THE BATTALION.
37
school. In after years he returns to Lon
don and there acquires the opium habit
by using that drug to appease the ach
ing of a tooth. In the succeeding chap
ter he describes very clearly the keen and
irresistible pleasures of opium, and of the
pains and visions it produces he relates
with much force and eloquence.
On the whole, I think that it is a very
masterful piece. His preliminary con
fessions remind one very much of the
adVentures of Francois. The resemblance
does not lie so much in the narration, al
though they both relate the adventures
of a waif of a great city, as it does in
the style. They both paint the life of
the wretched in tones hardly to be dis
tinguished, and the open and kindheart
edness of Francois seems to be> a charac
teristic of He Quincey. His description
of the pleasures of opium is very exact
and forcible, but in my opinion he loses
a great deal of his force of expression by
the length of his writing. In fact, I be
came wearied before I reached the end,
but I was then well repaid for my per
severance, for he summed up a great part
of the subject matter of the chapter in
his last paragraph, which was expressed
with great force and eloquence. It was
a paragraph to attract the attention of
the reader and to impress him with its
beauty of expression. Next, he relates
his pains and visions as caused by opium,
the first few pages of which is expressed
in simply a frank and exact style, and
therefore does not attract the attention
of the reader to' any great extent. Fur-
thei on he goes into a description of his
dreams and relates them in a very forc
ible manner, moving the reader to com
passion for his sufferings. He dreams
that he is standing by the garden gate.
On a stone near by sits Ann, his com
panion in misery. He beckons her to
him and just when he thinks that his
lifelong search has ended in success, she
vanishes. Again he dreams he is sur
rounded by horrible monsters; he awakes
and turns to find his children prattling
by his side. These, among others, he de
scribes with that force and eloquence
which has given him the name of a mar
velous dream painter. Taking it all in
all, as I have said before, I think that it
is a masterful production. It loses force
by its volume, but only in the way the
ancient water clock of the Greeks lost
its water. It ran out for twelve hours
only to gain all back at the end of that
time. He brings to light the many pecu
liar qualities of opium in a manner be
coming a dream painter, philosopher, and
genius.
DOLCE FAR NIENTE.
How pleasant on a summer day
To dreaming pass the hours away.
Beneath a wild old woodland tree.
With some sweet book of poesy.
How cool the soothing zephyr feels
As o’er the fevered cheek it steals,
Refreshing ere it dies away.
Crushed by the sun’s hot, piercing ray.
The aching heart forgets to sigh,
As we upon the green sward lie;
Lulled by the murmuring streamlet’s lay,
Its cares and sorrows fade away.
The mock-bird’s note is sweet and clear,
Borne on the flower-scented air;
And golden dreams the wind reveals,
As Nature’s spell the fancy feels.
Thought piercing through the ether blue.
Brings Heaven itself before our view;
The heart grows purer, and the soul
Leaps forward to that cherished goal.