THE great "English Opium Eater" is known to the world chiefly through his "Confessions and Suspiria de Profundis." Out of the pale of literary men DeQuincey probably is less read and less appreciated than any of the great authors who now occupy, or who have just left, the stage of English Literature. Even in our College community, where so true a scholar, a companion so entertaining, a philosopher so poetic, should be especially popular, Macaulay and Carlyle enjoy almost a monopoly of admiration. No one could well object to Macaulay's sway; the sway of him, who has translated the dry materials of history into poetry; who has wreathed the statistics and records of England's childhood and maturity into an epic of surpassing interest and rythm. But the influence of Carlyle upon our Literature is as deleterious as his English is corrupt. He stands forth the personification of studied eccentricity; eccentricity, too, in the strictest sense of the term. He has wandered far from the common centre; we might almost say, from common sense. In a word, he is a great Artificiality. Eloquence is desirable, but if it is to be attained by

Thomas DeQuincey's Writings, 13 vols. Ticknor, Read & Fields. Boston, 1851-2-3.

uncalled-for abruptness, by a murderous metathesis of sentences and words conveying thoughts, of which at the best, we can only exclaim-mysterious! it is eloquence at a dear price. To be able to dress anew old thoughts is undoubtedly an excellence, provided the attire is within the bounds of good taste. But how flat to a sensible man, does that composition appear, which garbs the simplest thoughts in the language of mystery and terror.

In most modern writers there seems an obvious tendency to make small things appear great. Especially is this the case with those authors who write under the influence of unnatural stimulants, and this class is said to be on the increase. Hence DeQuincey, like Carlyle, is frequently morbid. But few can find fault with DeQuincey's English. Opium was to the latter what Tobacco fumes are to the former. How far both have sunk the dignity of human nature, is evident from how much higher both would now be esteemed, had they written independent of such aid. The defenders of narcotics, or mechanical inspiration, may call on us to explain the wonderful popularity of strange writers. To what is it attributable? Let loose a maniac in our streets, would he not readily attract a crowd, we cannot say of admirers, but of persons instigated by that curiosity natural to our species? But madmen have sane intervals in which they converse and act with great sagacity. Then every one is rejoiced to listen to them. Reason, as a lost planet, has returned, illuminating all around with beautiful and abundant light.

Let us now examine a few of the excellencies and extravagances of the English Opium Eater." DeQuincey is distinguished less for the number of volumes, than for the variety of topics upon which he has written. That we may the better adapt our remarks to the scope of the Magazine, we shall adopt DeQuincey's own division of his writings. Into the First Class, he throws those efforts intended merely for the amusement of the reader." Into the Second Class, Essays, or those efforts "addressed purely to the Intellect." The last class embraces The Confessions and Suspiria, upon which as works of art, the author is willing to rest his reputation. The Autobiographic Sketches, which have been lately published, are intended for the amusement of the reader. Though the author has thus classed the above work, it seems to contain no more of the elements of fun than can be found scattered here and there throughout the whole series. None of Mr. DeQuincey's works, however, are more strongly marked with one peculiarity of the writer than the Sketches. We refer to that fondness for episode which distinguishes this author. Running over the prominent events in his early life, should some word or chance allusion touch the spring