here and there, some village spire shooting up through the "forest," reflecting the light on its vane, or breaking the stillness with the chime of its "evening bells." Ramifying in all directions, shady walks, where he was safe from all intrusion but that of the Muses, enabled him to combine healthful exercise with profitable meditation. During his leisure hours in summer, as he has sweetly sung, he had a charming variety of

"Spring-green lanes,

With all the dazzling field flowers in their prime,

And gardens haunted by the nightingale's

Long trills, and gushing ecstasies of song."

And when these were past, he had "mental light,”—books, friends, congenial studies, and could exclaim-

"Let winter come! let polar spirits sweep

The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep!
Though boundless snows the withered heath deform,
And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,
Yet shall the smile of social love repay
With mental light the melancholy day;

And when its short and troubled noon is o'er,
The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,
How bright the faggots in his little hall

Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!

With these feelings, and "while its autumnal features were still bright," Campbell took up his habitation in Sydenham, where, his reputation having preceded him, he received that cordial welcome from the resident families, which rendered it in after life the scene of his happiest recollections. There, it is true, he suffered many anxieties, much ill health, and passed years chequered by disappointments and difficulties; but there also, he had bright intervals, verdant spots in the map of life, on which he always looked back with satisfaction. His labours were at

ÆT. 27.] LIFE AT SYDENHAM-HIS OWN REMINISCENCES. 27

times ungenial, and even oppressive; but, continued from necessity, a regular habit of writing was established, to which he conscientiously adhered, even under the pressure of much bodily pain, and was thus enabled to discharge the heavy and complicated duties of his position.

"Labouring in this way," to quote his own words, "I contrived to support my mother, and wife, and children. Life became tolerable to me, and, at Sydenham, even agreeable. I had always my town friends to come and partake of my humble fare on a Sunday; and among my neighbours, I had an elegant society, among whom I counted sincere friends. It so happened that the dearest friends I had there, were thorough Tories; and my Whiggism was as steadfast as it still continues to be; but this acquaintance ripening into friendship, called forth a new liberalism in my mind, and possibly also in theirs. On my part, I know that it softened the rancour of my prejudices, without affecting the sincerity of my principles; and I would advise all spirits that are apt to be over excitable, like myself, on party questions, to go sometimes -not as a spy, but as a truce-bearer-into the enemies' camp, and useful views and knowledge will be discovered among them when they are least expected."

To this topic frequent recurrence is found in his private letters the only genuine record of his life at Sydenham ; and in the following extracts he makes a frank confession of the trials to which he was exposed :

"I do not mean to say that we suffered the absolute privations of poverty. On the contrary, it was rather the fear, than the substance of it, which afflicted us. But I shall never forget my sensations when I one day received a letter from my eldest brother * in America, stating that

* See a brief sketch of his life in the Introductory Chapter, Vol. I.

the casual remittances which he had made to my mother, must now cease, on account of his unfortunate circumstances; and that I must undertake alone the pious duty of supporting our widowed parent . Here now, I had two establishments to provide for-one at Edinburgh, and another at Sydenham; and it may be remembered that in those times, the price of living was a full third-part dearer than at present. I venture to say that I could live at the time I now write, as comfortably on four hundred pounds a year, as I could have then lived on an income of six hundred. The war prices put all economy to flight and defiance." . . . In another affecting passage he says, "I had never known in earnest the fear of poverty before, but it now came upon me like a ruthless fiend. If I were sentenced to live my life over again, and had the power of supplicating adversity to spare me, I would say-Oh, Adversity! take any other shape!" "To meet these pressing demands," he adds, "I got literary engagements both in prose and poetry; but a malady came over me, which put all poetry, and even imaginative prose, out of the question. My anxiety to wake in the morning, in order to be at my literary labours, kept me awake all night; and from less to more, I became a regular victim to the disease called the Comavigil. Any attempt at original composition, on my part, was at this time out of the question. But the wolf was at the door; and, besides the current expences of our common maintenance, I had to meet the quarterly payment of usurious interest, on a debt which I had been obliged to contract for our new furniture, and for the very cradle that rocked our first-born child. The usurious interest to which I allude, was forty pounds a-year upon a loan of two hundred pounds—a Judaic loan.

"Throbbing as my temples were, after sleepless and

ET. 27.]

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL REMINISCENCES.

29

anxious nights, I was obliged next day to work at such literary labour as I could undertake-that is, at prosaic tasks of compilation, abridgment, or common-place thought which required little more than the labour of penmanship.

"I accepted an engagement to write for the 'Star' newspaper, and the Philosophical Magazine,' conducted by Mr. Tulloch, the editor of the 'Star,' for which I received at the rate of two hundred pounds a-year. But that sum, out of which I had to pay for a horse on which I rode to town every day, was quite inadequate to my wants; so I betook myself to literary engagements that would allow me to labour all day in the country. Disspirited beneath all hope of raising my reputation by what I could write, I contracted for only anonymous labour -and of course at an humble price.

"It is always a misfortune for a literary man to have recourse to anonymous writing-let his motives be never so innocent. And if there be any excuse more admissible than another, it is when his poverty and modesty conspire against him. But it lowers a man's genius to compose that for which his name is not to be answerable. I wrote on all subjects, even including Agriculture; and smile but hear me; for, odd as it may seem, I tell you the truth in saying that by writing on Agriculture, I acquired so much knowledge on the subject as to have been more than once complimented on that knowledge by practical farmers."

In this unsatisfactory state of health, and with barely sufficient employment to cover his daily expences, Campbell took up his residence at Sydenham. The wakeful malady under which he laboured compelled him to have recourse to opiates; and in a letter to Mr. Richardson, written a few days after his "flitting," he says:-" Since

I wrote my last confused letter to you, I have had a nap by dint of laudanum, and am better. But I continue still distressed about poor Alison, and therefore additionally anxious to hear from you . . You have now three negotiations on hand-first, to see if possible, some of Alison's family-and, to say, that beside my anxiety about Mr. A.'s health, I have a deep regret on my mind, that I troubled a friend, so dear as he is, in the midst of sickness. Try for God's sake to see Mrs. A. I do not write to her for fear of intruding-but say that, for having been the cause of his sitting up to write on a bed of sickness*, I feel both sorry and ashamed. The next commission is to tell Grahame that if I do not write to him, it is not from lack of love but leisure. Tell him his congratulation added happiness to my possession of little Tony; and that I long till the little poet be writing verses on little Hannah! Poor James! I do deplore that his health is too like my own. The third commission is to wait on my mother, to get the address of my brothers in America . . . The address that she gives you, write on an outer cover for each; and do, my dear J., see them safely put in the postoffice. The home postage will be some shillings; I shall not cheat you of that-rogue as I am. I have a good

deal of business on hand. Adieu; and let me ever be thought of as yours eternally, T. C.

(Franked.)

*To the Rev. Mr. Alison he had written a fortnight previously, requesting his friendly advice and interference, in questions which involved his personal interests; but his letter found Mr. Alison seriously ill-a circumstance which added greatly to his own sufferings. His "last confused letter," as he calls it, was that already transcribed at page 21. The letters to his brothers in America, were written in the hope of counteracting the effect of the "blow" so painfully alluded to in his reminiscences. But the trade was very bad, and he was left single-handed to provide for "two establishments."