In
fact, De Quincey stands alone in these traits: the mass and accuracy
of his accumulated knowledge; the power of making the finest
distinctions clear to any reader, and the gorgeous style, thick with
the embroidery of poetical figures, yet never giving the impression of
over-adornment. And above all these merits is the supreme charm of
melodious, rhythmical sentences, which give the same enjoyment as fine
music.
[Illustration: THOMAS DE QUINCEY FROM AN OLD ENGRAVING]
Forty years ago De Quincey's _Confessions of an English Opium-Eater_
was read by everyone who professed any knowledge of the masters of
English literature. To-day it is voted old-fashioned, and few are
familiar with its splendid imagery. His other works, which fill over a
dozen volumes, are practically forgotten, mainly because his style is
very diffuse and his constant digressions weary the reader who has
small leisure for books.
No one, however, should miss reading the _Confessions_, the
_Autobiography_ and some one essay, such, for instance, as "Murder as
One of the Fine Arts," or "The Flight of a Tartar Tribe," or "The
Vision of Sudden Death" in _An English Mail Coach_. All these contain
passages of the greatest beauty buried in prolix descriptions. The
reader must be warned not to drop De Quincey because of his
digressions. With a little practice you may skip those which do not
appeal to you, and there is ample sweetness at the heart of his work
to repay one for removing a large amount of husk.
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