men take a common degree. But his reading had never been conducted upon that system, which the Oxford examinations, essentially and very properly intended for men of average abilities, render almost incumbent upon every candidate for the highest honors. De Quincey seems to have felt that he was deficient in that perfect mastery of the minuter details of logic, ethics, and rhetoric, which the practice of the schools demanded. With the leading principle of the Aristotelian system he was evidently quite intimate. But he apparently distrusted his own fitness to undergo a searching oral examination in these subjects, for which a minute acquaintance with scientific terminology, and with the finest distinctions they involve, is thought to be essential. The event was unfortunate, though so agreeable to De Quincey's character that it might have been foreseen by his associates, as by one of them it really was. The important moment arrived, and De Quincey went through the first day's examination, which was conducted upon paper, and at that time consisted almost exclusively of scholarship, history, and what

ever might be comprehended under the title, of classical literature. On the evening of that day, Mr. Goodenough of Christ Church, who was one of the examiners, went down to a gentleman, then resident at Worcester College, and well acquainted with De Quincey, and said to him, 'You have sent us to-day the cleverest man I ever met with; if his vivâ voce examination to-morrow correspond with what he has done in writing, he will carry everything before him.' To this his friend made answer that he feared De Quincey's viva voce would be comparatively imperfect, even if he presented himself for examination, which he rather doubted. The event justified his answer. That night De Quincey packed up his things and walked away from Oxford, never, as far as we can ascertain, to return to it. Whether this distrust of himself was well founded, or whether it arose from the depression, by which his indulgence in opium was invariably followed, we cannot tell. So early even as his Oxford days, De Quincey, we are told, was incapable of steady application without large doses of opium. He had taken a large dose on the

morning of his paper work, and the reaction that followed in the evening would, of course, aggravate his apprehensions of the morrow. Be that as it may, he fairly took to his heels, and so lost the chance, which, with every drawback, must have been an extremely good one, of figuring in the same class list with Sir Robert Peel, who passed his examination in Michaelmas, 1808, which was, no doubt, the era of De Quincey's singular catastrophe."

The volume "Literary Reminiscences," to succeed this, will carry forward the record of De Quincey's life in his own words, but only into the period of his literary work in London. The Reminiscences themselves were written for Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, after De Quincey had removed to Edinburgh, in 1832. The rest of his life was passed in that neighborhood, the latter part of it almost in seclusion. An article on De Quincey appeared in the "Atlantic Monthly" for September, 1863. It was written by Henry Mills Alden, but certain biographical and other materials were supplied by Mr. J. T. Fields, who first collected De Quincey's writings for the American

Edition, and had personal acquaintances and correspondence with him and his family. From this article we make a final extract, containing the only account in print, so far as we know, of De Quincey's last hours.

"We are enabled to take almost the position of those who were permitted really to watch at his bedside, through a slight unpublished sketch, from the hand of his daughter, in a letter to an American friend. I tremble almost to use materials that personally are so sacred; but sympathy, and the tender interest which is awakened in our hearts by such a life, are also sacred, and in privilege stand nearest to grief.

"During the few last days of his life De Quincey wandered much, mixing up 'real and imaginary, or apparently imaginary things.' He complained, one night, that his feet were hot and tired. His daughter arranged the blankets around them, saying,

Is that better, papa?' when he answered, 'Yes, my love, I think it is; you know, my dear girl, these are the feet that Christ washed.'

"Everything seemed to connect itself in

his mind with little children. one day, and said suddenly,

He aroused

'You must

know, my dear, the Edinburgh cabmen are the most brutal set of fellows under the sun. I must tell you that I and the little children were all invited to supper with Jesus Christ. So, as you see, it was a great honor. I thought I must buy new dresses for the little ones; and—would you believe it possible?- when I went out with the children, these wretches laughed at their new dresses.'

"Of my brothers he often spoke, both those that are dead and those that are alive, as if they were his own brothers. One night he said, when I entered the

room,

"""Is that you, Horace?"

66 6 66

"No papa.

66 6 66

"""Oh, Oh, I see! I thought you were Horace; for he was talking to me just now, and I suppose has just left the room."

"Speaking of his father, one day, suddenly and without introduction, he exclaimed, There is one thing I deeply regret, that I did not know my dear father