ÆT. 24.] LETTERS TO DR. CURRIE. 363 CHAPTER XVII. LETTERS TO DR. CURRIE. [THESE interesting letters, from Campbell to Dr. Currie, reached me some months too late for insertion according to their dates; but as they are among the best and most characteristic ever written by the Poet, I gladly avail myself of the permission, conveyed to me through G. J. Duncan, Esq., of Liverpool, to lay them before the public.] MY DEAR SIR, 2 STRATTON STREET, LONDON, April 13, 1802. To have been so long in London without writing you, may seem inconsistent with the gratitude which I owe to one whose notice and friendship have made me so proud and so happy. But by continually deferring the pleasure of addressing you, till I should enjoy a little tranquillity of mind in the midst of this bustling scene, I have allowed days and weeks to pass over unnoticed, while my friends in Liverpool, I fear, have abated their esteem, and justly blamed me for my silence. Shortly after my arrival here, I delivered your letter to Captain Grahame Moore. In addition to all the kindness you have shown me, my dear Doctor, I esteem it an inestimable favor, that you have recommended me to a friend so truly valuable. Captain and General Moore-brothers* in worth as well as relationship-called upon me in consequence of your letter. We had a long and interesting conversation, and, I may safely say, got as well acquainted in a forenoon as ceremonious visitants could have been in a twelvemonth. It may seem egotism to talk of the interest which these respectable men seemed to take in my fortune; but to you, to whom I owe the notice of this worthy family, it is but common gratitude to mention their attention. I was so unfortunate as to miss Captain M. several times, when he called upon me; but at parting he introduced me to his brother, the surgeon, who received me at his house with the frankest cordiality. Should I remain in London, I * See pp. 207-270. should reckon this family of the Moores the most valuable acquaintance I could cultivate. Wherever I may be, I shall always remember them with esteem. In Of Mr. Roscoe's introduction to Johnson has gained me the acI have met at quaintance of a very sensible and good man. his table some literary characters exceedingly interesting; in particular, Mr. Malthus, author of an Essay on Population-a of Johnson's most ingenious and pleasant man. consequence invitation, I met with F- -i, but, entre nous, (for I would not wish to offend *** by animadversions on his friend), I think this painter of devils little better than a devil in mind and conversation. He is disgustingly conceited and overbearing. his talents in painting, I can only judge from the report of others; and his name among the London artists is not highly respected. As to the man, there is no information to be gleaned from his remarks, nor pleasure to be found in his society; for his conversation is such a salmagundi of joke and earnest, that it is impossible to relish either his wit or wisdom. I can give no quarter to a satirical disposition that embraces in its strictures the most admirable characters of modern times. It would have scandalized you to have heard this little buffoonish railer degrading the great name of our admired Mackintosh,* a genius who will be read and admired, when's gallery of paintings shall be handed down to the latest records of oblivion. I have been so fortunate as to meet with Mackintosh frequently since my arrival in town. It is only by comparison we learn to estimate the value of men. I confess the more I see of this wonderful man, the more I am led to believe that modern times have not degenerated from the genius of antiquity, and there is an amiable simplicity, natural to great minds, in M.'s dispositions, which commands esteem as well as admiration. Though I cannot entirely like the combat of conversation which Mr. M. is so fond of maintaining at the King of Clubs, yet I long once more to behold these Knights of Literature sporting at their jousts and tournaments in that brilliant circle. Among the many people in London who boast of your acquaintance, I have become acquainted with Telford, the engineer-"a fellow of infinite humor," and a strong enterprising mind. He has almost made me a bridge-builder already; at least he has inspired me with new sensations of interest in the improvement and ornament of our country. Have you seen his * For Mackintosh's opinion of the Poet, see APPENDIX. ET. 24.] LETTERS TO DR. CURRIE. 365 plan of London Bridge-or his scheme for a new canal in the North Highlands—which will unite, if put in effect, our Eastern and Atlantic commerce, and render Scotland the very emporium of navigation? Telford is a most useful cicerone in London. He is so universally acquainted, and so popular in his manners, that he can introduce one to all kinds of novelty, and all descriptions of interesting society. He has made me so well acquainted with Chamberlain, the King's librarian, that I have access at all times to see the library and pictures. This, I assure you, is no slight privilege; you may spend a whole day with delight among the genuine drawings of Michael Angelo, and Leonardo da Vinci, of which George has a collection, I suppose, worth half a million of money. Some of these inestimable originals have been engraved by Bartolozzi. Among the works of Leonardo there is a head of Hannibal, which seems animated with a soul much more than human. I was one of a large party who surveyed this astonishing countenance, and I remember, when Chamberlain lifted the silk-paper covering, an involuntary start of admiration struck every one of the spectators as if we had all been electrified. What think you of Chamberlain's politeness? He has made me a present of a copy of this sublime production, which some artists of great skill, who have seen it, pronounce the finest engraving of modern times, upon the finest head of antiquity. Mrs. Hodgson has sent me very favorable accounts of the success of my proposals* in Liverpool. I am sure the name of Liverpool never comes into my mind but with the strongest associations of gratitude, when I consider the kindness I have experienced from your hospitable circle. Present my best compliments to Mrs. Currie, and my friend Wallace. Remember me to Mrs. Duncan, Mrs. D'Aguilar, Mrs. Laurence, and the worthy family of the Slaters; and believe me, my dear Dr. Currie, with sincere respect, T. C. Mr. Clarke has now left London. I meant to have written to Mr. Roscoe by him; but this London regularly unhinges all the wheels of my recollection; and, as Young says, "Procrastination is the thief of time." MY DEAR SIR, T. C. MINTO, Sept. 4, 1802. and second letters I thank you with By travelling different roads your first were transposed in the order of their arrival. *Subscription Edition. a due sense of respect for the errors you have pointed out in my "Celtic Warrior."* Correction of this hasty piece comes to me now, not as choice, but as a duty; not for ornament, but for use, to cover its naked defects. The red, red, red is a glaring impropriety; and the cock-crow of victory, if I were disposed to make a low-lifed pun, I would say, is an affected piece of Gallican extravagance, only fit to be endured when the mind has been blown up to a white heat of extravagance. As to the last lines of "Lochiel," they are the noli me tangere of my self-satisfaction; and if all the world should laugh at him, I will not move one joint, or limb, of his dying posture! He shall die, as he has fallen, with his face to heaven! Now, behold with what an air I stalk upon the stilts of egotism and self-importance ! I write you now from Minto. His lordship, desirous that I should enjoy "otium cum dignitate," wished me to spend the summer at this country retirement, and begin a poetical work of some importance. There was much kindness in this plan for my happiness and improvement; but many circumstances induced me to prefer Edinburgh for a residence. I have, therefore, only come for a visit of ten or twelve days. Lord Minto's company is uniformly agreeable; he is the least moody man I ever saw; and his conversation, when you get him by himself, (though he affects neither wit nor learning,) is replete with sincere enthusiasm, and abundance of original information. Few have carried off so much knowledge, even from so wide a field. as his experience has afforded. But still this is a lord's house-although his. His time is so much employed with strangers-fashionable, proud folks who have a slang of conversation among themselves, as unintelligible to plain, sober beings, as the cant of the gipsies, and probably not so amusing, if one did understand it. A man of my lowly breeding feels in their company a little of what Burke calls proud humility, or rather humble contempt; for I declare I have not heard a sentence of either good sense or amusing nonsense from any of our guests, except from Lady Malmesbury, who is a shrewd and liberal-minded woman: she is like you, a very hearty despiser of the 's. Lord Minto's unaffected behavior is a striking contrast to those about him. He has all the kindness and sympathies of refined and middling life. This is certainly not the predominant charac *"Lochiel." See pp. 320-822. ÆT. 25.] LETTERS TO DR. CURRIE. 367 ter in aristocracy. It has often astonished me to see what a cold, repulsive atmosphere that little thing called quality can spread around itself, and make us believe that it exists at least as a negative quality-like that of cold. But like all other little passions, this hauteur is very cowardly,—a little indifference on the side of the vulgar makes those minions of fashion open their eyes, half shut with affectation of pur-blindness, and look at least more respectfully. As to conversation, with the generality of them, it is not worth courting-for their minds are not filled, but dilated. And the human mind, at a certain elevation of rank, grows more barren than the summit of the Alps or Apennines. The scenery around this place is a real consolation. It is well wooded and pastoral. On my way to Minto I stopt to view the beautiful ruins of Melrose Abbey. Association (as the angel of taste Alison-has shown) is the foundation of our pleasure in contemplating beauty and sublimity. My associations, I confess, were picturesque and pleasant to a high degree in looking, with "a white, upturned, and wondering eye," to those relics. of fallen grandeur; Sir William Jones's remark upon the origin of Gothic architecture came strongly upon my mind. Leaving their sacred groves, the first haunts of superstition, men must have tried to imitate those temples of nature in temples of stone. Hence the arched window, and the long avenues of checkered light and shade so similar to the gloom of woodland scenery.* There are ideas naturally associated with its shape and structure as a monument of former times, it cannot but excite our wonder, that, in an age so barbarous, and in a country threadbare with invasions, so much magnificence could either rise or continue. Scotland in the eleventh century could erect the Abbey of Melrose, and in the nineteenth couid not finish the College of Edinburgh! But architecture, like poetry, is the nursling of religion; and therefore may start up to maturity, when the human mind is in the strength of its barbarity. Painting and music come in later to the aid of luxury-at least we have seen Gothic architecture in Europe long antecedent to either: they are protegees of wealth and aristocracy, whose protection genuine poetry never needed. You have by this time, I suppose, both enjoyed and parted with the society of your worthy Captain Moore. I congratu * See p. 327, letter to Mr. Alison, Aug. 28. |