CHAPTER I.

THOMAS DE QUINCEY,

1785-1859.

AMONG the most eminent prose writers of this century is Thomas de Quincey, best known as The English Opium-Eater.

The family of De Quincey, as we learn from this its most famous modern representative, was originally Norwegian, played a distinguished part in the Norman Conquest, and flourished through nine or ten generations as one of the houses of nobility, until its head, the Earl of Winchester, was attainted for treason. For more than a century before the birth of the "Opium-Eater," none of his name had borne a title of high rank. His father was an opulent merchant in Manchester, who died young, leaving his widow a fortune of £1600 a-year.

We know the particulars of the earlier part of De Quincey's life from his 'Confessions of an Opium-Eater,' and his 'Autobiographic Sketches.' The fifth son of a family of eight, he was born on the 15th of August 1785, at Greenhay, then an isolated house about a mile from Manchester. He has recorded his earliest recollections; and he was so precocious, that these date from the middle of his second year. His autobiography contains few incidents that depart strikingly from the ordinary course of the world. In his own record, things that are insignificant as objects of general interest assume the proportions that all human beings must assign to the events of their own life. His first great affliction was the death of a favourite sister when he was about six years old. Were we to measure him

by the standard of ordinary children, we should refuse to believe what he tells us of the profound gloom thrown over him by this bereavement-"the night that for him gathered upon that event ran after his steps far into life." "Well it was for me at this period," he says, "if well it were for me to live at all, that from any continued contemplation of my misery I was forced to wean myself, and suddenly to assume the harness of life."

From these "sickly reveries" he was suddenly withdrawn, and "introduced to the world of strife." A "horrid pugilistic brother," five or six years older than himself, whose "genius for mischief amounted to inspiration," returned home from a public school. The character of this brother is drawn in the Sketches with exquisite humour and fondness. He was a boy of amazing spirits and volubility. He maintained a constant war with the boys of a neighbouring factory, and compelled little Thomas to bear a part. He kept the nursery in a whirl of excitement and wonder with war bulletins, ghost stories, tragic theatricals, and burlesque lectures " on all subjects known to man, from the Thirty-nine Articles of our English Church down to pyrotechnics, legerdemain, magic-both black and white-thaumaturgy, and necromancy."

After two years of this excitement, William left Greenhay, and Thomas, then in his eighth year, relapsed into his quiet life, and steadily pursued his studies under one of his guardians, finding in that guardian's family other objects for his precocious sympathy and meditation. When he was eleven years old his mother removed to Bath, and placed him at the grammarschool there. He had made such progress under his guardian's tutorship that at Bath his Latin verses were paraded by the head-master as an incitement to the older boys. This distinction led to his removal from the school. His austere mother was so shocked at the compliments he was receiving, that, after two years, she sent him to a private school in Wiltshire, "of which," he says, "the chief recommendation lay in the religious character of the master." At Winkfield he remained but a year. Then came a pleasant interlude in his school life. He spent the summer travelling in Ireland with Lord Westport, a young friend of his own age, and on his return stayed for three months at Laxton, the seat of Lord Carbery, where he studied Greek and talked theology with the beautiful Lady Carbery. But his pleasures were again interrupted by the higher powers. His guardians de

cided that he should go for three years to Manchester grammarschool before proceeding to Oxford. Some boys would have hailed the change with pleasure, but young De Quincey, though then but fifteen and a few months more, was premature in the expansion of his mind, and had begun to think boyish society intolerable. He went to Manchester in 1800, but he could not bring himself to be content with his situation. In the course of two years his health gave way, and, no longer able to endure the restraint, he took his departure one day without warning. His wanderings did not last long. He walked straight to Chester; and, while hanging about his mother's house trying to get an interview with his sister, was caught by an easy stratagem. He was not, however, sent back to school, but remained at his mother's house till his guardians should decide what was to be done with him. Soon followed the great adventure of his life, the most interesting part of his Confessions. Obtaining some money from his mother for a pedestrian tour in Wales, he tired of the mountain solitudes, and shaped his course to London, in hopes of being able to borrow two hundred pounds on his expectations. Here he went through hard experiences. His errand brought him under the vexatious extortions and delays of a money-lender. He was reduced to the brink of starvation. On one occasion, indeed, he might have perished but for the kindness of a companion in misfortune, the poor outcast Anne, whom in happier days he vainly sought to trace. Fortunately he was discovered and taken home again. He remained at home about a year; but being taunted by his uncle with wasting his time, he undertook to go to Oxford upon £100 of an annual allowance, and proceeded thither in the October of 1803.

The Autobiographic Sketches,' as republished, terminate with his sudden resolution to go to Oxford. In their original form, as contributions to 'Tait's Magazine,' three more papers undertake to describe his life at Oxford, but these consist mostly of rambling digressions on the idea of an English university, on the Greek orators, on Paley, and suchlike, and contain very little personal narrative. This much we may glean, that he lived a hermit kind of life, and did not conform in the least to the studies of the place. He "sequestered himself" so completely that (to quote his own expression), "for the first two years of my residence in Oxford, I compute that I did not utter one hundred words." He had but one conversation with his