this-but there, I confess I am tied, and, to say the truth, have been much tied. Her husband is so wise that he has no notion of suffering. She is the being, dear F., who would be your friend; but still one cannot write to bid her hide one's letters; . . . .. and though she writes nonsense deliciously, I am always afraid of the wise Professor seeing nonsense from me! . . . .

Sydney Smith says, however, he quite forgives you, for the sake of your beauty. . . . With respect to you and M., he is as right as possible in point of looks. . . I was greatly satisfied with hearing his admiration, and that it was not at all extorted by my remarks. It is quite the righteousness of full justice that he passes on that subject.

Now pray, forget all my whining and write me a cheerful letter.

THOS. CAMPBELL.

In a light and characteristic mood he writes,

"January 23rd. . I cannot close my letter without telling you to laugh at all my doledrum of yesterday. I have been quite chirrupy to-day!-wrote a love-song about the extraordinary and out-of-the-way case of two lovers parting in a bower, and of the lover vowing he was quite sincere, and how that they had not money enough to marry at present, but that on his return they should have abundance and be happy; and that he took her picture with him, and said gallantly, "He had a picture engraven on his heart of the dear form!" Did you ever hear anything so full of original ideas? May such a fate of a poor lover, dear F., never be yours! so prays your affectionate friend. I thank you kindly for the " "Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's feast!" I was the last of the children who got a reading of it. They would not give it to me, though I cried for it very much!

T. C.

ÆT. 30.] HOME INCIDENTS-BECOMING MISER-REVIEW.

"February 2nd.

137

Before the post goes off, I find myself able to acknowledge your sister's letter of this morning. I I gave her, last night, an account of the most wonderful events that have taken place in our family! None of any impórtance has occurred to-day, except that the cat has scratched Thomas's nose; she was watching at a mousehole, in great anxiety of mind, when he interrupted her studies, for which she made him this rough return.-Your sister's receipt for my health is a kind and good oneRetirement, and giving up study! Alas! this is impracticable. The love of money has taken possession of my soul, all but a few roomy spaces where the partialities have their abode. Give up study! Give up study! God knows, I am not head and ears in love with working; but the mill must go round, and the horse that is yoked to it must not stop. I wish I had been at your party; but Matilda, though not dull, yet from Mr. Wiss's death, needed my society. We shall meet, however, soon. To say the truth, I like you much better by yourselves, and the party would have had no additional charms but from your favourite Eliza. I must scold your sister through you. She is a great infidel! She believes I am always fictioning, when I say anything sincere to her. Now you are a sound and ripe believer. We must cure M. of her incredulity; but the cares of the day snatch me away even from this hurried scrawl. I have to review a book which I don't understand-hush! let that go to the grave with you! I am exactly what the man said in excuse for not serving in the militia-sick, lazy, and unwilling for this task.

T. C.

February 5.

A sort of conscience hangs over me for the shortness of the last note I sent in answer to a very full and

friendly one. It was a pound note for a twenty pound one. Those things are trifles; but you know what "the mottoes upon the genteel snuff-boxes says-trifles shows respect!" I don't know what Swift says on the subject; but if we had Mr. S, he could quote us, I dare say, something very clever to the same effect. "Fire-water-women-are my ruin!" said wise professor Vander-Bruin. But rats and cats do my business. T'other day I had no peace of mind for Matilda's reflections on the danger of Thomas'sI mean Master Thomas's-nose being infected with "canine madness," in consequence of a scratch from pussy; and to-day I must be half dead with the old bad sleep, in consequence of an impudent rat who laid his teeth like a saw to the wainscot near my bed, and kept grinding genteelly till day-break. Duels have been fought in saw-pits; but, surely, sleeping in a saw-pit is impossible, and so I found it. All my knocks and hisses and rapping, till my knuckles were sore, did not disconcert the engineer. I expect the same felicity to night; for, alas! I cannot send for my dear friend the cat. She is in disgrace for two offences-Tom's nose, and another case in nosology, which I must but obliquely allude to, when I mention the drawing-room carpet.

I hear rumours of your intending to be with us in April. I hope this is not an April-day report. I really begin to wish winter were over, and that you were returned from that "devil's drawing-room," London, which I am told Sydney Smith himself begins to tire of. I pray you preserve your rural simplicity, and return unsophisticated to our Arcadian haunts. You will be wonderfully struck and delighted with my rustic manners, forming so fine a contrast to the forced breeding of the city swains. You will find me almost as natural as Peter the Wild Boy, or Wordsworth's Johnny Foy.

ET. 30.] EXTEMPORE VERSES- -AFFECTING INCIDENT.

139

Caroline looks much more delicate than I ever saw her; but otherwise, I think her city residence has not changed her. She tells me you have got a beautiful cousin with you. I long to see this lady-but much more to see yourselves.

I still recur to April, "when primroses paint the sweet plain." I hope when the good weather is fairly set in, we shall have some parties in humble imitation of — 's in the woods. Matilda will look the gipsy very well in a slouch straw bonnet, and with a little care I might be equipt at her side, like a needy knife-grinder, worthy of such a sibyl. It will be more difficult to harmonize yours and M's aspect with the banditti and picturesque nature of the expedition. . . . The note concludes with Extempore Verses left unfinished":

"Hark! from yon corner rings the supper-bell—
Adieu! adieu!-dear Fanny, fare thee well!
Oppressed by hunger, I must walk up stairs;
Then go to bed, when I have said my prayers.
But that same rat will still his visit pay,
So I'll be forced to watch as well as pray;

Yet watching-sleeping-doomed to sup or dine,
However faring-still, fair friend, I'm thine—”

Sincerely, T. C."

In the next letter he relates an affecting incident during the snow storm on Sydenham Common :

February 19.

I was creeping down in my own quiet way to enjoy the sunshine of the village, when I saw the postman, and a sudden thought seized me that I should have a letter from your house; but instead of it, I had only two, at first, unintelligible papers to peruse-one from the editor of a plaguy work about the slave trade, the other from the

Kirk of Scotland's General Assembly, soliciting me to translate some of the Psalms of David anew, for the benefit of the congregations. But unless they will promise me to learn singing, and to warble my translations more melodiously than they do the old Vulgate, I do not mean to put pen to paper.

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Did you ever see such an infamous week as the last? I was quite cross at the whole system of nature-at our manner of building houses-at the want of fur in our habitsand want of delectable German stoves. The greatest nuisance of all was, to see Mr. K., the schoolmaster, crossing the Common on the bitterest day, with nankeen pantaloons

"Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er ye be,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness defend you
From seasons such as these?

So, I dare say, you thought with me on the dismal Friday! The reflection was unhappily too true with regard to our own neighbourhood: A poor sweep, who had that day stockings without feet on his little legs-a child of eight years old-going towards Penge Common, was overtaken in the drift, at four in the morning, where he had been sent along with another boy of ten, to sweep a chimney at Dulwich. The Coroner's inquest sat on his body. The survivor said that on the way his little companion said, Jack, I'm ill; go home and tell somebody to come and carry me." The lad tried to lift him, but he struggled a little and fell down. Instead of venturing to knock at a neighbouring door, the other boy went literally home, and when the master arrived, their poor little sweep was dead! He had lain for hours; but it was discovered

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