ÆT. 27.] DOMESTIC AFFAIRS, HEALTH AND PROSPECTS.

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TO JOHN RICHARDSON, ESQ.

LONDON, September 10, 1804. Indeed, my dear old Friend, I knew you too well to ascribe silence to want of affection in you. I am ill, at present, with a complaint that is not sore, but seriouswant of night's rest. I never sleep one hour to an endI go to bed sleepy, or rather drowsy, and rise unrefreshed and feverish. It is a serious complaint-excuse the incoherency of my style. I am in such a dreadful fluctuation between stupor and feverish excitation, that I know not what I say—but this I know that, if I allowed you to remain under the impression that that I am not as warmly alive as ever to our wonted attachment, I should be unfaithful to my own feelings. Excuse me, however, that I cannot write to you as I could wish. I thank God, my mind is now tranquil and happy, but not so my body. I have been too much confined this year past, and the medicines which I have used have undone my nerves.

In talking of my happiness-which I mention to you with a satisfaction not to be described-I allude to my wife's recovery, my lovely boy's health, and my pecuniary circumstances, or rather prospects; for I am just shaking my ears out of the water. All these are well; but I cannot tell you the pang I feel for my dear friend-and almost father-Alison. The loss of him would kill me. On this subject, however, I cannot indulge myself. It is too much to think of. May God forbid such an event-a loss to the world-but more than a loss to his amiable family! I must trouble you-as Mrs. Dugald Stuart is not in Edinburgh-to get and send me a speedy account of the state of his health. Pray call, yourself, my dear friend, in my name. While the family is so distressed, it would be out of season to send you a formal letter of

introduction; but if you can see any of the family, it will be more satisfactory than a message.

Will you also call and see how my mother is? I am easy now about her. Don't mention anything of my bad health-but only words of comfort! She has now, in all, 70%. a year. Pray tell me, as expenses stand in Edinburgh, if you think it is enough. I am anxious to know how expensiveness has arisen with you; for here, everything is dreadfully dear. Although my wife is a notable economist, yet the weeks' bills are enormous beyond what they would have been a few years ago. Now, indeed, I begin to live somewhat more bravely than at first. I advise you, however, to marry, to know the value of life's comforts!I never take my poor Matilda a jaunt to Kensington, or indulge in the slightest luxury, without wondering that happiness-which before I could never get for love or money-was now to be got by industry, and the virtue that purifies love, and makes money wealth indeed.

I have succeeded in getting my house well furnished. We have a most beautiful little drawing-room, and furniture enough for a parlour and study, when we get into a larger house. I have bought also some important maps and books, and hope soon to attain to a good library. All this comes of being happy at home. I should have been poor to this day if I had not got a wife. I must not omit, in my catalogue of comforts, that I have secured a good store of port wine; and yet I assure you, by the orders of my gravelist, and from better motives, I have laid aside every propensity to take one glass more than does me good-to which I was sometimes addicted in Edinburgh.

Dr. Scott, who had prescribed for him while suffering from painful symptoms, induced by long sedentary habits.

ET. 27.] DOMESTIC HAPPINESS-CHEERING PROSPECTS.

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But who could resist such good fellows? . . . I only mention all this, to show you how regularly and comfortably I have now brought myself to live. All this would be nothing with regard to the flattery of my own feelingsno; but I have scribbled and blinded myself, reading and copying night and day, to show my dear, patient partner that, although our first outset in matrimony was poor, the continuance was not to be so. This insetting year I am preparing for innovations, which she resists as Jacobinical ! I have banished the rummer of toddy, out of which she used to drink her solitary glass, with as pleased a face as if it had been Tokay, or a better beverage. . . . I shall have a large and well-aired house in the country, a stock of fowls, and a good garden; and, though Matilda's extreme caution is a guarantee against profusion, yet I find comfort a fine support to industry!

My mother will now be comfortable; and, in a few years I shall be able to add another fifty, to be an annuity to the two more dependent of my sisters; that, however, must be deferred for a little time, until I can scrape up as much as will bring me a share in some literary work, and secure me a good income. . . . Give my love to Grahame -dear worthy companion of ours! He is the man who must be the intimate associate of our Trio for life. . . . Adieu ! I am giddy to an excess with this vestal-fire-like vigilance.-Believe me, yours truly,

T. C.

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CHAPTER II.

REMOVES TO SYDENHAM.

In a retrospect of his first literary experience in London, Campbell has left some striking remarks, the practical truth of which will be generally felt :-" From Edinburgh," he says, "I came back to London a perfect adventurer, having nothing to depend upon for subsistence but my pen. I was by no means without literary employment ; but the rock on which I split was over-calculating the gains I could make from them. I have observed that authors, and all other artists, are apt to make similar mistakes. The author-and I can speak from experience -sits down to an engagement, for which he is to have so much per sheet. sheet. He He gets through what seems a tenth of the work in one day, and in high glee computes thus :Well, at this rate, I can count upon so many pounds a day.' But innumerable and incalculable interruptions occur. Besides, what has been written to-day, may require to be re-written to-morrow; and thus he finds that a grocer, who sells a pound of figs, and puts a shilling, including threepence of profit, into the till of his counter, has a more surely gainful vocation than the author."

"In my married state," he adds, "I lived a year in town, and then took and furnished a house at Sydenham, to which I brought my young wife and a lovely boy."

With Michaelmas commenced the important business of "flitting;" and in less than a fortnight the operations

ET. 27.]

HIS NEW RESIDENCE AT SYDENHAM.

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were completed, the house furnished, and the Poet dating his letters from "Sydenham Common, Kent."

The house which Campbell chose for his domicile, and in which he resided full seventeen years, stands on a gentle eminence, within a few minutes' walk of the village, and possessed in those days the strong recommendation of a quiet, frugal, and healthy retreat. The annual rent was

forty guineas. It consisted of six rooms, two on each floor; the upper or attic story of which was converted into a private study. From this elevation, however, he was often compelled during the summer months to descend for change of air to the parlour; for in the upper study, to use his own words, he "felt as if inclosed within a hotlyseasoned pie!" A small garden behind, with the usual domestic offices at one end, completed the habitation, and furnished all the conveniences to which either the Poet or his amiable wife aspired. It was not exactly, perhaps, like the "cottage near Edinburgh," so often pictured in his letters, for it was only "semi-detached;" but with its green jalousies, white palings, and sweet-scented shrubs and flowers, covering the little area in front, it had an air of cheerful seclusion and comfort, which harmonised with the tastes and wishes of its gentle inmates. It was small; but, like Ariosto, Campbell could say, with truth and feeling, "Parva, sed apta mihi ;" and in its little parlour he often mustered guests and visitors, whose names have long since become familiar in the history of Europe.

Externally, the new situation had much to soothe and interest a poetical mind. From the south, a narrow lane, lined with hedgerows, and passing through a little dell watered by a runlet, leads to the house; from the windows of which, the eye wanders over an extensive prospect of undulating hills, park-like inclosures, hamlets, and picturesque villas shaded with fine ornamental timber; with