r could have arrived at such a
conclusion. The unlearned eye has gathered no rudimental points to begin
with. Not having what are the normal outlines to which the finest
proportions tend, an eye so untutored cannot of course judge in what
degree the given subject approaches to these.

7.--THE RANSOM FOR WATERLOO.

The following gives a variation on a famous passage in the 'Dream
Fugue,' and it may be interesting to the reader to compare it with that
which the author printed. From these variations it will be seen that De
Quincey often wrote and re-wrote his finest passages, and sometimes, no
doubt, found it hard to choose between the readings:

Thus as we ran like torrents; thus as with bridal rapture our flying
equipage swept over the _campo santo_ of the graves; thus as our burning
wheels carried warrior instincts, kindled earthly passions amongst the
trembling dust below us, suddenly we became aware of a vast necropolis
to which from afar we were hurrying. In a moment our maddening wheels
were nearing it.

'Of purple granite in massive piles was this city of the dead, and yet
for one moment it lay like a visionary purple stain on the horizon, so
mighty was the distance. In the second moment this purple city trembled
through many changes, and grew as by fiery pulsations, so mighty was the
pace. In the third moment already with our dreadful gallop we were
entering its suburbs. Systems of sarcophagi rose with crests aerial of
terraces and turrets into the upper glooms, strode forward with haughty
encroachment upon the central aisle, ran back with mighty shadows into
answering recesses. When the sarcophagi wheeled, then did our horses
wheel. Like rivers in horned floods wheeling in pomp of unfathomable
waters round headlands; like hurricanes that ride into the secrets of
forests, faster than ever light travels through the wilderness of
darkness, we shot the angles, we fled round the curves of the
labyrinthine city. With the storm of our horses' feet, and of our
burning wheels, did we carry earthly passions, kindle warrior instincts
amongst the silent dust around us, dust of our noble fathers that had
slept in God since Creci. Every sarcophagus showed many bas-reliefs,
bas-reliefs of battles, bas-reliefs of battlefields, battles from
forgotten ages, battles from yesterday; battlefields that long since
Nature had healed and reconciled to herself with the sweet oblivion of
flowers; battlefields that were yet angry an