owing the natural instinct of his own ingenuous nature, changed
in an instant in such a presence from the orator, who, speaking in God's
name, assumed a certain austere pomp of position,--more like an
authoritative priest than a simple presbyter,--into the simple and
candid listener, more ready to learn than he was to teach.

[J] "Barry Cornwall" is the husband of her daughter by a prior marriage;
and Adelaide Procter, during her brief life, made a name that will live
with the best poets of our day.

[K] De Quincey elsewhere states his height to be five feet ten,--exactly
the height of Wordsworth: both having been measured in the studio of
Haydon.

[L] Very early in his life, Lord Egmont said of him, "he talks very much
like an angel, and does nothing at all." De Quincey speaks of his
indolence as "inconceivable;" and Joseph Cottle relates some amusing
instances of his forgetfulness, even of the hour at which he had
arranged to deliver a lecture to an assembled audience.

THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.

II.

LITTLE FOXES.

"Papa, what are you going to give us this winter for our evening
readings?" said Jennie.

"I am thinking, for one thing," I replied, "of preaching a course of
household sermons from a very odd text prefixed to a discourse which I
found at the bottom of the pamphlet-barrel in the garret."

"Don't say sermon, papa,--it has such a dreadful sound; and on winter
evenings one wants something entertaining."

"Well, treatise, then," said I, "or discourse, or essay, or prelection;
I'm not particular as to words."

"But what is the queer text that you found at the bottom of the
pamphlet-barrel?"

"It was one preached upon by your mother's great-great-grandfather, the
very savory and much-respected Simeon Shuttleworth, 'on the occasion of
the melancholy defections and divisions among the godly in the town of
West Dofield'; and it runs thus,--'_Take us the foxes, the little foxes,
that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes._'"

"It's a curious text enough; but I can't imagine what you are going to
make of it."

"Simply an essay on Little Foxes," said I; "by which I mean those
unsuspected, unwatched, insignificant _little_ causes that nibble away
domestic happiness, and make home less than so noble an institution
should be. You may build beautiful, convenient, attractive houses,--you
may hang the walls with lovely pictures and stud them with gems of Art;
and there may be living there to