consumption, after having spent many years in southernclimates, in the vain hope of averting the malady. Hiseldest sister, Jane, died at the age of three and a halfyears, the cause of her death not being given in the Autobiography.His second sister, Elizabeth, appears to have been aremarkable girl. De Quincey speaks of her " matureintellectual grandeur; " and of her head, for its " superbdevelopment, " being "the astonishment of science. "This sister was carried off at the age of nine by hydrocephalus; and in this we see the hereditary tendency fromthe father acting on the child, as the disease was probablydue to tubercular meningitis, the tubercular poison beingdeposited in the brain of the child . At this time, it mighthave been apprehended that a tendency to specific cerebraldisease, similar to that developed in the sister, might have312 Medical View.been looked for in the brother, so precocious did the intellectof the young boy appear, and so similar in its emotional andimaginative character was it to that of the deceased sister.Is it possible that the hereditary tendency to tuberculosisin Thomas de Quincey, which in infancy might have attacked the brain, as in the case of the sister, and later inlife might have shown itself in the lungs, could have beenheld in check by any agencies extraneous to the system?In his " Confessions " (pp. 245-247), De Quincey writesas follows:-"At the commencement of my opium career,I had myself been pronounced repeatedly a martyr- elect topulmonary consumption. " "Without something like amiracle in my favour, I was instructed to regard myselfa condemned subject. " " These opinions were pronouncedby the highest authorities in Christendom, viz. , the physicians at Clifton and the Bristol hot wells. " " Out of eightchildren I was the one who most closely inherited the bodilyconformation of a father who had died of consumption at theearly age of thirty-nine. " " I offered at the first glance toa medical eye every symptom of phthisis broadly andconspicuously developed . The hectic colours in the face,the nocturnal perspirations, the growing embarrassmentof the respiration, and other expressions of gatheringfeebleness under any attempts at taking exercise, all thesesymptoms were steadily accumulating between the age oftwenty-two and twenty-four. " De Quincey then goes onto say, that all these symptoms were " arrested " by " theuse, continually becoming more regular, of opium, " and thathe finally effected so absolute a conquest over all preliminary symptoms, as could not have failed to fix on him"the astonishment of Clifton. " Now, without offering anyopinion of my own on this point, I will content myself withthe following quotation from Dr Brinton's book on "Ulcerof the Stomach," as having special reference to the case ofa*gue and Phthisis. 313De Quincey, as I am disposed to view it, both as regardshis hereditary tendency to tuberculosis and to the conditionof his stomach. Dr. Brinton writes (page 143), " I amanxious specially to urge upon the profession the importance of giving opium in this dangerous and frequent disease(ulcer ofthe stomach), with just the same views as thosewith which I suspect it has long been employed inphthisis. "But I have alreadymentioned that there were certain mani.festations in infancy, which appeared to indicate that thebrain might then have suffered from tubercular disease , asin the case of the sister; and it may be asked whether therewere any agencies operating to keep this tendency in checkat that early period. In the " Autobiographic Sketches "it is affirmed that Thomas de Quincey suffered from agueduring the second and third years of his infancy, and it isquite possible that the impoverishment of the blood underthe malarious poison may have rendered it less stimulatingto the nervous centres, at that age specially sensitive , andhave thus, to some extent, saved the brain. What givescolour to this hypothesis is the circ*mstance that some ofthe older physicians (Doctors Wells, Cleghorn, Weekes,Harrison, &c. ) , who wrote about the end of the last centuryand the beginning of the present, maintained that therewere facts to show that the malarious poison of ague wasantagonistic to the development of consumption. Althoughthe proposition of these writers was subsequently controverted, Dr. Copland does not hesitate to say that, " fromseveral facts with which I am acquainted, it is not quitedevoid of truth. ""I am not aware that any other of the brothers and sisterssuffered from tubercular disease, but enough has been

1. Copland's "Medical Dictionary," page 1147.

314 Medical View.advanced to indicate that Thomas de Quincey showed decided evidences of a predisposition in that direction. I nowpass to the mental and moral peculiarities of Thomas deQuincey; merely alluding to the description of his threebrothers, as given in the Autobiographic Sketches, as showing that each presented a marked individuality of character,doubtless dependent more or less on inherited physicalconstitution, and indicating some constitutional impatience,which rendered them more or less intolerant of control.The mental and moral peculiarities of Thomas de Quinceyhimself showed themselves at a very early age, even ininfancy; and it is impossible not to see that the influencesbrought to bear on him by his sister Elizabeth, in hisearliest years, affected De Quincey's conduct throughoutlife. The first chapter in the Autobiographic Sketches,in which the years of early childhood, the influence of hissister Elizabeth and her death, are described, is a composition of wonderful beauty in every sense. In it, De Quinceysays, that if he should return thanks to Providence for allthe separate blessings of his early situation, he would singleout as worthy of special commemoration that he " lived inrustic solitude;" " that this solitude was in England; " thathis infant feelings "were moulded by the gentlest of sisters ,and not by horrid pugilistic brothers; " finally, " that I andthey were dutiful and loving members of a pure, holy, andmagnificent church. "The beloved sister dies, and the shock to the sensitiveheart of the brother is great. He manages surreptitiouslyto obtain access to the chamber in which is his sister'scorpse, and when there, falls evidently into a condition ofcataleptic ecstasy. He says, " I have reason to believe thata very long interval had elapsed during this wandering orsuspension of my perfect mind; " but the vision present tohis imagination during this state is nevertheless detailed inVisions. 315a passage of singular beauty, and it deserves to be carefullynoted, as it proves how morbidly active was the imaginationat this early age of six years, and how unnecessary it is toattribute to the action of opium at a subsequent periodthat which may be ascribed to an abnormally exaltedimagination. This vision or illusion took a firm hold ofthe imagination for some time, and was repeated in afteryears.""After his sister's death, the bereaved boy withdrew himself as much as possible into retirement. " All day long,when it was not impossible for me to do so, I sought themost silent and sequestered nooks in the grounds, about thehouse, or in the neighbouring fields. " " At this time,and under this influence of rapacious grief, that grasped atwhat it could not obtain, the faculty of shaping images inthe distance out of slight elements, and grouping them afterthe yearnings of the heart, grew upon me in morbid excess. 'Thus, De Quincey describes that at this period, when thesupplication was made in the Litany on behalf of sickpersons and young children, and when, from his seat inchurch, there might be visible through the window somefleecy clouds in a blue sky, his imagination would convertthese into beds bearing sick children to heaven, whilstshadowy arms would be stretched to receive them , whilsthe himself mounted towards heaven on the billows of harmony created by the organ. In all this we see self- surrender to a poetic imagination , under the influence of deepgrief, wounded affection, and religious exaltation.At this time, he declares that so great was his dejection, that under the morbid languishing of grief he musthave pined into an early grave, had not events happenedwhich compelled him " suddenly to assume the harness oflife. The occurrence which now roused him was the returnof his father from abroad, the father who had been hitherto22316MedicalView.a stranger to him, and who now arrived, in the last stageof consumption. At the end of a few weeks the fatherdied.And now his eldest brother, five or six years his senior(or nearly double his age) , comes home. This brother hadalso up to this time been a stranger to Thomas de Quincey,owing to his unruly character having kept him from home.The estimate which this elder brother forms of the character ofhis younger brother Thomas, as given in the "Autobiographic Sketches," is amusing. " My brother very naturally despised me, and from his exceeding frankness, he tookno pains to conceal that he did. " "Physically, therefore,and intellectually, he looked upon me as below notice; but,morally, he assured me that he would give me a writtencharacter of the very best description. ' You're honest,'he said; ' you're willing though lazy; you would pull, if youhad the strength of a flea; and though a monstrous coward,you don't run away.' But the younger brother was evidently by no means deficient in personal courage. Underthe leadership of the aggressive elder brother, a standingfeud was established with the boys of a factory, which thelads required to pass daily on their way to their tutor's,and in the daily skirmishes which took place, the youngerappears to have acquitted himself courageously, and withloyalty to his elder brother. He admits, however, that heentered into these encounters without any of the animuswhich inspired his elder brother. The account given in theAutobiography of the employments and amusem*nts of thebrothers and sisters at this time, shows a varied reading onthe part of the young people, and an interest in questionsusually out of the range of such young students. Speakingof the elder brother, De Quincey writes: " Books he detested, except such as he happened to write himself; andthese were not a few. On all subjects known to man,Two Separate Worlds. 317from the Thirty- Nine Articles of the English Church topyrotechnics, legerdemain, magic, thaumaturgy, and necromancy, he favoured the world (which world was the nurserywhere I lived with my sisters) with his select opinions.On this last subject he wrote a treatise, ' How to raise aghost; and, when you've got him down, to keep him down. " "It is difficult to understand whether much of the extravagance is really intended, or whether it be burlesque. Thewhole suggests, however, great cleverness on the part of theyoung people, with inclination to allow the fancy to runwild. But that this licence in the case of Thomas deQuincey, at this time carried him to the verge of fixeddelusion, and fostered a perilous loss of command overhealthy thought, is shown by the ludicrous incidentsrelated in the " Autobiography," when the elder brotherconstitutes himself imaginary king of an imaginary kingdom of Tigrosylvania, and the younger De Quincey kingof an imaginary kingdom of Gombroon. At page 76,speaking of this fanciful freak, De Quincey writes:“ O reader! do not laugh! I lived for ever under theterror of two separate wars in two separate worlds; oneagainst the factory boys, in a real world of flesh and blood,of stones and brickbats, of flight and pursuit, that wereanything but figurative; the other in a world purely aerial,where all the combats and the sufferings were absolutemoonshine. And yet the simple truth is that, for anxietyand distress of mind, the reality (which almost every morning's light brought round) was as nothing in comparison ofthat dream-kingdom which rose like a vapour from my ownbrain, and which apparently, by the fiat of my will, couldbe for ever dissolved. Ah! but no; I had contractedobligations to Gombroon; I had submitted my conscienceto a yoke; and, in secret truth, my will had no autocraticpower. Long contemplation of a shadow, earnest study for318MedicalView.the welfare of that shadow, sympathy with the woundedsensibilities of that shadow under accumulated wrongs,these bitter experiences, nursed by brooding thought, hadgradually frozen that shadow into a region of reality fardenser than the material. realities of brass or granite. "This is a remarkable passage, as it points out, with marvellous lucidity of description , the mode of growth of a mentaldelusion; and in the sentence I have given in italics is contained the explanation of the particular mental deficiencyof controlling power, in consequence of which the imagination obtained such mastery.Fortunately for the young enthusiastic dreamer, however,the will had still sufficient power to direct the really powerful mind into other trains of thought, and thus the gulf ofmonomania was escaped. However, as this curious incident is still further developed in the Autobiography, itbecomes clear that, in this child philosopher (he could havebeen only seven or eight years old at this time) , free scopewas deliberately given to the imagination, from a belief inthe supremacy of spirit over matter. Thus at page 78occurs this passage: "To make a strife overwhelmingby a thousandfold to the feelings, it must not deal withgross material interests, but with such as rise into the worldof dreams, and act upon the nerves through spiritual andnot through fleshly torments. " Is not the spirit of thePlatonic philosophy latent in this quotation?But now comes the curious denouement ofthis incident.The tutor has left lying on his table the works of LordMonboddo, and the elder brother stumbles on the disquisition, in which his Lordship propounds the evolutionisttheory, that mankind are descended from apes, and originallyhad tails. " My brother," writes De Quincey, " mused onthis reverie, and in a few days published an extract fromsome scoundrel's travels in Gombroon, according to whichSympathy with Helplessness. 319the Gombroonians had not emerged from this early condition of apedom. " " Overwhelming to me and stunning wasthe ignominy of this humble discovery. " The brother,"with an air of consolation, suggested that I might even.now, without an hour's delay, compel the whole nation tosit down for six hours a day," for the purpose, of course, ofapproximating them to human form by a process of naturalattrition. "This might seem the very burlesque of unreality but forwhat follows, which shows that with the younger brotherall was as reality. " How much it would have astonishedLord Monboddo to find himself made answerable -virtuallymade answerable by the evidence of secret tears-for themisery of an unknown child in Lancashire; yet night andday these silent memorials of suffering were accusing himas the founder of a wound that could not be healed." Ihave dwelt thus long on this curious incident, as it throwsmuch light on the mental idiosyncrasy of Thomas deQuincey, and relieves us from the necessity of consideringmany of his abnormal mental phenomena in after years asbeing due to the action of opium.The next incident in the biography, is one whichreveals the great tenderness of disposition of the youngboy, and his great sympathy with helplessness and suffering, even in objects naturally repulsive. He accidentallydiscovers in his tutor's family two twin daughters, of weakintellect, who are employed in domestic drudgery, andtreated unkindly. He explains that they are deaf andrepulsive in appearance, though affectionate towards eachother. Instead of shunning them, he kisses them affectionately when he meets them. This incident may be considered in connection with certain episodes in the Londonexperiences of the "Confessions. " He idealises equally inThe helpless suffering, the misery of misfortune,each case.320 Medical View.are what he sees and feels in both instances; the materialframes which contain them are only secondary objects.The period of infancy is considered by De Quincey to haveextended to this point. He claims a power in his childisheye to detect grandeur and pomp of beauty, not seen byothers in certain instances, and refers it to an individualmental constitution.In his twelfth year, De Quincey enters the GrammarSchool at Bath, and distinguishes himself as a writer ofLatin verses. He there receives an injury to the head bya blow from a ruler, which necessitates his leaving school;the operation of trephining being even talked of. But headds, " I certainly exaggerated my internal feelings, withoutmeaning to do so, and this misled my medical attendants. "He then goes to school at Winkfield, and after one year'sresidence there, and in his fifteenth year, he " first steppedinto the world. " Of his visits to Ireland and London withLordWestport it is needless to speak, beyond that they showthe young man's mental acquirements and tastes to havebeen such as fitted him for the companionship of his seniorsin years, and of the high in social position. Subsequently, inhis visit to Laxton, Lady Carbery speaks of him as herAdmirable Crichton, and makes continual demands onhim for the solution of difficulties, and for the translationand meaning of Greek words in the New Testament, asapplied to questions of theological doctrine. He speaksof the expansion of his intellect under this exercise, and itis impossible not to feel that his scholarship and intelligence must have been of a high order at this period, whenhe was a boy of some fifteen or sixteen years of age.It was now decided that he should enter the GrammarSchool at Manchester, preparatory to going to Oxford, andat the Manchester school commence the physical ailmentswhich appear to have been prolonged through life.Causes ofDerangement. 321The first onset of disease of the digestive organs inThomas de Quincey occurred in his seventeenth year, whenhe was a pupil at the Grammar School at Manchester.The attack itself he describes as 66 a torpor of the liver; "but attended apparently by an impairment of the generalhealth, derangement ofthe digestion, and by hypochondriasis.The causes of this derangement of health are sufficientlyindicated in the " Autobiographic Sketches. " De Quinceywas anxious to go at once to Oxford, and evidently had nosympathy with the boyish associates with whom he wasnow brought in contact. He speaks of the " prematureexpansion of his mind " as already weighing on him with"sickening oppression, " and rendering him intolerant ofboyish society. Then, there was no reasonable time givenat the school for a due amount of exercise, which De Quinceyalways found essential to his well-being; so that, by theend of a year and a half, he writes of these causes, that theybegan " to eat more corrosively into my peace of mind thanI had ever anticipated. " And now he adds, " that over andabove the killing oppression to my too sensitive system ofthe monotonous school tasks and the ruinous want of exercise, I had fallen under medical advice the most misleadingthat it is possible to imagine. " He was treated " by drasticmedicines varied without end, which fearfully exasperatedthe complaint; " whilst he expresses the belief that thetorpor of the liver under which he was labcuring mighthave been put right in three days by the employment ofmercury. It is more than probable, however, that the condition of ill-health into which he had fallen, and of whichinactivity of the liver was one symptom, could only havebeen overcome by a removal, for a time at least, of all theagencies which had occasioned it, and by a change of hygienic conditions generally. He is roused to a better stateof health by the presence for a time of a party of valued VOL. II. X322 Medical View.friends in Manchester; but he adds, " Lady C. retired likesome golden pageant amongst the clouds, thick darknesssucceeded; the ancient torpor re-established itself, and myhealth grew distressingly worse. Then it was, after dreadful self- conflicts, that I took the unhappy resolution of whichthe results are recorded in the ' Confessions."" In the " Confessions " De Quincey writes, speaking of this epoch, " Thosewho have ever suffered from a profound derangement ofthe liver may happen to know that, of human despondencies,through all their infinite gamut, none is more deadly. "Having therefore in vain endeavoured to obtain from hisguardians a release from his school, and possessed by theidea that fresh air and exercise were essential to his recovery,he escaped from school, and betook himself to Wales;walking in the first instance to Chester, a distance of fortymiles, in two days.A week's pedestrian travelling in the Carnarvonshire mountains now 66 effected a revolution in his health, suchas left nothing to complain of. " To the condition of hishealth during his further sojourn of two or three monthsin Wales, De Quincey makes no special allusion; and, in fact,in his later editions of the " Confessions, " he omits the important passage in the first edition which I shall now quote,and which, I believe, gives the true clue to the origin ofthat stomach derangement, from which he appears to havesuffered so much torment during his after life, and whichapparently drove him ultimately to the habitual use ofopium. He had been only a few weeks in lodgings inWales, when a misunderstanding with the landlady arose,with the result given in the subjoined extract." I left the lodgings the self- same hour, and this turned outa very unfortunate occurrence for me, because, living henceforward at inns, I was drained of my money very rapidly.In a fortnight I was reduced to short allowance, that is, IHis Slender Regimen. 323could allow myself only one meal a day. From the keenappetite produced by constant exercise and mountain airacting on a youthful stomach, I soon began to suffer greatlyon this slender regimen, for the single meal which I couldventure to order was coffee or tea. Even this, however,was at length withdrawn, and afterwards, so long as Iremained in Wales, I subsisted either on blackberries, hips,haws, &c. , or on the casual hospitality which I now andthen received in return for such little services as I had anopportunity of rendering. " Whilst his diet was as abovedetailed, De Quincey writes in the " Confessions" that forsome weeks he carried a canvas tent not bigger than anumbrella, manufactured by himself, and that, with no moreshelter than it was able to afford, he passed on an averagenine nights out of each fortnight on the hillsides . Nospecific mention is made of the immediate effect of thesehardships, but it is not difficult to imagine what wouldnaturally be the consequences to a delicate lad of seventeen,barely convalescent from an attack of liver derangement,with his mucous membrane in a state of irritation from acontinued course of drastics, being reduced for weeks to adiet of wild berries , and passing his nights on the bare dampsides of the Welsh mountains, with the accompaniment ofatmospheric moisture usual in these localities. Suchagencies might well be expected to lay the foundation ofserious gastric derangement, not only of a neuralgic, but ofan inflammatory character. From Wales the youngwanderer found his way to London, and was there subjectedto a continuance of extreme hardships, both in the deprivation of food, and in passing the nights without adequateshelter or protection from cold. His symptoms andactual state are not clearly detailed at this time, but theyare to be gleaned from such passages as the following in the"Confessions: "-----" When I was not more than usually ill "324 Medical View.(page 163). "But my sleep distressed me more than mywatching; for besides the tumultuousness of my dreams(which were only not so awful as those which I shall havehereafter to describe as produced by opium), my sleep wasnever more than what is called dog- sleep, so that I couldhear myself moaning, and very often I was awakenedsuddenly by my own voice. About this time a hideoussensation began to haunt me as soon as I fell into a slumber,which has since returned upon me at different periods ofmy life-viz. , a sort of twitching (I know not where, butapparently about the region of the stomach), which compelled me violently to throw out my feet for the sake ofrelieving it. This sensation coming on as soon as I beganto sleep, and the efforts to relieve it constantly awakeningme, at length I slept only from exhaustion; and throughincreasing weakness ( as I said before) I was constantlyfalling asleep and constantly awaking." There was " norest that was not a prologue to terror; no sweet tremulouspulses of restoration that did not suddenly explode throughrolling clamours of fiery disruption. " Subsequent to this,the hapless boy, when seated at night on a doorstep, fallsback in a state in which he declares that, " from the sensations I then had, I felt an inner conviction that without somepowerful and reviving stimulus, I should either have diedon the spot, or should at least have sunk to a point ofexhaustion from which all reascent under my friendlesscirc*mstances would soon have become hopeless. " A glass.of spiced port wine is given to him, which he says " actedon my empty stomach (which at that time would have rejectedall solid food) with an instantaneous power of restoration. "From this statement it may be inferred that rejection ofsolid food by the stomach was experienced and dreaded atthat period; and the symptom is important.But we have more explicit evidence regarding this symp-No Appetite. 325tom in the account he immediately gives of a subsequentexperience at Eton:-"Lord Desert placed before me a most magnificentbreakfast. It was really so, but in my eyes it seemed treblymagnificent, from being the first regular meal, the first' good man's table, ' that I had sat down to for months.Strange to say, however, I could scarcely eat anything.On the day when I first received my £10 bank- note, I hadgone to a baker's shop and bought a couple of rolls: thisvery shop I had, two months or six weeks before, surveyedwith an eagerness of desire which it was almost humiliatingto me to recollect. I remembered the story about Otway,and feared that there might be danger in eating too rapidly.But I had no need for alarm; my appetite was quite sunk,and I became sick before I had eaten half of what I had bought.This effect from eating, what approached to a meal, I continued to feel for weeks, or, when I did not experience anynausea, part of what I ate was rejected, sometimes with acidity,sometimes immediately, and without any acidity. On the present occasion, at Lord Desert's table, I found myself not atall better than usual; and, in the midst of luxuries, I hadno appetite. . . I am convinced, however, that wine,although it gave me momentary relief and pleasure, contributed to strengthen my malady, for the tone of my stomachwas apparently quite suuk; but by a better regimen itmight sooner, and perhaps effectually, have been revived. "•Further on in the " Confessions, " when alluding to this:period of his life , he says, “ And although it is true that thecalamities of my novitiate in London had struck root sodeeply in my bodily constitution, that afterwards they shotup and flourished afresh, and grew into a noxious umbrage,that has overshadowed and darkened my latter years, yet:these second assaults of suffering were met with a fortitude:more confirmed, with the resources of a mature intellect, and:326MedicalView.with alleviations how deep! from sympathising affection. "Still further on in the " Confessions," at page 216, he adds,"Whether this illness of 1812 had any share in that of1813, I know not, but so it was, that in the latter year Iwas attacked by a most appalling irritation of the stomach,in all respects the same as that which had caused me somuch suffering in youth, and accompanied by a renewal ofall the old dreams. " Again, at page 232 is the following:"The boyish sufferings, whether in Wales or London,pressing upon an organ peculiarly weak in my bodilysystem, viz. , the stomach, caused that subsequent distressand irritability of the stomach which drove me to the useof opium, as the sole remedy potent enough to control it. "I now turn to evidences of specific stomach derangement,derived from sources otherthan the " Autobiography" and the"Confessions. " Mr. Page has been good enough to furnishme with the following extract from a letter of De Quinceyto Charles Knight, written in 1825.66 Anxiety, long continued with me of late years, in consequence of my opium-shattering, seizes on some frail partabout the stomach, and produces a specific complaint,which very soon abolishes all power of thinking at all. "Again, Mrs. Baird Smith (De Quincey's daughter) informsme that, in describing his sufferings, her father constantlyalluded to them as a sensation of gnawing; nor is hisdaughter able to remember the time when her father wasactually free from suffering; and further, " Mr. Hogg remembers distinctly Mr. de Quincey saying to ProfessorWilson on one occasion, when he was suffering more thanusual, that he could only represent his pains by some creature gnawing him. " An incapacity for ordinary food is alsoalluded too. I am informed that he took solid food withgreat difficulty; that a couple of square inches of mutton ofa particular cut was all that he could venture to take, andCrude Irritating Diet. 327that only in particularly favourable circ*mstances; that hismost intimate friends said of him that he did not " knowwhat it was to eat a dinner; " and that he himself declared ,in writing to an old school- fellow in 1847, that, among manyother ills, he had had " no dinner since parting from himin the eighteenth century. " I am informed that when thisdistinguished man died, at the ripe age of seventy-five, hewas attended by the late Dr. Warburton Begbie of Edinburgh, a physician of great eminence; and the family wereinformed at that time that there were no indications ofactive specific organic disease, but rather an exhaustion ofthe vital powers generally. No post- mortem examinationwas made.From these disjointed and scattered notices, we have,I believe, materials for forming an opinion on the medicalcase of Thomas de Quincey; but before summing upthe evidence, I will quote an extract from the Life ofRichard Baxter, which has been kindly furnished to me bymy friend Dr. Norman Chevers, lately Principal of theMedical College of Calcutta, as having an interesting bearing on the probable exciting cause of De Quincey's maladyhaving originated in the crude irritating diet of wild berriesin Wales. Dr. Chevers writes to me:-" Richard Baxter attributes his great sufferings by flatulence, indigestion, &c. , to the fact that he ate raw applesand pears and plums in great quantities for many years.' Hespeaks of apples as being of all things in the world his ' mostdeadly enemies. ' He, however, says, ' I was never overwhelmed with melancholy. My distemper never went sofar as to possess me with any inordinate fancies , or dampme with sinking sadness, although the physicians called ithypochondriac melancholy.' ”Let us now sum up the case of Thomas de Quincey.There was, in the first instance, general derangement of the328MedicalView.digestive organs accompanied by torpor of the liver anahypochondriasis. In combating that state, the stomachand digestive tract were subjected to the protracted irritation of drastic medicines. Whilst the stomach and digestive organs had barely recovered themselves from this state,they were again exposed to extreme irritation and derangement from food both injurious in quality and altogetherdeficient in quantity. There was, at the same time, exposure to great hardship, in the way of insufficient clothingand shelter. Evidences of distinct disease of the stomachmanifested themselves under the forms of pain, spasm, andrejection of food, and these symptoms were repeated at intervals, in greater or less degree, throughout life; the irritation of the stomach being described in one place as appalling, and the character of the pain being described as asensation of gnawing.These symptoms indicate, in the first instance, severe nervousirritation or gastrodynia, with, I believe, a low inflammatory condition of the mucous coat of the stomach, proceedingat times to ulceration; not specific ulceration of a cancerouscharacter, but the simple gastric ulcer, capable of cureunder treatment and favourable conditions, yet liable torecur under any error in diet.At the commencement of this paper, I alluded to gastrodynia as a terrible and distressing disease, under the tormentof which the unfortunate sufferer was frequently driven tothe commission of suicide. Amongst the Hindoos of LowerBengal, living almost entirely on a vegetable diet, this complaint assumes an aggravated type, and I shall proceed toconsider it more fully. In the " Indian Annals of MedicalScience for the Year 1854, " is a paper by my friend and oldcolleague, Dr. T. W. Wilson, entitled " On Painful Affectionsof the Stomach, termed by the Natives of Bengal, Peetsool. 'Dr. Wilson points out in his paper that several diseasedGastrodynia, or "Peetsool." 329conditions of the stomach, varying from a simple neuralgiccondition of the gastric nerves, to ulceration of a simple oreven specific cancerous character, are confounded by thenatives under the common name of Peetsool, though theelement common to them all, and on which the attentionof the sufferer is naturally concentrated, is the pain bywhich these conditions are accompanied.Dr. Wilson writes, " The pain is chiefly confined to thepit of the stomach, extending to the right hypogastrium;it is of a gnawing or cutting kind. The patients sometimesexperience temporary relief from pressure, and they may beseen making it by cloths bound round the person, or witha ball placed on the pit of the stomach. ""So obstinate is this affection considered by the natives,that it is attributed to a weapon in the hands of Siva, andthough that deity inflicts the blow, he cannot remove thedisease; the sufferers in consequence often despair andseek relief in suicide. ”My own experience, acquired in Bengal, in a district.adjoining that in which Dr. Wilson was stationed, agreesentirely with what he has advanced regarding the characterand severity of the disease, which I had frequent opportunities of observing. (I may add, that the suffering which itoccasions I found best relieved by opium or morphia combined with bismuth or magnesia. ) On referring to my notebook, I find that, from May 1847 to June 1849, duringwhich time I was Civil Surgeon of the district of Pubna,out of a large number of cases of suicide, referred to me bythe magistrate for official report, in as many as ninecases, the reason given by relatives for the fatal act wasunbearable abdominal pain. It is true that all were notcases of Peetsool ( or Sool, as I usually heard the diseasedesignated), but in all, the fatal act of suicide was attributedto persistent unbearable pain in one or other of the abdo-330 Medical View.minal organs. In four cases the disease was distinctlydeclared to have been Sool (gastrodynia); in the fifth case,the pain was still referred to the digestive organs, but notspecially to the stomach; and in the other cases the painwas described as having been abdominal, but was notspecially localised.Dr. Chevers, in his valuable work on " Indian MedicalJurisprudence," refers specially to this class of cases, andhe gives a translation of a remarkable passage from theHindoo Shastras, which shows that suicide is, by implicationat least, permitted in these writings. The passage, moreover,is one of many occurring in the Hindoo Vedas and Shastras,which reveal the fact that, beneath the idolatrous excrescences with which the Hindoo creed has been buried, thereexists a faith of rare power and beauty, in its assertion of thesupremacy and indestructibility of spirit, and of the subordination and corruptibility of matter. Had the Hindoo sagereceived the later revelation, that the spirit is purified andelevated through its connection with bodily. suffering, hiscreed would have come nearer to the perfect truth, and thehecatombs of victims who yearly have perished in India bytheir own acts would, like the Christian philosopher, havelived, and learned the Christian duty of resignation .The following is the translation to which I havealluded: —" A mansion with bones for its rafters and beams, withnerves for its cords, with muscles and blood for mortar,with skin for its outward covering, filled with no sweetperfume, but loaded with foul refuse-a mansion infestedwith sickness and sorrow, the seat of malady, haunted withthe quality of darkness, incapable of standing long-sucha mansion of the vital soul let its occupier always cheerfullyquit. "I have, I believe, now fully established my propositionDr. Brinton on Stomach Ulcers. 331that gastrodynia in its aggravated form is a terrible anddistressing disease; and, in an aggravated form, I believethat Thomas de Quincey suffered from it. If he escaped fromthe promptings of the creed of the Hindoo sage, it wasprobably due to the teachings inaugurated in that infantnursery, where the brother and the saintly sister drew acommon inspiration from that book, which " ruled andswayed " them "as mysteriously as music. " That DeQuincey should have suffered in an aggravated degree fromany nervous irritation, might be inferred from his sensitivenervous temperament, and he appears to have been severelytried by neuralgic pains in the nerves of the face and jaws.But there is still a certain amount of light which may bethrown on the case of this sorely tried man, derivable fromthe researches of Dr. Brinton, who made a special study ofgastric ulceration; and I have already stated my belief that,in addition to the purely nervous element in De Quincey'scase, there was probably also gastric ulcer-ulcer of asimple, unspecific character, healing under opium and theregulation of diet, and recurring when the stomach was notcarefully managed. I think this theory is borne out bythe circ*mstances and exciting causes attending the outbreak ofthe attack, (commencing probably under the diet ofhips and haws in Wales), and by the subsequent symptoms.Dr. Brinton, in dealing with the causes of this complaint,writes, that the disease " seems to fall with disproportionateseverity and frequency on those who suffer from the illsimplied by penury, excessive toil, insufficient and unwholesome food, foul air, mental anxiety, and those habits ofintemperance which are the effect as well as cause of suchmisery." The last of these agencies we leave out of consideration; but the remaining agents in the catalogue ofevils had undoubtedly exerted their full influence on thehapless boy, De Quincey. The character of the pain is332 Medical View.also insisted on by Dr. Brinton.In the earliest stages,little more than a feeling of weight, it becomes " a burningsensation, and at last a gnawing pain, that produces a kindof sickening depression. " The following observation of Dr.Brinton regarding the recurrence of pain has a curious illustration, I believe, in the extract from De Quincey's letterto Charles Knight already quoted. "The partially subjective character of the pain in gastric ulcer receives a goodillustration from the manner in which it is often affectedby mental changes. Amongst these, we may speciallyallude to the depressing passions of sudden fear, anxiety,or anger, as frequently bringing on a paroxysm of pain, theseverity and duration of which exceed those of the attacks.produced by distension of the stomach by food. "This remark of Dr. Brinton regarding the inability of thestomach, when suffering from gastric ulcer or from its effects,to bear distension, without pain, gives a clue to De Quincey'sgeneral incapacity for ordinary solid food, either stimulatingin quality or large in quantity. Supposing De Quinceyto have been subject to gastric ulcer, it is evident that, evenwhen healed, its tender cicatrix would be subjected to painful tension on occasion of any distension of the stomach,and thereby be a source, more or less, of continued suffering.As regards treatment, I do not purpose alluding to anyof the remedies recommended by Dr. Brinton, with the exception of opium, as it is my desire to show that, whetherled instinctively or otherwise to that drug, it was, as far ashuman aid went, to opium that De Quincey was indebtedfor relief from grievous bodily anguish, and for the prolongation of his life to a ripe old age. Alluding to the injuriouslocal action of alcoholic drinks in gastric ulcer, Dr. Brintoninquires, "whether there are no stimulants which mayafford us the advantages of alcohol without its disadvantages? " "The importance of this question, " he adds, " willOpium resorted tofor Relief. 333excuse my pointing out, that what I have already hadoccasion to say respecting the merits of opium will to someextent apply to the class of sedatives in general. But thepeculiar stimulant effects of opium make it by far the mostvaluable of them all." " As regards mere facts, I am quitecertain that, though the pain often present in these casesis of course an additional indication for the use of opium,yet it is by no means the chief ( far less the only) guide toits administration. It is not as an anodyne, not even as asedative, that opium seems to be most useful. On thecontrary, my experience would lead me to conclude that itis especially in ulcers of long duration, of large size, ofobstinate character, and in broken, exhausted constitutions,that this invaluable remedy comes most fully into play;and that the condition these circ*mstances presuppose beingpresent, its use is not one whit less advantageous, even thoughthe habitual pain is trifling, or though (far from having to replace the customary alcohol of the drunkard) it is prescribedfor a patient who has been always of temperate (or evenabstemious) habits. " Dr. Brinton goes on to urge "theimportance of giving opium in this dangerous and frequentdisease," not only for the purpose of relieving pain orchecking irritation, but also "to support the strength, tobuoy up the nervous system, and to check the waste of thetissues generally. "Having conducted my argument to this point, therefore,I would submit, that the case of Thomas de Quincey, in itsconnection with the use of opium, must be regarded as oneof bodily disease, for the control of which opium was thesole efficient remedy; and that this great writer cannot beconsidered an opium-eater (as he has styled himself) in theordinary sense of the word. Opium was not resorted toby him, in the first instance, for sensuous gratification, butfor the relief of acute suffering; and if, under the sensibly334 Medical View.curative action of the drug, it was continued for a longperiod, equally pertinacious were the assaults of the cruelmalady which called for its employment. But let the eloquent writer speak for himself.At page 1 of the " Confessions," he says he has oftenbeen asked how it was that he had become an opiumeater; and with reference to the third of certain suppositions he writes, "Thirdly and lastly, was it [yes, bypassionate anticipation , I answer, before the question isfinished], was it on a sudden, overmastering impulse derivedfrom bodily anguish Loudly I repeat, yes: loudly andindignantly, as in answer to a wilful calumny. Simply asan anodyne it was, under the mere coercion of pain theseverest, that I first resorted to opium. "It was not, however, for his stomach ailment that opiumwas in the first instance taken, but to relieve the pain ofneuralgia of the nerves of the face and jaws.Again, at page 217 of the " Confessions," De Quinceywrites, after stating that he had been attacked again " by amost appalling irritation of the stomach, in all respects thesame as that which had caused " him " so much suffering inyouth, and accompanied by a revival of all the old dreams: ""Now, then, it was only in the year 1813 that I became aregular and confirmed (no longer an intermitting) opiumeater. And here," he writes, " I find myself in a perplexing.dilemma. Either, on the one hand, I must exhaust thereader's patience by such a detail of my malady, and of mystruggles with it, as might suffice to establish the fact ofmy inability to wrestle any longer with irritation andconstant suffering; or, on the other hand, by passing lightlyover the critical part of my story, I must forego the benefitof a stronger impression left on the mind of the reader, andmust lay myself open to the misconstruction of having.slipped by the easy and gradual steps of self-indulgingOpium the " One sole Agent." 335persons, from the first to the final stage of opium- eating (amisconstruction to which there will be a lurking predisposition in most readers, from my previous acknowledgments). ""No; believe all that I ask of you, viz. , that I couldresist no longer. " "This, then, let me repeat; I postulatethat, at the time I began to take opium daily, I could nothave done otherwise. Whether, indeed, afterwards I mightnot have succeeded in breaking off the habit, even when itseemed to me that all efforts would be unavailing, andwhether many of the innumerable efforts which I did makemight not have been carried much further, and my gradualreconquests of lost ground might not have been followedup much more energetically-these are questions which Imust decline. " But when the writer adds a little furtheron, " I cannot face misery, whether my own or not, with aneye of sufficient firmness, and am little capable of encountering present pain for the sake of any reversionarybenefit; " and when, towards the end of the " Confessions,"at page 232, he adds, " The opium would probably neverhave been promoted into the dignity of a daily and a lifelong resource, had it not proved itself to be the one soleagent equal to the task of tranquillising the miseries leftbehind by the youthful privations," when, I repeat, theauthor has made these statements, he entirely removes hiscase from the region of ethics into that of therapeutics.De Quincey's was not a case of opium-eating in the ordinaryand objectionable sense of the word; it was one of the continued use of opium (very probably at times in unwarrantable excess), rendered necessary by persistent chronicdisease. And, be it observed, quantities of the drug asenormous as those consumed at times by De Quinceyhave been given under medical sanction. In a case underthe care of two distinguished physicians of Philadelphia,336 Medical View.the quantity of opium was gradually increased to "threepints of laudanum," "besides a considerable quantity ofsolid opium," in the twenty- four hours. * In this and insimilar cases the amount of the drug must be regarded asthe measure of the physical pain it was given to relieve.The following extract from a private letter written byColonel Baird Smith, of the Bengal Engineers, after thecapture of Delhi, given in Sir John Kaye's " Sepoy War"(p. 547, vol. iii. ) , may be cited here, as it has an appositebearing on this point:-"An attack of camp scurvy had filled my mouth withsores, shaken every joint in my body, and covered me allover with livid spots, so that I was marvellously unlovelyto look upon. A smart knock on the ankle-joint from thesplinter of a shell that burst in my face, in itself, however,a mere bagatelle of a wound, had been of necessity neglectedunder the pressing and incessant calls upon me, and hadgrown worse and worse, till the whole foot below the anklebecame a black mass, and seemed to threaten mortification.I insisted, however, on being allowed to use it till the placewas taken, mortification or no; and though the pain wassometimes horrible, I carried my point and kept up to thelast. On the day after the assault I had an unlucky fall onsome bad ground, and it was an open question for a day ortwo whether I hadn't broken my left arm at the elbow.Fortunately it turned out to be only a severe sprain; but Iam still conscious of the wrench it gave me. And, to crownthe whole pleasant catalogue, I was worn to a shadow by aconstant diarrhoea, and consumed as much opium, with aslittle effect, as would have done credit to my father-inlaw (Mr. de Quincey). " Opium and brandy, he says elsewhere, were his daily sustenance, and that they had no

• Pereira's Materia Medica, p. 2111.

Action ofOpium on De Quincey. 337other effect upon him than that of increasing his capacityfor work. " Appetite for food I had none, but I forced myself to eat sufficient to sustain life. The excitement ofthe work was so great, that no lesser one seemed to haveany chance against it; and I certainly never found my intellect clearer or my nerves stronger in my life. It wasonly my wretched body that was weak; and the moment thereal work was done by our becoming complete masters ofDelhi, I broke down without delay, and discovered that, ifI wished to live, I must continue no longer the system thathad kept me up till the crisis was past. With it passed awayas if in a moment all desire to stimulate, and a perfectloathing of my late staff of life took possession of me. "Let it not for a moment be imagined that it is intendedin any way by these remarks to countenance opium- eating asa mere vicious indulgence. In a perfectly healthy conditionof the system, and in a well- balanced state of the mentalfaculties, I can conceive nothing but mischief to arise fromthe use of opium, casually or habitually, in any quantitysufficient to produce an appreciable physiological actionon the mental or bodily functions. But what I wouldinsist on is, that in the case of Thomas de Quincey therewas not only not a healthy condition of system, but awant of healthy balance in the mental faculties-the imagination being so abnormally active even from the earliestinfancy, as to dominate at times the reason, despite thefact that the intellectual powers were of a high order,amounting to genius. It may perhaps be said that theentire nervous system was in a state of nervous exaltation.Bearing this in mind, and that the general state of thenervous system was abnormal, it will be felt, that theaction of opium in such a case might be likewise abnormal.I believe it to have been so in the case of De Quincey,from the time of its first employment, in an ordinary VOL. II. Y338MedicalView.medicinal dose, to assuage the pain of a neuralgic attack.Medical men are in the habit of giving opium in such dosesdaily, yet I never heard of such effects from a singledose being recorded, as are given at page 195 of the " Confessions; " indeed, few have the philosophic faculty of turning the mind upon itself, and subjecting its manifestationsto such analytic scrutiny.To the majority, probably, the effect of a single medicinaldose of opium, given under such circ*mstances, would be,in addition to the relief of pain, to produce some hours ofsleep, more or less disturbed by dreams, with a light head.on waking, some nausea perhaps, and a parched mouth.De Quincey speaks of a " revulsion," a resurrection fromthe lowest depths " of the inner spirit," " an apocalypse ofthe world within," with a vanishing of his pains. Furtheron he says that, whilst " wine disorders the mental faculties,opium, on the contrary (if taken in a proper manner) , introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, regulation ,and harmony; " and that, in the case of the opium- eater, he"feels that the diviner part of his nature is paramount—thatis, the moral affections are in a state of cloudless serenity,and high over all the great light of the majestic intellect. "It is requisite not to be carried away by these eloquent utterances. Opium cannot communicate to the brain any poweror faculty of which it is not already possessed; although,(as in De Quincey's case), by subduing an enemy, whichhad by its painful assaults on a remote part of the nervoussystem temporarily paralysed the central powers of theintellect, it could again restore harmony of action tothese powers. It could in no way create moral affections,though it might resuscitate them, by removing from theman overpowering load of physical suffering. It could addno iota to the great light of the majestic intellect, althoughwhen this might be suffering a temporary eclipse -as wasVisionary Power not due to Opium. 339too frequently the case with this great writer, when hisgnawing malady pervaded his entire consciousness withtorments which dominated the power of thought—it might,under such circ*mstances, restore that great light, by dissipating the shadow that obscured it.De Quincey attached an importance to his dream-experiences which needs no special consideration. They did notoriginate with the use of opium, as the history of his yearsof infancy and youth clearly show; but so fascinated wasthis intensely intellectual man with everything pertainingto mind, that its workings under the lawless guidance ofimagination—the children of his fancy--appeared to havehad a claim on his affection which, perhaps, with greatersafety, might have been entirely reserved for the offspringof his rigorously controlled thought.It is requisite to say, in conclusion, that Thomas deQuincey, about the year 1845, or fourteen years before hisdeath, relinquished the excessive use of opium; from whichit may be inferred that the lesion of the stomach, fromwhich he had suffered for so many years of his life, hadby that time ceased to occasion him suffering; and thiswould be in accordance with the fact that Dr. WarburtonBegbie, at the time of this distinguished man's death, wasunable to discover the existence of specific disease. Thisis further confirmed by the recollection of Mr. James Hogg.He states that though, during the first year or two of hisacquaintance with Mr. de Quincey, he heard him complainof " gnawing pains in the stomach," in the later years anyreference to such pains ceased to be made.340 De Quincey's Father as an Author.II.DE QUINCEY'S FATHER AS AN AUTHOR.The reader will have noticed that De Quincey speaks ofhis father as being an anonymous author, and though hedoes not mention the title of any of his writings, or wherethey appeared, he makes explicit reference to an account ofa tour he had printed. Owing to the kindness of Mr. A.Ireland, of Manchester, we are glad to be able to extractthe following from " Notes and Queries " for November 20,1875, as likely to have an interest of its own:—"6"DE QUINCEY'S FATHER: ' TOUR IN THE MIDLAND COUNTIESIN 1772. -Who was the author of ' A Tour in the MidlandCounties of England, performed in the Summer of 1772 (byT- Q-),' which appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine ' of1774 (vol. xliv. p. 206, continued in four following numbers),and which, the editor tells us in a note, was the first production of the writer's pen? ' I should at once have ascribed it, asthe initials agree, to Thomas Quincey, the father of the opiumeater, who published, his son tells us, a similar tour, but which,notwithstanding a long- continued quest by myself and others,has not yet turned up. As, however, he would only be nineteen when the tour was made, and twenty-one when it wasprinted in the ' Gentleman's Magazine,' the doubt is whetherthe composition is exactly that which so young a person wouldbe likely to have produced. The style would rather seem toindicate the writer to have been a man of mature years and experience. Still, this is not conclusive as an objection, as earlyacquaintance with the world and its business ripens the mindquite as much as advance of years . Thomas Quincey's successin mercantile pursuits-he died at the age of thirty- nine-andthe codicils to his will, giving directions as to the carrying onand disposal of his business, are sufficient to show that he wasby no means an ordinary person, and his son tells us that hehad been a great traveller. The ' Tour in the Midland Counties 'appears to have been made from London, to which the touristreturned on its conclusion. Thomas Quincey had not thenMr. de Quincey's Family. 341settled in Manchester, and accordingly his name is not foundin the Directories of 1772 and 1773. If the ' Tour ' in the'Gentleman's Magazine ' was really written by him , the probability is that his son, though aware of the fact of his fatherhaving composed such a journal, did not know where it hadappeared, otherwise it would be difficult to account for hishaving barely noticed the existence of a production in whichhe might have taken a just pride, and which would haveafforded him a paternal peg which he might have hung many adigression and disquisition upon. Thomas de Quincey wasonly seven when his father died, and from absence and othercirc*mstances had little personal knowledge of him. In thatfine piece of painting, his description of his father's return homein a dying state, he does not attempt to portray his features orgive any idea of what he was like in person. I ought, perhaps,to mention that in the ' Tour' the writer has a good deal to sayin the description of Boston, in Lincolnshire, and I find in thewill of Thomas Quincey that Henry Gee, of Boston, merchant,was appointed one of his trustees, and that a legacy is given to' his respected friend and kinsman John Oxenford,' who residedin that neighbourhood. JAS. CROSSLEY."III.MR. DE QUINCEY'S FAMILY.Mr. de Quincey's family consisted of five sons and threedaughters, as follow:-1. William, who died about 1835 , in his eighteenth year,referred to by his father as a student of great promise.2. Margaret, who died in 1871 , in Ireland, at the residence of her husband, Mr. Robert Craig.3. Horace, who was an officer in the 26th Cameronians,went to China with Sir Hugh Gough, was engagedin the campaign of 1841-42, and died there of somekind of malarious fever in the end of 1842.342 Mr. de Quincey's Family.4. Francis, who began life as a clerk in Mr. Kelsall'soffice, but formed a liking for medical studies, and,under great disadvantages, educated himself at Edinburgh for the medical profession. He was for sometime assistant-physician at the Lunatic Asylum,Morningside, Edinburgh, and then went out to Brazil,and was on the way to success, when, returning tohis home up-country from Rio Janeiro in 1861 , hewas seized with yellow fever, and succumbed fromwant of medical treatment; there being no doctor atthe place where he was taken ill.5. Paul Frederick, who was an officer in the 70th Queen'sRegiment, carried the Queen's Colours at the Battleof Sobraon, and served all through the IndianMutiny. In 1857 he came home on promotion, andaccompanied his father on that trip to Ireland. Hereturned to India; and attracting the notice of SirHugh Rose (Lord Strathnairn), was made brigademajor. This appointment by merit he was obligedto relinquish, owing to his regiment being orderedto New Zealand for active service. From what hesaw of the country there, he resolved to settle, andpurchased land; but he again took service for a timeas military secretary to General Galloway, whenhe was employed in organising the New ZealandMilitia. For his services in this capacity he receivedfrom the Colonial Government a considerable grantof land, which, with his purchased property, henow holds, being married there.6. Florence, married Colonel Baird Smith, who died inIndia, in 1861 .7. Julius, who died in 1833, about four years of age.8. Emily.Rev. E. W. Grinfield. 343IV.MR. GRINFIELD AND HIS WORKS.The Rev. E. W. Grinfield, who, in the last letter printedin this work, speaks of himself so modestly as a theologicalstudent, was the author of between twenty and thirtyworks of varying importance. His " Novum TestamentumGræcum, Editio Hellenistica. Scholia in N. T. instruxitatque ornavit E. Grinfield," published in 1843-48, in 4 vols.8vo, was his greatest work. It was designed to show theclose connection of the Greek Testament with the Septuagint. It contains upwards of 30,000 doctrinal and grammatical illustrations, which are arranged respectively undereach verse for the convenience of the student and divine.Allibone says:—-"We need hardly say that the labours ofthe editor have been great indeed; to quote from his preface Per decem annos in hæc editione conficiendâ operamstudiumque impensè elocavi. ' He intended to have increased his labours by the addition of a threefold collationof the Hebrew, LXX. , and New Testament.For anaccount of this truly great work we must refer to Horne's' Bibl. Bibl. ,' and the ' London Christian Remembrancer 'for April 1848." As a natural sequel to his Hellentisticedition of the Greek Testament, he wrote an " Apologyfor the Septuagint," in which its claims to biblical andcanonical authority are stated and vindicated. This waspublished in 1850, and may rank as the next in value ofhis numerous works.344 Westmoreland Architecture.V.WESTMORELAND ARCHITECTURE.As an instance of the way in which De Quincey's peculiarlove of the picturesque wanders, so to say, from its owncentre of mere personal liking, to involve the wider interestsof those with whom he was brought into contact, to findout subtle reasons for certain results or combinations ofform, and to reunite them cunningly with the commonand ordinary necessities of life, we may venture to quotethis most ingenious and yet most simple description of theCottage Architecture of Westmoreland. It is full of DeQuincey's fine spirit:—so;"The Westmoreland cottages, as a class, have longbeen celebrated for their picturesque forms, and very justlyin no part of the world are cottages to be found morestrikingly interesting to the eye by their general outlines,by the sheltered porches of their entrances, by their exquisite chimneys, by their rustic windows, and by the distribution of the parts. These parts are on a larger scale,both as to number and size, than a stranger would expectto find as dependencies and outhouses attached to dwellings so modest; chiefly from the necessity of making provision both in fuel for themselves, and in hay, straw,and brackens for the cattle, against the long winter. But,in praising the Westmoreland cottages, it must be understood that only those of the native dalesmen are contemplated; for as to those raised by the alien intruders—the' lakers ' or ' foreigners,' as they are sometimes called bythe old indigenous possessors of the soil-these being designed to exhibit a taste ' and an eye for the picturesque,are pretty often merely models of deformity, as vulgar and66Rosy-cheeked Poverty. 345as silly as it is well possible for any object to be, in a casewhere, after all, the workman, and obedience to custom, andthe necessities of the ground, &c. , will often step in to compelthe architects into common - sense and propriety. Themain defect in Scottish scenery, the eyesore that disfiguresso many charming combinations of landscape, is the offensive style of the rural architecture; but still, even where itis worst, the mode of its offence is not by affectation andconceit, and preposterous attempts at realising sublime,gothic, or castellated effects in little gingerbread ornaments, and tobacco pipes,' and make- believe parapets andtowers like kitchen or hothouse flues; but in the hardundisguised pursuit of mere coarse uses and needs of life .Too often, the rustic mansion, that should speak of decentpoverty and seclusion , peaceful and comfortable, wears themost repulsive air of town confinement and squalid indigence; the house being built of substantial stone, threestoreys high, or even four, the roof of massy slate; andeverything strong which respects the future outlay ofthe proprietor; everything frail which respects the comfort of the inhabitant; windows broken or stuffed upwith rags and old hats; steps and doors encrusted withdirt; and the whole tarnished with smoke. Poverty-howdifferent the face it wears looking with meagre, staringeyes from such a city-dwelling as this, and when it peepsout, with rosy cheeks, from amongst clustering roses ofwoodbines, at a little lattice from a little one-storey cottage!Are, then, the main characteristics of the Westmorelanddwelling-houses imputable to superior taste? By no means.Spite of all that I have heard Mr. Wordsworth and otherssay in maintaining that opinion, I, for my part, do andmust hold, that the dalesmen produce none of the happyeffects which frequently arise in their domestic architectureunder any search after beautiful forms-a search which346 Westmoreland Architecture.they despise with a sort of Vandal dignity; no, nor withany sense of consciousness of their success. How then?Is it accident-mere casual good luck-that has broughtforth, for instance, so many exquisite forms of chimneys?Not so; but it is this- it is good sense, on the one hand,bending and conforming to the dictates, or even the suggestions of the climate, and the local circ*mstances of therocks, water, and currents of air, &c.; and, on the otherhand, wealth sufficient to arm the builder with all suitablemeans for giving effect to his purpose, and to evade thenecessity of make- shifts. But the radical ground of theinterest attached to Westmoreland cottage- architecture liesin its submission to the determining agencies of the surrounding circ*mstances-such of them, I mean, as arepermanent, and have been gathered from long experience.The porch, for instance, which does so much to takeaway from a house the character of a rude box piercedwith holes for air, light, and ingress, has evidently beendictated by the sudden rushes of wind through themountain " ghylls," which make some kind of protection.necessary to the ordinary door: and this reason has beenstrengthened in cases of houses near to a road, by thehospitable wish to provide a sheltered seat for the wayfarer-most of these porches being furnished with one ineach of the two recesses to the right and to the left. Thelong winter again, as I have already said, and the artificialprolongation of the winter, by the necessity of keeping thesheep long upon the low grounds, creates a call for largeouthouses; and these, for the sake of warmth, are usuallyplaced at right angles to the house, which has the effectof making a much larger system of parts than would elsearise. But, perhaps, the main feature which givescharacter to the pile of building is the roof, and, above all,the chimneys. It is the remark of an accomplished Edin-Picturesque Chimneys. 347burgh artist, H. W. Williams, in the course of his strictures upon the domestic architecture of the Italians, andespecially of the Florentines, that the character of buildingsin certain circ*mstances, depends wholly or chiefly on theform of the roof or chimney. This, he goes on, isparticularly the case in Italy, where more variety andtaste is displayed in the chimneys than in the buildings towhich they belong. These chimneys are as peculiar andcharacteristic as palm trees in a tropical climate. Again,in speaking of Calabria and the Ionian Islands, he says-"We were forcibly struck with the consequence whichthe beauty of the chimneys imparted to the character ofthe whole building. " Now, in Great Britain, he complainswith reason of the very opposite result; not the plainbuilding ennobled by the chimney, but the chimney degrading the noble building; and in Edinburgh, especially,where the homely and inelegant appearance of the chimneys contrast most disadvantageously and offensively withthe beauty of the buildings which they surmount. Evenhere, however, he makes an exception for some of the oldbuildings, whose chimneys, he admits, " are very tastefullydecorated, and contribute essentially to the beauty of thegeneral effect." It is probable, therefore and manyhouses of the Elizabethan era confirm it , that a bettertaste prevailed, in this point, amongst our ancestors, bothScottish and English-that this elder fashion travelled ,together with many other usages, from the richer partsof Scotland to the Borders, and thence to the Vales ofWestmoreland, where they have continued to prevail fromtheir affectionate adhesion to all patriarchial customs.—Some undoubtedly of these Westmoreland forms havebeen dictated by the necessities of the weather, and thesystematic energies of human skill, from age to age, appliedto the very difficult task of training smoke into obedience,348WestmorelandArchitecture.under the peculiar difficulties presented by the sites ofWestmoreland houses. These are chosen, generally speaking, with the same good sense and regard to domesticcomfort, as the primary consideration (without, however,disdainfully slighting the sentiment, whatever it were, ofpeace, of seclusion, of gaiety, solemnity, the special' relligio loci ' ) which seems to have guided the choice ofthose who founded religious houses. And here, again, bythe way, appears a marked difference between the dalesmen and the intrusive gentry - not creditable to thelatter. The native dalesman, well aware of the fury withwhich the wind often gathers and eddies about any eminence, however trifling its elevation, never thinks ofplanting his house there; whereas the stranger, singlysolicitous about the prospect or the range of lake whichhis gilt saloons are to command, chooses his site too oftenupon points better fitted for a temple of Eolus than ahuman dwelling- place; and he belts his house with balconies and verandahs that a mountain gale often tears awayin mockery. The dalesman, wherever his choice is notcirc*mscribed, selects a sheltered spot (a Wray, * for instance), which protects him from the winds altogether,upon one or two quarters, and on all quarters from itstornado violence; he takes good care, at the same time, tobe within a few feet of a mountain beck; a caution so littleheeded by some of the villa-founders, that, absolutely, ina country surcharged with water, they have sometimesfound themselves driven, by sheer necessity, to the afterthought of sinking a well. The very best situation, however, in other respects, may be bad in one; and sometimesfinds its very advantages, and the beetling crags which

• Wraie is the old Danish or Icelandic word for angle. Hence the many Wrays in the Lake District.

" The Measure of Value." 349protect its rear, obstructions the most permanent to theascent of smoke; and it is in the contest with these naturalbaffling repellents of the smoke, and in the variety ofartifices for modifying its vertical, or for accomplishing itslateral escape, that have arisen the large and gracefulvariety of chimney models.VI.MR. MALTHUS AND "THE MEASURE OF VALUE."In relation to this particular subject of value, I flattermyself that in a paper expressly applied to the exposure ofMr. Malthus's blunders in his " Political Economy," I havemade it impossible for Mr. Malthus, even though he shouldtake to his assistance seven worse logicians than himself, toput down my light with their darkness. Meantime, as alabour of shorter compass, I will call the reader's attentionto the following blunder, in a later work of Mr. Malthus's,viz. , a pamphlet of eighty pages, entitled the " Measureof Value, Stated and Applied," published in the spring ofthe present year ( 1823). The question proposed in thiswork is the same as that already discussed in the " Political Economy," viz. , What is the measure of value? Butthe answer to it is different: in the " Political Economy,"the measure of value was determined to be a mean betweencorn and labour; in this pamphlet Mr. Malthus retractsthat opinion, and (finally, let us hope) settles it to his ownsatisfaction that the true meaning is labour; not the quantity of labour, observe, which will produce X, but thequantity which X will command. Upon these two answers,350 "The Measure of Value. "and the delusions which lie at their root, I shall here forbear to comment; because I am now chasing Mr. Malthus'slogical blunders; and these delusions are not so much logicalas economic. What I now wish the reader to attend to isthe blunder involved in the question itself; because thatblunder is not economic but logical. The question isWhat is the measure of value? I say that the phrase―"Measure of Value " -is an equivocal phrase; and, in Mr.Malthus's use of it, means indifferently that which determines value, in relation to the principium essendi, and thatwhich determines value, in relation to the principium cognoscendi. Here, perhaps, the reader will falsely supposethat I have some design upon his eyes, and wish to blindhim with learned dust. But, if he thinks that, he isin the wrong box. I will and must express scholasticnotions by scholastic phrases; but having once done this,I am then ready to descend into the arena with noother weapon than plain English can furnish . Let ustherefore translate " Measure of Value " into " that whichdetermines value; " and in this shape we shall detect theambiguity of which I complain. For I say that theword determines may be taken subjectively for what determines X in relation to our knowledge, or objectively forwhat determines X in relation to itself. Thus, if I were toask, " What determined the length of the race-course? " andthe answer were-"The convenience of spectators, whocould not have seen the horses at a greater distance," or"The choice of the subscribers," then it is plain that, by theword " determined," I was understood to mean " determinedobjectively," i.e. , in relation to the existence of the object:in other words, What caused the racecourse to be this lengthrather than another length? but, if the answer were—an actual admeasurement, " it would then be plain that bythe word " determined " I had been understood to mean,66A Logical Error. 351"determined subjectively," i.e. , in relation to our knowledge,What ascertained it? Now, in the objective sense of thephrase "determiner of value, " the measure of value willmean the ground of value; in the subjective sense, it willmean the criterion of value. Mr. Malthus will allege that heis at liberty to use it in which sense he pleases. Grant thathe is, but not therefore in both. Has he then used it inboth? He will, perhaps, deny that he has, and will contendthat he has used it in the latter sense as equivalent to theascertainer or criterion of value. I answer, No; for, omitting amore particular examination of his use in this place, I saythat his use of any word is peremptorily and in defianceof his private explanation to be extorted from the use ofthe corresponding term in him whom he is opposing. Now,he is opposing Mr. Ricardo: his labour which X commands,is opposed to Mr. Ricardo's quantity of labour which will produce X. Call the first A, the last B. Now, in making Bthe determiner of value, Mr. Ricardo means that B is theground of value: i.e. , that B is the answer to the question-What makes this hat of more value than that pairof shoes? But if Mr. Malthus means by A the samething, then, by his own confession, he has used the termmeasure of value in two senses: on the one hand, if he doesnot mean the same thing, but simply the criterion of value,then he has not used the word in any sense which opposeshim to Mr. Ricardo. And yet he advances the whole onthat footing. On either ground, therefore, he is guilty of alogical error, which implies that, so far from answeringhis own question, he did not know what his own questionwas.352 Anglo-German Dictionaries.VII."Anglo- German Dictionaries," and the little passage onthe " Moral Effects of Revolution, " which follow, appearedin the " London Magazine " for 1823, and, so far as we areaware, have never been reprinted. We, therefore, gladlypresent them here, as we believe the reader will appreciatethe humour of the one as much as the deep thought andsuggestiveness of the other:-ANGLO-GERMAN DICTIONARIES.The German dictionaries, compiled for the use of Englishmen studying that language, are all bad enough, I doubtnot, even in this year 1823; but those of a century backare the most ludicrous books that ever mortal read: read,I say, for they are well worth reading, being often as goodas a jest-book. In some instances, I am convinced thatthe compilers (Germans living in Germany) had a downrighthoax put upon them by some facetious Briton whom theyhad consulted; what is given as the English equivalent forthe German word being not seldom a pure coinage thatnever had any existence out of Germany. Other instancesthere are in which the words, though not of foreign manufacture, are almost as useless to the English student as ifthey were; slang words, I mean, from the slang vocabulary, current about the latter end of the seventeenthcentury. These must have been laboriously culled fromthe works of Tom Browne, Sir Roger L'Estrange, Echard,Jeremy Collier, and others from 1660 to 1700, who werethe great masters of this vernacular English (as it mightemphatically be called, with a reference to the primary *

• What I mean is this: Vernacular, from verna, a slave born in his

master's house. 1. The homely idiomatic language in opposition toany vexed jargon, or lingua franca, spoken by an imported slave.The Hoaxer at Work. 353meaning of the word vernacular); and I verily believe that,if any part of this slang has become, or ever should become,a dead language to the English critic, his best guide to therecovery of its true meaning will be the German dictionariesof Bailey, Arnold, &c. , in their earliest editions. By one ofthese, the word Potztausend (a common German oath)is translated, to the best of my remembrance, thus:-' Udzooks, Udswiggers, Udswoggers, Bublikins, Boblikins,Splitterkins,' &c. , and so on, with a large choice of otherelegant varieties. Here, I take it, our friend the hoaxerhad been at work. But the drollest example I have metwith of their slang is in the following story told me byMr. Coleridge:—About the year 1794, a German, recentlyimported into Bristol, happened to hear of Mrs. X. , awealthy widow. He thought it would be a good speculation to offer himself to the lady's notice as well qualified to' succeed' to the late Mr. X. , and accordingly waited onthe lady with that intention. Having no great familiaritywith English, he provided himself with a copy of one of thedictionaries I have mentioned; and, on being announced tothe lady, he determined to open his proposal with this introductory sentence: Madam, having heard that Mr. X.,late your husband, is dead— ' but coming to the last word'gestorben ' (dead), he was at a loss for the English equivalent, so, hastily pulling out his dictionary (a huge 8vo), heturned to the word ' sterben ' (to die), and there found, -but what he found will be best collected from the dialoguewhich followed, as reported by the lady:-"German. Madam, hahfing heard that Mein Herr X.late your man is- ' (these words he kept chiming over as if2. Hence, generally, the pure mother-tongue as opposed to thetongue corrupted by false refinement. By vernacular English, therefore, in the primary sense, I mean such homely English as is banishedfrom books and polite conversation to Billingsgate and Wapping.VOL. II. Ꮓ354 Anglo-German Dictionaries.to himself, until he arrived at No. 1 of the interpretationsof ' sterben,' when he roared out, in high glee at his discovery), ' is, dat is-has kicked the bucket."Widow (with astonishment). " " Kicked the bucket, ” sir!what- '"German. " Ah! mein Gott!--alway Ich make mistake:I vou'd have said— ' (beginning again with the same solemnity of tone), —' Since dat Mein Herr X. hav-hopped detwig-' (which words he screamed out with delight, certainthat he had now hit the nail upon the head)."Widow. Upon my word, sir, I am at a loss to understand you: " Kicked the bucket," and " Hopped thetwig! "'"German (perspiring with panic). Ah, madam! vontwo -tree-ten tousand pardon; vat sad, wicket dictionaryI haaf, dat alway bring me in trouble; but now you shallhear;'-(and then, recomposing himself solemnly for a thirdeffort, he began as before): Madam, since I did hear, orwash hearing, dat Mein Herr X. , late your man, haaf-'(with a triumphant shout) , haaf, I say, gone to Davy'slocker- '6"Further he would have gone, but the widow could standno more; this nautical phrase, familiar to the streets ofBristol, allowed her no longer to misunderstand his meaning, and she quitted the room in a tumult of laughter, sending a servant to show her unfortunate suitor out of thehouse with his false friend the dictionary, whose help hemight, perhaps, invoke for the last time, on making hisexit in the curses, ' Udswoggers, Boblikins, Bublikins,Splitterkins! '"N.B. As test words for trying a modern German dictionary I will advise the student to look for the words,Beschwichtigen, Kulesse, and Mansarde. The last is origi-Philosophy of Revolutions. 355nally French, but the first is a true German word; and, ona question arising about its etymology at the house of agentleman in Edinburgh, could not be found in any oneout of five or six modern Anglo-German dictionaries. "VIII.MORAL EFFECTS OF REVOLUTIONS.In revolutionary times, as where civil war prevails in acountry, men are much worse, as moral beings, than inquiet and untroubled states of peace. So much is matterof history. The English, under Charles II. , after twentyyears' agitation and civil tumults; the Romans, after Syllaand Marius, and the still more bloody proscriptions of thetriumvirates; the French, after the wars of the Leagueand the storms of the Revolution, were much changed forthe worse, and exhibited strange relaxations of the moralprinciple. But why? What is the philosophy of the case?Some will think it sufficiently explained by the necessity ofwitnessing so much bloodshed-the hearths and the verygraves of their fathers polluted by the slaughter of theircountrymen the acharnement, which characterises civilcontests (as always the quarrels of friends are the fiercest)-and the licence of wrong which is bred by war and themajesties of armies. Doubtless this is part of the explanation. But is this all? Mr. Coleridge has referred to thesubject in " The Friend; " but, to the best of my remembrance, only noticing it as a fact. Fichté, the celebratedGerman philosopher, has given us his view of it (" Idea ofWar," p. 15); and it is so ingenious that it deserves mention; it is this: -" Times of revolution force men's mindsinwards; hence they are led, amongst other things, to-356 Moral Effects ofRevolutions.meditate on morals with reference to their own conduct.But to subtilise too much upon this subject must alwaysbe ruinous to morality, with all understandings that arenot very powerful, i.e. , with the majority, because it terminates naturally in a body of maxims, a specious and covertself-interest, whereas, when men meditate less, they areapt to act more from natural feeling, in which the naturalgoodness of the heart often interferes to neutralize or evento overbalance its errors. "INDEX.ABSTRACT ideas, De Quincey's faculty of rising to, i. 18.Addison, ii. 111 .Adorni in " Klosterheim," i. 283,296.Bequest, A Strange, ii. 307.Blackwood, Mr. John, ii. 106.Blackwood's Magazine, i . 259 273-4, 300, 336, 376, 385.Blake, Miss, i. 47, 55.Miss Martha, i. 351.Bog" School, andAllan the Quaker, Pope's Friend,Bool, i. 279.i. 351 .Alexander, Professor, of Boston,U.S., i. 370.Allibone's "Dictionary of Au- thors, " ii. 299.Alliteration, Dislike of, ii. 293.Altamont, Lord, i . 51 .Anglo- German Dictionaries, ii.352.Ann of Oxford Street, i. 96, 199;ii. 50, 189.Archididascalus, The, i. 64.Architecture, Westmoreland, ii.344.Arnold, Mr. Matthew (quoted),66 ii. 180.Autobiographic Sketches, " ii.101.BACON, Lord, ii. 72, 223.Baird Smith, Colonel, ii. 107,108, 121 , 130, 140.Baird Smith, Mrs, i . 60, 193, 303,330, 359; ii . 81 , 129, 192.Bar, The, the learned Body in Scotland, ii. 77.Basley, Peter, and The " Lyrical Ballads, " i. 118.Begbie, Dr. Warburton, ii. 19;his Visits in last illness, ii . 295.Bentley, ii. 131.66 "Lake "Blucher in London, ii. 203.Bohemian Propensity in De Quincey, ii . 176.Bristol Coach, His fellow- passenger on the, i. 5.Brougham, Lord, i . 209, 238.Browning, Mr. R. (quoted), ii. 180.Brunell, Mr., i . 91-94.Burton, Mr. Hill, i. 308, 320; ii.187.Byron, Lord, ii. 202.Byron, Lady, ii. 122.CANDOUR, Mr. de Quincey's, ii.297.Carbery, Lady, i. 18, 61, 64, 77.Carlyle, Mr., i. 277, 375; ii. 37.Carruthers, Mr. R., of Inverness,i. 372.Castlereagh's, Lord, account of Westmoreland, i. 213.Catalini, Madame, i. 125.Cats, and the cruelty they suffer,ii. 103.Chalmers, Dr., i. 384.Children, Dying fancies about,ii. 303-4.Chubb, the friend of Coleridge,i. 121 .358Index.Classic Authors, legitimacy of suggested emendations on the text of, ii. 129.Clowes, The Rev. John, A.M. , i.65-70.Coleridge, i. 102, 117 , 119–122,130, 138, 153, 157 , 328, 380,392; ii. 62, 209.Coleridge, Hartley, i. 124.Coleridge, Sara, i. 301, 380.Collected Works, ii . 3, 13, 34, 47."Confessions " first published, i.238; James Montgomery'sEstimate of, 243; final form of,ii. 47-50, 51 , 108, 186, 231; the Confessions defended, ii. 271 .Cookery, Disastrous effects of bad, ii. 216-9.Cornwall, Barry, i . 231.Cottle, Joseph, i. 131 , 136.Cotton's, Dr , Opinion of De Quin- cey as a student, i. 112, 113.Cowper, the Poet, i. 25.Cragg, Mr. , Liverpool, i. 106.Craig, Mrs., i. 336, 341, 343, 350;ii . 81 , 87 , 122, 125, 128, 133,134, 141, 304.Craig, Miss, ii . 103.Crimean War, The, ii. 92.Criminals' Confessions, ii. 119 .Currie, Dr. , Editor of Burns, i.71-73.DAVY, Sir Humphrey, i. 139, 378.De Quincey, Thomas, sympathy a prerequisite to understand him, vol. i. , 9; born near Man- chester, 16; early incidents,1; death of his sister Jane,19; his sister Elizabeth , 21;his father comes home to die,23; at Rev. Samuel Hall's, 29;the juvenile campaigns, 29 his brother William, 26-35;Bath Grammar School, 35, 38,39, 40; his brother Richard(Pink), 35; his mother, 41;goes to Winkfield, 43; tour in Ireland, 48-59; at Manches- ter Grammar School, 63;the Archididascalus, 64; Mr.66Clowes's, 65-70; in Liverpool,71; miseries at Mr. Lawson's,74-77; flies from Manchester,79; in Wales, 81; his portabletent, 82; Llan-y- styndw, 83;goes to London, 85; is restored to his friends, 98; goes to Oxford, 100; his deficient al- lowances, 102; first tastesopium, 103; leaves Oxford,113; goes to the Lakes, 126;his gift to Coleridge, 132;settles in Grasmere, 144; his grief for little Kate Words- worth, 167-170; in the toils of opium, 193-199; as a newspaper editor, 205-217; goes to London, 220; the " LondonMagazine," 231; kindness ofLamb, 223-232; publishes Confessions, " 238; replies to Mr. James Montgomery, 246;translates "Walladmor," 253;goes to Edinburgh, 277; con- nection with "Tait " begun,282; death of Mrs. de Quincey,303; settles at Lasswade, 320;residence in Glasgow, 321; his love of children, 359; simplicityof his habits, 361; morbid con- cern for papers, 363; his de- pendence on music, 388; ii .246-8; the Fairy's gift to him,vol. ii . 143; his habit of cleaningand polishing money, 145; his humour, 163; his Saturday night wanderings in London,163; his principle in his auto- biographic writing, 167; his love of the open air, 171; hispatience and hopefulness, 172;love of fun, 175; Bohemianpropensity, 176; his mingled fear and fearlessness, 192; his religious vein, 193; the Johr Bull element, 198; he is antipedantic, 224; the musica element in his style, 243; hi wonderful memory, 247; premature fancy, 249; he mad his dream- life real, 254; hiIndex.conscientiousness in writing,257; his way of magnifying difficulties, 265; advantages for conversation, 267-8; his inability to eat, 270; the as- pect of his rooms, i . 363, 390;ii. 7; his tendency to vex him- self about trifles, ii. 32.De Quincey's Case, A Medical View of, ii . 309.De Quincey, Miss, i . 301.De Quincey's, Mr., Family, ii. 341.DeQuincey's Father as an author,ii. 340.De Quincey, Mrs. , i. 193, 200-204;her death in 1837, 302.Desert, Lord, i . 97.Dickens, Charles, i . 348, 349, 385.Dictionaries, Anglo- German, ii.352.Digressiveness, De Quincey's, ii .289.Dreaming Power in De Quincey,i. 2.Dreams at Oxford, i . 164.Duncan, Miss Agnes, ii. 101 .EATWELL'S, Dr., Medical ViewofDe Quincey's Case, ii. 309.Edgeworth, Miss, i. 385." Edinburgh Review, " ii. 157."Encyclopædia Britannica," i.316, 373.FIELDS, Mr. J. T. , i. 390, 397-8.Footnotes, Propensity for, ii. 288,289.French Estimate of De Quincey's "Confessions " and " Suspiria, "ii. 261.Frogmore, i . 16, 55.Froude, Mr. J. A., ii . 23, 43.GEE, Misses, Boston, i . 368, 370;ii. 92.Gee, Mr., Boston, i. 141.Gillies, R. P. , i. 186, 188, 384.Gillman, Mr., i. 385.Gladstone, Mr., i. 392.Goldsmith's Characteristics, ii.281.359ChristWestport'sGoodenough, Dr., of Church, i. 112.Grace, Mr. ( Lord tutor) , i. 37, 47, 55.Grammar, as a study for Ladies,ii. 123-125.Grassini, ii . 54.Grinfield, Rev. E. W., i. 43; ii.305, 343.Grinfield, Rev. Thomas, i. 44,344.HALL, The Rev. Samuel, his Guardian, i . 29–32.Hamilton, Captain (Cyril Thorn- ton), i. 188, 277.Hamilton, Sir Wm. , i . 186, 280.Hanna, Dr. William, i. 391 .Happiness, Human Constitutions of, i . 107-111.Hare, Archdeacon, ii. 239.Haren, M. de, i. 112.Hawthorne, Nathaniel, i. 147,394-6; ii. 147.Hazlitt, i. 139, 231 , 236, 336.Hedonist, A, i. 3.Henderson, John, i. 131 , 135.Herder, i. 106, 257; ii. 31 .Heyne, ii . 200.66Hogg, Mr. James, i. 396; ii. 1 , 339.' Hogg's Instructor, " ii . 2, 9, 13,65.Homer compared with Chaucer,ii. 225.Hood, Thomas, i. 232–235.Hume on Miracles, De Quincey's reply to, ii. 194.INDIAN MUTINY, The, ii . 130,132, 136, 140.Ireland, Tour in, i. 48-59.Irving, Edward, i. 386.JACOX, The Rev. Francis, i. 373,378.Jeffrey, Lord, i . 258.Jews, De Quincey borrows from,i. 101.John Bull element, The, in DeQuincey, i. 6; ii. 198.360 Index.Johnson, Dr., i. 25; ii . 201.Junius's defects, i. 322.KANT, i . 106, 193, 257, 274; ii.104, 212, 213.Kelsall, Mr. , i . 37, 77, 139.Kemble, Fanny, i . 344.Kingsley, Charles, i. 392.Kissing among men objectionable,ii 213."Klosterheim, " i. 282-299; ii. 231.Knight, Charles, i. 261-264; ii .187, 191 , 195.Koster, Mr. and Misses, i. 125."Kremlin," explosion of the, i.383.LAMB, Charles, i . 103, 139, 143,223-232, 252; defect in musicalsensibility, ii. 244; lack of interest in great nationalevents, 221.Lamb, Miss, i . 227.Landor, Walter Savage, i. 346–9,365.Lasswade, i. 319; ii. 2, 4.Last days, The, ii. 294.Latin literature, ii. 77.Lawson's, the miseries of resi- dence at Mr., i . 74–77.Lee, Harriet, i. 385.Leeves, Rev. Mr., i. 172, 173.Lessing, i. 274.Lewes, Mr. G. H. , i. 392.Lloyd, Charles, i . 149, 155, 174, 178.Lockhart, J. G. , i . 186, 271 , 385.London, sufferings in, i. 90." London Magazine, " The, i. 231 ,237, 394.Llan-y- Styndw, i. 83.Lushington, Professor, i . 320, 338;ii. 8, 37.66' Lyrical Ballads," i. 117, 118.Lytton's, Lord, " Eva, " ii . 83.MACAULAY, Lord, ii. 182.Macaronic Literature, ii. 58.Mackintosh, Sir James, i. 238, 336.M'Culloch, Mr. (quoted) , ii . 277.Malthus, Mr., ii . 155; Mr. M. and the Measure of Value, ii. 349.Manners, German and English,ii. 199.Martin, Mr. Theodore, i. 388.Martineau, Miss, i. 391; ii. 98.Mary, De Quincey's Sister, i. 36.Masson, Professor, i. 355, 377.Maturin, i. 385; His " Eva, " ii.83.Maurice, F. D. , i. 392.Medical View of Mr. de Quin- cey's Case, ii. 309.Memory, De Quincey's wonder- ful, ii. 247.Mendelssohn, i . 389; ii. 100.Merritt, Mr., i. 106.Miller, Miss Jessie, i. 306.Mitford, Miss, i. 302, 331, 339,396; ii. 81 , 98.Montgomery, James, i. 239.Monologue, the habit of, ii. 266–7.Moral Effects of Revolutions, the,ii. 355.More, Hannah, i. 43, 136, 181,182-3.Morgan, Lady, i. 385.Morgan, Mr., Head Master of Bath Grammar School, i . 35.Mother, De Quincey's, i. 41. 80.Mousabines, Mr. N. J. , i. 352.NATURE, true enjoyment of, ii. 229.Nelson, Lord, ii. 205, 213.Newman's, Dr. , Theory of De- velopment, ii. 194.Newton's Evidence in Palmer'sCase, ii. 117.Nichol, Professor J. P., i. 320,325, 336."Noctes Ambrosianæ, " i. 267;ii. 178-180, 236." North American(quoted), ii. 291.Review"OPIUM, First tastes, i. 103; sufferings through excess, 193-9,220, 324-6, 354; ii. 251.Over-exalted Sensibility of De Quincey, ii. 181.Oxford, a Student at, i. 100; His Deficient Allowance, 102;Dreams, 104.Index. 361PALMER'S Case, ii. 115-119.Parr, Dr., ii . 52, 131.Penitence, ii. 69.Penmorfa Sands, i . 255.Penny, Miss Jane, i . 156.Penson, Colonel, i . 80, 98, 99, 137,180, 206, 341 .Picturesque, the Idea of the, ii .287." Pink, " his brother Richard, i.35, 36, 236.Plato's doctrine of Immortality,ii . 125-127.Political Economy, Logic of, i .318, 325.Political Eloquence, ii . 222.Politics, the spiritual element in,ii. 190.Poole, Mr. , of Nether Stowey, i.119.Pope, i. 351 , 372; ii. 62, 111 .Prior Park and Pope, i . 351 .Priory, The, Chester, i. 80, 98."QUARTERLY REVIEW" on DeQuincey, ii. 151 .Quillinan, Mrs. ( Dora Words- worth), i. 394.Quinceys, The, of Boston, i. 369.RADICAL REFORMERS, favouritedoctrine of, ii . 225.Revolutions, the moral effects of,ii. 355.Reynolds, John Hamilton, i. 231;ii. 135.Ricardo, Mr., i. 195; ii . 154.Richter, J. P. , i. 257; ii. 63;wanting in severe simplicity,223.Ritson, the old " Laker, " i. 166.Roscoe, Mr., 70.Rules, aversion to, ii. 301.SCHWARTZBURG teaches De Quin- cey Hebrew, i . 112, 113.Scholastic logic, value of the, ii.160.Scott, Sir Walter, i. 252; ii. 202,Scottish universities, ii. 92.VOL. II.Sheffield " Iris, " i. 239.Shelley, i. 336; ii. 284.Shepherd, Mr. , of Gateacre, 70.Siddons, Mrs. , i . 183.Smith, Horace, i . 238.Smith, Madeline, her case, ii. 137.Southey, R. , i. 178, 218, 381 .Spain, projected visit to, i. 164 Spencer, Mr., of Winkfield, i.43-46, 56.Stanhope, Lady Hester, ii . 122.Stark, Miss, ii. 39, 51, 56; ii. 298,301 , 303.Stewart, Mr. Daniel, of the " Courier," i. 138.Stewart, “Walking, ” i. 265, 266.Strafford's, Lord, speech, ii. 223.Suspiria de Profundis, i . 338; ii.10.Swedenborg, i. 66; defects as ateacher, ii . 285.Sympathy a prerequisite to under- stand De Quincey, i. 9."TAIT'S Magazine," i. 282, 376.Talfourd, Sir Thomas Noon, i.231, 251 , 385.Taylor, Isaac, i . 384.Thackeray, i. 385.Timbuctoo, Wilson's projected journey to, i. 163.' Titan, " ii. 34, 45." Tri-literality, " ii. 86.VALUE, Measure of, and Mr. Malthus, ii. 349.WALES, in, i . 81-86."Walladmor, " i . 253, 262, 394.Wellington, Duke of, ii. 205.Westmoreland architecture, ii.344." Westmoreland 205-213.Gazette," i.Westmoreland sheep, i. 215.Westport, Lord, i. 37 , 46, 49, 96,97.Whately, Archbishop, i . 386.White, Mr. Oliver, i . 374.Widnell, Misses, ii. 96, 117, 119,137.2 A362 Index.Wilberforce, Dr. , Bishop of Ox- ford, i. 351.Wilson, John, i. 114, 149, 156,158-166, 181, 184, 258 (Mrs. Gordon's Life) , 261 , 267 , 270,306, 383; ii. 32, 43, 177–9.Wilson, Mrs. , and Miss Stark, ii.19, 39, 51.Wordsworth, i . 102, 117, 118, 124,129, 141 , 150-153, 161 , 173, 328,382; ii. 126, 209.Wordsworth, Miss, i. 126, 142,154, 167, 170.YOUNG, Mr., Lasswade, i. 332.CORRIGENDA.Vol. I. , pp. 371-6, inverted commas should be supplied at opening ofeach paragraph of large type, ending with theword "you" in fourth line of page 376.END OF VOL. II.'A GREAT SUCCESS."-Pall Mall Gazette.A NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION.MR. EUGENE SCHUYLER'STURKISTAN:Notes of a Journey in 1873, in the Russian Province of Turkistan, the Khanates of Khokan and Bukhara,and Provinces of Kuldja.BY EUGENE SCHUYLER, PH.D. ,Formerly Secretary of the American Legation at St. Petersburg, now Consul- General at Constantinople.OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.From the London Times."Mr. Schuyler will be ranked among the most accomplished of living travelers.Many parts of his book will be found of interest, even by the most exacting of general readers; and, as a whole, it is incomparably the most valuable record of Central Asia which has been published in this country."From the N. Y. 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"Mr. Gladstone in the "Contemporary Review .""One of the most solid and painstaking works which have been published among us in recent years.'""From the New York Times."Its descriptions of the country and of the people living in it are always interesting and frequently amusing; but it is easy to see that they have been written by one who is not only so thoroughly cosmopolitan as to know intuitively what is worth telling and what had better be omitted, but who is, also, so practiced a writer as to understand precisely how to set forth what he has to say in the most effective manner."From the Atlantic Monthly."Undoubtedly the most thoroughly brilliant and entertaining work on Turkistan which has yet been given to the English- speaking world. 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