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Now I have talked as long about myself as Sir John Hawkins could have done. Poor human nature! Do we not feel that this very sentiment of friendship is a masquerade for selfish ideas to play their part!

The prevailing thought of to-day-for days have their ruling thoughts as life-times have their ruling passions— has been, in my forlorn imagination, that of exile depicted in all its horrors. In a state like this, where one's fancy would be ashamed to draw gloomy pictures, in a fine house with a worthy host-a polite reception-books-woods to walk in—a bed of down-and a table loaded with luxury -I dare not say I am sorry for myself, even though fifty miles from your house. But I mask my discontent under sorrow for another! The wretch who leaves home-as Adam left his Paradise-with none to bid him adieu but the angel of his banishment-who has no friendship to form, but with his driver or his task-master-that miserable being is one like ourselves, with conceptions and feelings capable of embracing the whole extent of his wretchedness. We proudly arrogate to ourselves, in refined life, the privilege of sensibility, without regarding how strong the popular feelings of nature may be in the lowest minds, even hardened by guilt and misery. A legislator would justify the punishment of eternal banishment, by the supposed callousness of those who deserve it by their crimes; and there are thousands of well-wishers to society, who can think of Botany Bay without pity or indignation. Away with such hoofs as would trample upon human nature in its lowest state! I confess I never could hear the word transportation with patience. Torture is abolished, we say but a thousand victims are shipped every year to a destiny of severer torture than the rack or the wheel. Read but the cold-blooded annals of Collins, or Phillips, who have given us a few sketches of convict biography. Of their packing on board-a cargo of human agony! of

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their struggles on the voyage to break out of the dungeon -like the drowning man struggling against suffocationof their massacres by the "brave crew"-and their wounded limbs being thrust into heavier chains. Of their landing, starvation on short allowance, being whipt and branded for stealing food-dying of labour-melancholy and diseased! These are but faint and accidental sketches of what our fellow-creatures suffer for crimes that are trifling and venial!

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The strong interest that hurries away my thoughts from addressing my dear friend, to declamations on Botany Bay, will need with you but a slender apology. I am only giving you the subject of a day's thoughts, in which an unbroken chain of association has been framed in the solitary state that is most favourable to reflection. Many a day, and many a state more unpleasant, has been beguiled by thus guiding a current of unpleasant ideas from an individual to a general subject-by losing ourselves in others, like a stream falling into the ocean.

The light now begins to be too little, and the darkness "too many" for me. I will take another saunter through the larches, and indulge in my favourite remembrance of your abode. I will conceive the avenues and walks to be our usual promenade, in front of the blessed mansion, in which Claude Lorraine might have sat to draw pictures, and Virgil to write poetry. I will suppose myself listening to Sarti's music on the harp, or pestering you for permission to dance to the reels of the forte-piano. I may even venture to dash the picture of happiness with a little shade of adversity—such as M—— treating me with hauteur, or being debarred the " common use of my own limbs" in dancing the "Highland-fling!" I could swell the catalogue of my woes by supposing a scold for neglected letters, or the prospect of a dark walk through the meadows! But

humanity draws a veil over these evils, and hides where she cannot cure. Send me but back to M, and I will allow her to trample down my pride with her green shoes! Remember, however, that you must not let this letter fall into her hands, in case she should read a trophy of her conquest, so very humbling to me. Tell her not to flirt with Count Montenari in my absence, else he will take her off to Italy and marry her-" to be sure."

*

Telford, our beloved Apostle, I suppose has not yet written to any of us; we must pray for his safety in the wild regions where he is wandering; for his zeal exposes him to many perils. Should any Highlander be too dull to comprehend the merits of Mr. Alison, Mr. Stewart, or Mr. Lochiel,+ we shall hear of a bloody battle between the saint and savage.-Apropos to Stewart, my good-hearted landlord often speaks of Countess Purgstall, with most laudable praise. Lord Minto is truly a worthy man; what a pity that his rooms are so large !-I need not ask you to write to me in return, for the pleasure of having scribbled to you so long is recompense for the effort of taking a pen in my hand-an effort, to poor little "procrastination Tom," which is seldom so well repaid. But, "when I forget thee, may my right hand forget her cunning!" Farewell!-greetings in the Market-place and greetings at the end of letters are but apocryphal signs of love. But you may trust me, my dear Friend, that my compliments to your whole family are not words of course. You

may believe me that if my bitterest enemy should cross your threshold in peace, he would become, by your benediction, my friend.Yours ever,

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

* Mr. Telford was then engaged in surveys of the Caledonian Canal, Highland Roads and Bridges.

+ Himself, in playful allusion to his Poem of Lochiel.

404

CHAPTER XVI.

RETURN TO LONDON-MARRIAGE.

DURING his visit at Minto Castle, the Poet's ennui was much relieved by meeting with an old College friend ; and, in a letter playfully addressed to "Telford, Alison & Co.," he thus communicates the discovery :- "Having found accidentally, as if it had been a chapter in some romance, an old and very dear friend settled as a physician at Jedburgh, I sit down to inform you of my unbounded happiness at this unexpected discovery. I therefore charge you, if you be together this day or to-morrow, and by any chance happen to mention my name, in the course of your conversation, not to attach any of the common epithets to it, which might be lawful on other occasions; such as "Poor fellow! poor Tom!" for I tell you I am not poor to-day, but exceedingly wealthy. Gentlemen! I may perhaps come down upon your meeting in Edinburgh sooner than you expect. I am reading a letter from Telford, which I cannot answer in any other way than vivâ voce. I am so busy comparing notes with my oldest friend, my first critic, my school companion, who has been buffeting about in the voyage of life for seven years since we parted, that I postpone any farther impertinent remarks, till we meet in the Links of Paradise.* Yours as wont, T. C.

The house of Mr. Alison in Bruntsfield Links, note, page 397. The

College friend here mentioned was the late Dr. W——, whose son, in a paper

published soon after the Poet's death, has recorded various particulars of this meeting at Jedburgh.

The new edition of his Poems being now in the press, Campbell returned to Edinburgh* in order to revise the proof sheets as they arrived from London. Writing to Lord Minto on the 30th of October, he says-" The proofs, as your lordship would observe, are most capital specimens of typography. Manners and Miller, on comparing them with their best books, declare that Bensley has in this instance exceeded himself. Except one splendid book from Paris, dedicated to that villain Buonaparte, there is no typography in Europe superior to what this volume promises to be. I have seldom been made happier than on receiving in one day the first sheet of a work which naturally excited my warmest anxiety, and in being likewise flattered with a further proof of your lordship's most friendly attention.

"Since returning from Minto, I have been engaged in supplying an Edinburgh bookseller with anonymous, and, consequently, inglorious articles in prose-a labour, in

* In his letter to Sir Walter Scott, already quoted, Campbell mentions that, in Edinburgh, his favourite promenade was along the North Bridge, where, owing to his frequent recitation of his friend's poetry, "the whole fraternity of coachmen knew him by tongue, and quizzed him as he passed." He was at that time scrupulously neat in his dress, which, agreeably to the fashion of the day, consisted of a blue coat, with bright gilt buttons; a white waistcoat and cravat; buff nankeens, and white stockings, with shoes and silver buckles. His hair was already falling off; and to remedy this inconvenience, he adopted the peruke, which was never afterwards laid aside. Any one desirous to see the author of "The Pleasures of Hope" was sure to find him on the "North Bridge," any morning about noon, in company with one or more of those congenial spirits who, like himself, had risen into early and permanent fame. I am informed by the same authority, to whom I owe these interesting minutiæ, that, in society, the young Poet was by no means unconscious of his mental superiority. The "ingenuous candour" with which he gave vent to his opinions was not always palatable to those who, from their station, science, or seniority, had a claim to respect and deference. But to those who knew him intimately, his freedom of speech and arrogance on certain points were often compensated by sound criticism, playful wit, and warm-hearted philanthropy.

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