He has already, in common parlance, despaired of any happiness in his future;--in his future natural life, I mean. That is to say, he does not, like other men, expect to be happy on this or that occasion, though he works and expects more security and ease of mind on the attainment of this or that end. Still, the opium eater's sensibilities are not armor. A wound from a cruel word pierces deep and rankles. In truth, I used to have to watch myself closely, to see whether in reality my wounds had their origin in fact or imagination. Any fancied neglect or slight from the business manager lay upon my heart with sickening weight. Direct and "palpable hits" cut to the bone. During the past year or so, although I have not changed my business situation, I seem to have been treated better, and have not been so much ruffled in this respect. But the opium eater's general state of feeling, aside from pains in body and hurts in mind, is such as might be left behind by some great sorrow; an abiding gloominess of feeling is cast over his spirit. This exists in varying degrees of depth or intensity, of course:--it depends upon his condition as to opium, and the particular state of his body and mind as an opium eater. Julius C. Hare, in speaking of Coleridge, said: "His sensibilities were such as an averted look would rack, who would have stood in the presence of an earthquake unmoved." In reading an article on Tom Hood, some time ago, I observed that the author, in speaking of Hood's companions in literature, alluded to the "pale, sad face of De Quincey." Oh, that men of such transcendent powers as Coleridge and De Quincey should be stricken down by the fiend of opium! Verily, if "in struggling with misfortune lies the proof of virtue," I have not the slightest doubt that to-day these two stars in literature, their bright spirits divested of the mask of opium, shine with light ineffable in the councils of the blest! What they did is not so much, as that they accomplished it under the withering curse of opium. And yet what they have left will stand comparison with that of the best of their contemporaries, each in his particular field or fields of literature. And if "Tears and groans, and never-ceasing care, And all the pious violence of prayer,"