conscious of the stylist and the full-dress
stylist.

That he feels what he is writing of, one does not doubt; but he does not
suit his manner to his matter. For expressing subtle emotions, half
shades of thought, no writer is more wonderfully adept than De Quincey.
But when the episode demands simple and direct treatment his elaborate
cadences feel out of place.

When he pauses in his description to apostrophize, then the disparity
affects one far less; as, for instance, in this apostrophe to
"noble-minded" Ann after recalling how on one occasion she had saved his
life.

[Picture: Thomas de Quincey]

"O youthful benefactress! how often in succeeding years, standing in
solitary places, and thinking of thee with grief of heart and perfect
love--how often have I wished that, as in ancient times the curse of
a father was believed to have a supernatural power, and to pursue its
object with a fatal necessity of self-fulfilment, even so the
benediction of a heart oppressed with gratitude might have a like
prerogative; might have power given it from above to chase, to haunt,
to waylay, to pursue thee into the central darkness of a London
brothel, or (if it were possible) even into the darkness of the
grave, there to awaken thee with an authentic message of peace and
forgiveness, and of final reconciliation!"

Perhaps the passage describing how he befriended the small servant girl
in the half-deserted house in Greek Street is among the happiest, despite
a note of artificiality towards the close:--

"Towards nightfall I went down to Greek Street, and found, on taking
possession of my new quarters, that the house already contained one
single inmate--a poor, friendless child, apparently ten years old;
but she seemed hunger-bitten; and sufferings of that sort often make
children look older than they are. From this forlorn child I learned
that she had slept and lived there alone for some time before I came;
and great joy the poor creature expressed when she found that I was
in future to be her companion through the hours of darkness. The
house could hardly be called large--that is, it was not large on each
separate storey; but, having four storeys in all, it was large enough
to impress vividly the sense of its echoing loneliness; and, from the
want of furniture, the noise of the rats made a prodigious uproar o