Word: quincey
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Dates: during 1880-1889
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...years younger than the corresponding class of to-day, were of course, "above the reproach of being magnificent animals," for those were halcyon days, when "boys began preparation for college younger," when "schools were not yet nurseries," and when students "liked books that made them think." (Dickens and De Quincey). Nestor's boast of the prowess of his youthful days is paralleled at last. Yes, the youth then were more mature and (individually) they wore Indian blankets, made by the Bay State Mills, in chapel; and there then prevailed "a high, keen, intellectual energy among us all." But why continue...
...remember once reading, during the evening, an essay of several pages length, and, on going to bed, repeating it word for word, from beginning to end. De Quincey immortalized himself by his wonderful visions. There is that remarkable work of Cicero's on the vision of Scipio, a work that I have often thought must have suggested to Richter the idea embodied in his well-known Dream of The Universe. Bunyan is continually saying, "Now I saw in my dream." And thus a thousand and one instances might be cited, in which, merely as a flight of the imagination...
...years. At length, in the evening, I could stand it no longer. My mind was tired, my memory overtaxed. With one last attempt to master my author's dullness, I yielded to him and retired from the contest exhausted. To invigorate myself I turned to De Quincey. I chanced to take up the volume on Murder, and tried the story of the murderer Johnson. The first few pages were interesting. The interest developed. Before I had read much farther I was conscious of nothing but the meaning of the printed words before...
...reached one of the most exciting parts of the story when my lamp went out. For a moment-so wrapped up had I been in De Quincey-I could not collect my thoughts. Then, as I began to realize where I was, I became conscious of a curious numb feeling about me. When I tried to get up from my chair, I could not. I could not move,-not even an eyelid. My muscles, tense with the excitement of the thrilling narrative I had just read, would not respond to my will. A stronger power than my own seemed...
...advanced toward the children, meaning as I saw to kill them. And it did kill them while I stood by in a gony. I shall not attempt to describe the murder, for the details of it are confused with recollections of what I had just been reading in De Quincey. What I remember most is my own face glancing at me, as the murder went on, with looks of mockery and hate. Then the room suddenly filled with people. I recollect the chill of fear I felt as the instinct of self preservation rushed over my mind. Then with body...