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ET. 27.] DOMESTIC HAPPINESS-CHEERING PROSPECTS.

403 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. 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 feelings-no; 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 confusion, yet I find comfort a fine support to industry!

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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.

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

CHAPTER XIX.

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

The house which Campbell chose for his domicile, and is 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 de

ÆT. 27.] HIS NEW RESIDENCE AT SYDENHAM.

405 scend for change of air to the parlor; 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 conveniencies 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 sweetscented shrubs and flowers, covering the little area in front, it had an air of cheerful seclusion and comfort, which harmonized 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 parlor he often mustered guests and visiters, whose names have long since become familiar in the history of Europe.

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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 here and there, some village spire shooting up through the "forest," reflecting the light on its vane, or breaking the stillness with the chimes 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 ecstacies 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 labors were at 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.

"Laboring 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 neighbors, 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 Whigism 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 rancor 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 the casual remittances which he had made to my mother, must now cease, on account of his

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

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

407

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 labors, kept me awake all night; and from less to more, I became a regular victim to the disease called the Coma-vigil. 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 expenses 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 anxious nights, I was obliged next day to work at such literary labor as I could undertake-that is, at prosaic tasks of compilation, abridgment, or common-place thought, which required little more than the labor 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 labor all day in the country. Disspirited beneath all hope of raising my reputation by what I could write, I contracted for only anonymous labor-and, of course, at an humble price.

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