ose forlorn twin sisters, who 'snatched convulsively at a
loving smile, or loving gesture, from a child, as at some message of
remembrance from God;' how tender his tribute to 'poor Pink;' how
affecting his devotion to unhappy Ann, whom, in the strength of his
gratitude, he could 'pursue into the darkness of a London brothel, or
into the deeper darkness of the grave'!

But we must close. We have found De Quincey a subtile philosopher, a
mighty master of the historic art, a prose poet of unrivalled splendor.
To powers so versatile and extraordinary, combined with learning so
profound, and a style of such matchless brilliance, we believe that no
other writer of the present age can lay any great claims. Still we take
our leave of that eccentric, storm-tossed man of genius with feelings of
profound regret. Great as his contributions to literature are, he
_might_ have done vastly more. But nervous maladies blasted his hopes,
overthrew his colossal designs, and he evermore drifts down the ages a
wreck--splendid, brilliant, the admiration of all beholders--but none
the less a wreck.

'FEED MY LAMBS.'

PART FIRST.

Harry has crept to his little bed, shivering with childish dread of the
dark. Ungentle hands have placed him there, guardians careless of his
comfort and chary of kind words and looks, and a coarse-voiced girl has
said, as she took the light away, and banged the door behind her:

'Cry out loud, you little imp, and I'll send the black bears to catch
you.'

So Harry is choking down his sobs, and crying silently, very silently.
The chill and melancholy night wind, as it comes moaning through the
casement and rustling the light leaves of the tall poplar as they rest
against the window panes, and the great round tears as they fall with a
dull, heavy drop, drop on his lonely pillow, are the only sounds that
break the dismal stillness, excepting now and then, when a great sob,
too mighty to be choked down, bursts from the little, overcharged heart.
And then Harry fancies he feels, through the thin coverlet and torn
night dress, the huge black paws of these same bears grasping the tender
round shoulder, blue with the cold, while the little boy lies there
shivering and shuddering in an agony of apprehension. Darkness above and
around him, terrible, black, silent darkness; darkness which enwraps and
enfolds him and takes away his breath, like the heavy, stifling folds of
a hideous black mantle; darkness that the