and modern economy,--and where, then, _is_ there to be an end? All
attempts to extricate yourself by unravelling the net which is being
woven about you are hopelessly vain; you cannot keep pace with _him_.
The thought of delay enchants him, and he dallies with it, as a child
with a pet delicacy. Thus, he is at the house of a friend; it storms,
and a reasonable excuse is furnished for his favorite experiment. The
consequence is, that, once started in this direction, the delay is
continued for a year. Late hours were particularly potent to "draw out"
De Quincey; and, understanding this, Professor Wilson used to protract
his dinners almost into the morning, a tribute which De Quincey
doubtless appreciated.

So that it is better to be on the sly about saying "Good bye" to this
host of yours. When, however, it was absolutely necessary to be gone, De
Quincey forthwith insisted on accompanying his guest. What, then, was to
be done? Ominously the sky looked down upon them, momently threatening a
storm. No resource was there but to give the man his way, and accept his
offer of companionship for a short distance, painfully conscious though
you are of the fact that every step taken forwards must, during this
same August night, be retraced by the weary-looking old man at your
side, who now lacks barely four years of life's average allotment. Thus
you move on: and the heavens move on their hurricanes by nearer
approaches, warnings of which propagate themselves all around you in
every sound of the wind and every rustle of the forest-leaves.
Meanwhile, there is no rest to the silvery vocal utterances of your
companion: every object by the way furnishes a ready topic for
conversation. Just now you are passing an antiquated old mansion, and
your guide stops to tell you that in this house may have been committed
most strange and horrible murders, that, in spite of the tempestuous
mutterings heard on every side, ought now and here to be specially and
solemnly memorialized by human relation. A woman passes by, a perfect
stranger, but De Quincey steps entirely out of the road to one side,
takes off his hat, and in the most reverent attitude awaits her
passage,--and you, poor astonished mortal that you are, lest you should
yourself seem scandalously uncourteous, are compelled to do likewise. In
this incident we see what infinite majesty invested the very semblance
of humanity in De Quincey's thoughts: and something of the same
remarkable co