r's
welfare. With reference to De Quincey's circumstances at this time,
his biographer, Mr. Masson, says: "Very soon, if left to himself, he
would have taken possession of every room in the house, one after
another, and 'snowed up' each with his papers; but, that having been
gently prevented, he had one room to work in all day and all night to
his heart's content. The evenings, or the intervals between his daily
working time and his nightly working time, or stroll, he generally
spent in the drawing-room with his daughters, either alone or in
company with any friends that chanced to be with him. At such times,
we are told, he was unusually charming. 'The newspaper was brought
out, and he, telling in his own delightful way, rather than reading,
the news, would, on questions from this one or that one of the party,
often including young friends of his children, neighbors, or visitors
from distant places, illuminate the subject with such a wealth of
memories, of old stories of past or present experiences, of humor, of
suggestion, even of prophecy, as by its very wealth makes it
impossible to give any taste of it.' The description is by one of his
daughters; and she adds a touch which is inimitable in its fidelity
and tenderness. 'He was not,' she says, 'a reassuring man for nervous
people to live with, as those nights were exceptional on which he did
not set something on fire, the commonest incident being for some one
to look up from book or work, to say casually, _Papa, your hair is on
fire_; of which a calm _Is it, my love?_ and a hand rubbing out the
blaze was all the notice taken.'"[4]

Of his personal appearance Professor Minto says:

"He was a slender little man, with small, clearly chiselled features,
a large head, and a remarkably high, square forehead. There was a
peculiarly high and regular arch in the wrinkles of his brow, which
was also slightly contracted. The lines of his countenance fell
naturally into an expression of mild suffering, of endurance sweetened
by benevolence, or, according to the fancy of the interpreter, of
gentle, melancholy sweetness. All that met him seem to have been
struck with the measured, silvery, yet somewhat hollow and unearthly
tones of his voice, the more impressive that the flow of his talk was
unhesitating and unbroken."

* * * * *

The literary labors were continuous. In 1845 the beautiful _Suspiria
de Profundis_ (Sighs from the Depths) appeared