TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. MY DEAR SIR, WHEN the tomb had closed upon Goldsmith-when, for a season, the oracles of Poetry were almost dumb; it was your happy destiny to break the silence, to revive the spirit, and introduce a new era of polished song. Your "Pleasures of Memory" found Thomas Campbell-a youthful but ardent votary-in the "lonely Hebrides;" it struck his heart with inspiring impulse, and quickened all his noblest inspirations. It was the magic key that unlocked the fountain of his genius; its sparkling waters gushed forth in the "Pleasures of Hope;" and from that hour-a priest and brother of the sacred choir—a child of precocious but permanent fame, he found an honoured station beside his classic prototype. In your friendship, of more than forty years' standing, he found the "decus et tutamen," which only kindred minds know how to express, and how to appreciate. In your experience of the world, in the maturity of your fame, he found a faithful and enlightened monitor; in your approbation, strong motives for |