dred articles for it-Lockhart found time to write besides a "Life of Burns" for "Constable's Miscellany," and a “Life of Napoleon" (mainly an abridgment of Scott) for "Murray's Family Library." In 1838 he published the last volume of his greatest and most enduring work, the "Life of Scott," the profits of which he generously handed over to Scott's creditors. He died in 1854, worn out, like Wilson, in body and in mind. Lockhart's cold, sarcastic manners to people in general, and his power of trenchant ridicule, which he never hesitated to exercise, brought him more ill-will than falls to the lot of men in general. "Some," it is said in the article above referred to, "even felt themselves repelled from him altogether by terror of a sarcasm, for tokens of which they were constantly on the look-out; and as his manly figure was eminently stiff, those who were afraid of him saw little more than an unbending back. But this was a great mistake. In mixed companies, especially if composed of persons for whom he had little regard, Lockhart was apt enough to maintain a somewhat stately reserve. Whenever he felt that he was among men and women between whom and himself no such barrier was interposed, he became the most agreeable of companions." Certainly, however, though Lockhart may have made himself very pleasant in the society of a few eminent men, he was far from amiable, and to his unfortunate propensity to snub and quiz people he disliked must be attributed many of the disparaging stories relative to his private life which have been freely circulated, but which probably had little or no foundation in fact. In the famous "Chaldee Manuscript," the appearance of which in the first number of Blackwood caused such a sensation, and in the authorship of which Lockhart himself had a considerable share, he is described as "the scorpion which delighteth to sting the faces of men;" and Wilson's daughter, in her Life of her father, says of him, "Cold, haughty, supercilious in manner, he seldom won love, and not unfrequently caused his friends to distrust it in him, for they sometimes found the warmth of their own feelings thrown back upon them in presence of this cold indifference."

Lockhart's Writings.

359

Lockhart is one of the select class of writers, the perusal of whose works impresses one with the idea that they might have done greater things than they actually accomplished. He possessed an intellect of great acuteness and refinement; his style is polished, terse, and vigorous; and his learning and accomplishments were far beyond the common. His novels are not of much value except for the singular elegance of their style: his most ambitious attempt in this direction, the classical tale "Valerius," must be pronounced tedious, as, indeed, novels written on the same plan generally are. He was not well qualified to be a novelist; he lacked the breadth and generosity of nature, the sympathy with different types of humanity, without which it is impossible to write a really good work of fiction. Biography was the province in which his best work was done. His "Life of Burns" is a really admirable sketch, by far the most charmingly written of all the many biographies of the great Scottish peasant. In his most ambitious performance, the "Life of Scott," faults may no doubt be pointed out. It is too long; the extracts from Scott's correspondence might have been pruned down with great advantage; he might have indulged less copiously in quoting reminiscences of Scott by other writers; and he is unjust to Constable and the Ballantynes. Yet it is an excellent biography, inferior only to Boswell's "Johnson." Lockhart faithfully carried out the biographer's first duty, to extenuate nothing and to set down naught in malice. We have in it a genuine picture of Scott as he really was, in his greatness and his littleness, his weakness and his strength. The portions of the work which come from Lockhart himself are written with such force and incisiveness as to make us wish that he had less frequently resorted to paste-and-scissors work. It is greatly to be regretted that a selection from his contributions to the Quarterly Review has not been published. It would give a better idea than anything else of the copiousness and energy of his style, of his keen discernment of character, and of his rare talent for biography. He was an excellent editor, accurate and punctual in money matters, and exercising wisely and well his editorial privileges

over the articles submitted to him. "Every one," we are told, "who had an opportunity of knowing how Lockhart treated the essays which it was his function to introduce to the public, will remember the exquisite skill with which he could, by a few touches, add grace and point to the best-written paperhow he could throw off superfluous matter, develop a halfexpressed thought, disentangle a complicated sentence, and give life and spirit to the solid sense of a heavy article, as the sculptor animates a shapeless stone."

Among the early contributors to Blackwood was a friend of Wilson, Thomas De Quincey, the greatest prose writer of his time, and one of the greatest writers of English prose of all times. De Quincey, who came of an ancient Norwegian family which came over with the Conqueror, was born in Manchester in 1785. His father was a wealthy merchant, who died when his son was in his seventh year, leaving his widow a fortune of £1600 a year. About 1791 the family removed to a country-house, Greenhay, about a mile from Manchester, and there they remained till 1796, when they removed to Bath. At the grammar school of that town De Quincey distinguished himself by remarkable precocity, earning fame, in particular, by the excellence of his Latin verses. He was always a thoughtful, observant child; much more introspective than children generally are, and fond of reading and solitary meditation. After having been for about two years at the Bath Grammar School, he was sent to a private school in Wiltshire, "of which the chief recommendation lay in the religious character of the master." He remained there but a year, after which he was indulged in the pleasure of a tour through Ireland, along with a young friend, Lord Westport. On his return he spent three months at Laxton, the seat of Lord Carbery, where he talked about theology to Lady Carbery, a friend of his mother's, and taught her Greek. He was then, in 1800, sent, much against his will, to Manchester Grammar School, where his guardians had decided that he should remain for three years. Though young in years he was old in mind; he felt something of degradation in the idea of associating with schoolboys; and

Thomas de Quincey.

361 after a year and a half's experience of the school, he found his condition so intolerable that he resolved to run away. This he accordingly did, walking all the way to Chester, where his mother was then residing. He was not sent back to school; on the contrary, at the suggestion of a kindly relative, it was arranged that he should have a guinea a week allowed him for a while, and have liberty to make a short excursion. Then ensued the most romantic episode of his erratic life. He set out for Wales, and, after wandering for some time among the mountains, it struck him that he would break off all connection with his relatives, set out for London, and borrow £200 on the strength of his expectations. Having borrowed 12 from two friends in Oswestry, he arrived in London in November 1802. Of his strange experience there, of his negotiations. with the money-lenders, of how he was often on the brink of starvation, of how he was succoured by the poor outcast Anne, he has given a full and touching account in his "Confessions of an Opium-Eater." At length he was discovered and taken home, after going through experiences unique in their character, and leaving an indelible impress on the rest of his life. He remained with his mother for some time, after which, in 1803, he entered Worcester College, Oxford. His guardian could be prevailed upon to grant him only the shabby annual allowance of £100; but as he had recourse to his old friends the moneylenders, he was able to make himself tolerably comfortable. His University career was spent in as eccentric a manner as the rest of his life. Though he was an excellent classical scholar, he never attempted to make any figure in the studies of the place; following the bent of his own mind, he read what pleased him, and put academical routine at defiance. "Oxford, ancient mother!" he exclaimed, "heavy with ancestral honours, time-honoured, and, haply it may be, time-shattered power, I owe thee nothing! Of thy vast riches I took not a shilling, though living among multitudes who owed to thee their daily bread." He speaks of the "tremendous hold taken at this time of his entire sensibilities by our own literature;" and he appears also to have bestowed attention on the study

of German literature and philosophy. He continued in nominal residence at the university till 1808, but never made any attempt to obtain a degree.

While at Oxford, De Quincey made frequent visits to London, and became acquainted with some literary celebrities. In 1809 he took up his residence in the Lake district, occupying the cottage at Grasmere which had been quitted by Wordsworth, with whom and Coleridge he had previously become acquainted. This cottage remained in his tenancy for twenty-seven years, and during twenty of these it was his principal place of abode. "From this era," he writes, "during a period of about twenty years in succession, I may describe my domicile as being amongst the Lakes and mountains of Westmoreland. It is true, I have often made excursions to London, Bath, and its neighbourhood, or northwards to Edinburgh; and perhaps, on an average, passed one-fourth part of each year at a distance from this district; but here only it was that henceforwards I had a house and small establishment." At Grasmere, De Quincey first became a confirmed opium-eater. He began to use the pernicious drug in 1804, but till 1812 he only took it occasionally, "fixing beforehand how often in a given time, and when, I would commit a debauch of opium." In 1813 “I was attacked," he says, "by a most appalling irritation of the stomach, in all respects the same as that which had caused me so much suffering in youth, and accompanied by a revival of the old dreams. Now then it was, viz., in the year 1813, that I became a regular and confirmed (no longer an intermitting) opium-eater." His appetite for the fatal narcotic grew by what it fed on, till in 1816 he was taking the enormous quantity of 8000 drops of laudanum per day. About the end of that year he married, and by vigorous efforts succeeded in reducing his daily allowance to 1000 drops. About a year after, however, he again succumbed to the tempter, and for three or four years took sometimes even so much as 12,000 drops per day. His affairs having become embarrassed, he made a second attempt to free himself; and so far succeeded, that, though he remained an opium-eater till the end of his life, he