ing, hand in hand, at my bedside, come to show me their colored shoes, or new frocks, or to let me see them dressed for going out. No experience was so awful to me, and at the same time so pathetic, as this abrupt translation from the darkness of the infinite to the gaudy summer air of highest noon, and from the unutterable abortions of miscreated gigantic vermin to the sight of infancy and innocent human creatures.-Opium eater. DREAMS OF STRUGGLE. Suddenly would come a dream of far different character a tumultuous dream-commencing with a music such as now I often heard in sleep-music of preparation and of awakening suspense. The undulations of fast-gathering tumults were like the opening of the Coronation Anthem; and, like that, gave the feeling of a multitudinous movement of infinite cavalcades filing off, and the tread of innumerable armies. The morning was come of a mighty day-a day of crisis. and of ultimate hope for human nature, then suffering mysterious eclipse, and laboring in some dread extremity. Somewhere, but I knew not where-somehow, but I know not how-by some beings, but I knew not by whom-a battle, a strife, an agony, was travelling through all its stages-was evolving itself, like the catastrophe of some mighty drama, with which my sympathy was the more insupportable from deepening confusion as to its local scene, its cause, its nature, and its undecipherable issue. I (as is usual in dreams, where, of necessity, we make ourselves central to every movement) had the power, and yet not the power to decide it. I had the power, if I could raise myself, to will it; and yet again had not the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the oppression of inexpiable guilt. "Deeper than ever plummet sounded," I lay inactive. Then, like a chorus, the passion deepened. Some greater interest was at stake, some mightier cause than ever yet the sword had pleaded, or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms; hurryings to and fro, trepidations of innumerable fugitives-I knew not whether from the good cause or the bad; darkness and lights; tempest and human faces; and at last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms and features that were worth all the world to me; and but a moment allowed-and clasped hands, with heart-breaking parting; and then everlasting farewells; and with a sigh such as the caves of hell sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of Death, the sound was reverberated— everlasting farewells! And again, and yet again reverberated-everlasting farewells! And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, "I will sleep no more!"Opium-eater. Although the promised continuation of the Confessions was not written, De Quincey contributed papers on many subjects, all bearing the signature of "The English Opium-eater." His connection with the London Magazine lasted from his thirtyseventh to his forty-first year. During these four years he lived in humble lodgings in London, his family remaining at the cottage in Grasmere, where he visited them rarely, if ever. He intimates that the days of his opium-eating were past. But this must be taken in the qualified sense that he used smaller quantities, upon the whole. To John Wilson he wrote in February, 1825: DE QUINCEY AT FORTY. At this time I am quite free from opium; but it has left the liver-the Achilles's heel of almost every human fabric subject to affections which are tremendous for weight of wretchedness attached to them. To fence with these on the one hand, and with the other to maintain the war with the wretched business of hackauthor, with all its horrible degradation, is more than I am able to bear. At this moment I have not a place to Something I meditate-I know not hide my head in. what. With a good publisher, and leisure to premeditate what I write, I might yet liberate myself : after which, having paid everybody, I would slink into. some dark corner, educate my children, and show my face no more. It is certain that during this residence in London De Quincey was miserably poor. Near the close of that year, as we learn quite incidentally, he received a considerable remittance from his mother, so that he was able to return to his amily at Grasmere. John Wilson, with whom De Quincey had formed a close friendship while both resided in the Lake region, was now the "Christopher North" of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine; and through his interest De Quincey was formally engaged as a contributor to that publication. His first paper, upon Lessing's Laocoon, was printed in January, 1827; next month appeared the famous essay On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts; and this was followed in March by the paper on The Toilette of a Hebrew Lady. This connection with Blackwood naturally drew De Quincey to Edinburgh, where for the next three years he passed his time much as he did at Grasmere. Finally it was decided by or rather for De Quincey, that his wife and children should come to him at Edinburgh. They accordingly left Grasmere in 1830, although De Quincey was nominally the tenant of the cottage there for several years longer. When the family was reunited at Edinburgh, De Quincey was forty-five years of age; his wife about thirtytwo. During the next four years he was a fre good cause or the bad; darkness and lights; tempest and human faces; and at last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms and features that were worth all the world to me; and but a moment allowed-and clasped hands, with heart-breaking parting; and then everlasting farewells; and with a sigh such as the caves of hell sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of Death, the sound was reverberated— everlasting farewells! And again, and yet again reverberated-everlasting farewells! And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, "I will sleep no more!"Opium-eater. Although the promised continuation of the Confessions was not written, De Quincey contributed papers on many subjects, all bearing the signature of "The English Opium-eater." His connection with the London Magazine lasted from his thirtyseventh to his forty-first year. During these four years he lived in humble lodgings in London, his family remaining at the cottage in Grasmere, where he visited them rarely, if ever. He intimates that the days of his opium-eating were past. But this must be taken in the qualified sense that he used smaller quantities, upon the whole. To John Wilson he wrote in February, 1825: DE QUINCEY AT FORTY. At this time I am quite free from opium; but it has left the liver-the Achilles's heel of almost every human fabric—subject to affections which are tremendous for weight of wretchedness attached to them. To fence with these on the one hand, and with the other to maintain the war with the wretched business of hackauthor, with all its horrible degradation, is more than I am able to bear. At this moment I have not a place to Something I meditate-I know not hide my head in. what.. With a good publisher, and leisure to premeditate what I write, I might yet liberate myself: after which, having paid everybody, I would slink into. some dark corner, educate my children, and show my face no more. It is certain that during this residence in London De Quincey was miserably poor. Near the close of that year, as we learn quite incidentally, he received a considerable remittance from his mother, so that he was able to return to his amily at Grasmere. John Wilson, with whom De Quincey had formed a close friendship while both resided in the Lake region, was now the "Christopher North" of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine; and through his interest De Quincey was formally engaged as a contributor to that publication. His first paper, upon Lessing's Laocoon, was printed in January, 1827; next month appeared the famous essay On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts; and this was followed in March by the paper on The Toilette of a Hebrew Lady. This connection with Blackwood naturally drew De Quincey to Edinburgh, where for the next three years he passed his time much as he did at Grasmere. Finally it was decided. by or rather for De Quincey, that his wife and children should come to him at Edinburgh. They accordingly left Grasmere in 1830, although De Quincey was nominally the tenant of the cottage there for several years longer. When the family was reunited at Edinburgh, De Quincey was forty-five years of age; his wife about thirtytwo. During the next four years he was a fre |