uniform blueness, but a playful variety of colour-it seems in places like a plain of rainbows.* Such a sight is worthy to conclude one's wanderings. I did not like Southampton; perhaps I was not in spirits to like it. It rained a little to be sure; it was a sea port-that is enough. I spent a day at it, very dully indeed. From the moment of embarking for Wight, all was different; the wind blew strong, and the very boat seemed to be merry; she galloped, as the seamen said, over fifteen miles of nice bounding foam in an hour or little more. The motion exceeded all other pleasures of being carried that I ever experienced. I grudged, when she came down, that the wave was not higher. The undulation, just sufficient to produce giddiness, did not approach to what causes sickness; and I sat at the bow of the vessel to enjoy it more.

The journey of the northern half of the island to Ryde, is a scene of richer vegetation than even any in the neighbourhood of London. At one landscape, where an arm of the sea comes up between rich thick clustering woods, green to the water's edge, I could not help exclaiming,—It beats thee, Sydenham! Indeed every view is charming ; the whole is one diversity of pea-green corn fields, and box and honey-suckle hedges. You would feel as if your eyes were fed with richness. Then, last of all, comes the sea and the British navy !

I have found a boarding-house which promises to be very comfortable-my inmates are an elderly lady, her daughter, a very modest pretty girl; four gentlemen, who seem respectable; a cat and a parrot. One of the boarders, a Captain of infantry, is a poetaster; his works, in manuscript, are perused by the lady and her boarders; but the

* See this idea embodied, many years afterwards, in "Lines on the View from St. Leonards." Poems, ed. 1842.

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great Twalmley continues, and wishes to continue, unknown. For an explanation of Twalmley, if you do not understand the allusion, Mrs. Campbell must be applied to. I trust the martial bard will not bring me out! . . I wish to be (as the man said) under a cage.

I reflect with dismay on the crime I have committed of robbing your purse of double postage; but repentance is now too late. May I hope that I remain in the undiminished remembrance of your family. Present them all my kindest respects. Believe me, very sincerely, yours,

THOS. CAMPBELL.

TO MISS MAYOW.

MY DEAR MISS MAYOW,

RYDE, June 29, 1807.

I assure you the kindness of your writing me was not undeserved-if an act of friendship can be said to be deserved by the grateful sensation it occasions. I will also say that I deserved it by good intentions. Knowing that your spirits required more amusing correspondence than a serious, sleepless man was likely to be able to communicate, I thought if there was a cheerful scene, or event, in the little history of my life at Ryde, I should communicate them; and if such could have beguiled you of one half-hour's thoughts, I should have been more than happy. Had Ryde furnished such, you should have had my most cheerful thoughts by this time; or rather, had my thoughts been susceptible of cheerful impressions, I should have communicated them. But saving one day's pleasure, I have had none here, except reading my wife's letters, your own, and your dear sister's. The demon of sleeplessness haunts me; but of my complaints you have heard as

much as my doctors, and have pitied them more, and done them more good by your sympathy. I will perseverebut I do long for Sydenham! I trust, with all his faults, the Poet has somehow or other got into the good graces of your family. I think in my absence, the sisterly care you have taken of Matilda, has made her more a sister to you by the very exercise of your benevolent affections; at least I feel so fraternally, when I look to the three graces at the bottom of my silver box,* that I think your letters seem to come as from my own household. Yet if Ryde, with all its beauties, has been like a little Siberia for the past fortnight-what had it been if I had not thought of your visits to Matilda, as of a prop and stay to her "little bit of Philosophy?"

Assuredly, if you have an hour more sad than another, I should wish you to devote it to Matilda; honour her with allowing her to participate it. Though I say it, who should not say it, she is one to be with in grief, as well as in joy. She may, in such an hour, have her plain artless communications of mind to make with a friend, whom she truly esteems, more valuable than deeper discipline in books, or the world, could impart. I love her companionship with serious minds; and with you she is always happy.

I have been reader to the ladies in this boarding-house. How often I wished the company changed, and the books too, perhaps, for they were only farces, and yet they made us laugh. How often I wished, when I remembered your

* A silver box with an inscription, presented to the Poet on leaving home, by three young ladies of the family-whom he named, not inappropriately, "The Three Graces."

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saying you liked to hear reading, that I had Sydenham back again, and could make you forget an hour or a forenoon-even with nonsense-which the labour of reading might make injurious to your health. Let me trust, then, when I return to Sydenham, though I don't expect you to be so easily entertained with light reading as these fair ladies, that I may administer the elegant amusement of my Scotch accent, as a small aid thrown in to the society and entertainment of some better friend. I shall be as proud as the bellows-blower that played to Handel.

and the seat of Lord

I have been to see Shanklin, Dysart, about fifteen miles hence. The scenery is as bold as the Highlands; as rich as an English garden; lovely, fair, delightful, beyond description. The wide, blue, beautiful sea, has no boundary on the opposite waste, that is visible. The ships are seen as in a Claude Lorraine picture. I was one day happy—it was impossible not to be glad, looking on such beauty! Our whole house hired a barouche and some carriages, and made an expedition of it. We had none but one character who was worth speaking to about such a scene. The rest enjoyed the fresh air, the dinner, and the jaunt, in high animal spirits. There was a good-natured talking Captain of infantry; a tall man; two middle-sized men; a very tall man; another tall and stout man, quite flashy in appearance, and his wife a perfect angel in beauty, sensibility and wisdom, whom this West Indian nabob is taking out to bury alive in the island of Jamaica! The nabob was good enough to let me sit by his wife the whole day; and though she is not a great speaker, she is not demure. Of this beauty, I have written my wife-so you see I have been but smitten platonically. The other ladies were good in their way—a little cockney woman was as happy as Mrs. Gilpin, not with the scenery, but with good company,

which was above her pitch-they seemed to show it; but that did not abate the cackling flutteration of her happiHow she laughed and paid compliments to your

ness.

humble servant !

I forgot to mention another lady-Scotch-who lived once in my very house at Sydenham. She speaks ill of all Sydenham and mankind, except such as herself. She told me my friend, Dr. G- of D――, was a bad character, and that his brother was a waiter in a tavern at Aberdeen! This, and her justifying the slave-trade, so enraged me, that I flung a whole bason of hot soup

No, I am wrong, I believe-I only wished I could have done it. Adieu, and forgive my long scrawl, with its concluding nonsense. How happy and proud did I feel to be remembered by Mrs. M--, by my fireside beauty, and her sister. Accept of my best thanks for your length of letter-though for this my dear wife comes in for a share, and believe me, dear Miss Mayow, affectionately your sincere friend, THOS. CAMPBELL.

RYDE, July 6th, 1807. name of Frank will He gives me time

. A tall thin gentleman of the frank, though not deliver, this letter. only to say a few words-but in abridging my time, he does not abridge my inclination to communicate my ideas, if I had any worth communicating. Positively Ryde has a Boeotian atmosphere; or else the stupidity of my fellow boarders has smitten me. I sometimes call on the satirical Gifford, who is here; who mentalises me for a few moments, but the impression lasts too short. The ennui, the want of conversation, is intolerable. Our best boarder has left us—the only rational being whose voice I used to hear from morning to night. He was a medical man.