'I know it-I know it,' gasped the old man, quickly. 'I know what you are going to say-nevertheless-yes, let my will be drawn up-now, Mr Notary,' said he, turning to that individual, who at this moment entered the room, I wish to bequeath all my goods and property to feed the poor. Write down, quick.' Have you no relatives, sir, to whom this might be tending sales by auction, and there he would purchase the most inconceivable lumber, provided he got what he called 'a bargain,' regardless of the utility of the articles to him, or the prospect of turning them into cash where he lived. His house, from cellar to garret, was a confused heap of broken chairs, legless tables, pots, kettles, and every kind of rubbish. It was amusing, yet melancholy, at these times to watch the trembling eagerness left." of the old man's eye, as he hesitatingly advanced penny Not a drop of my blood flows in human veins-no, no by penny in his biddings; and certain wicked wags would-alone-horribly alone.' delight in teasing 'old Grab-all,' by purposely raising the price of some worthless article which he wanted a bargain.' We doubt not he considered his morbid excitement at these places as a costly luxury. 6 But the closing scene arrived at last, and a memorable example it was of the workings of an inscrutable Providence. For some time Clement Ford had been drooping, and, with his natural parsimony, had refused himself the additional comforts which his declining strength required. He was now confined to bed. It was a cold, rainy, December day, the wind came in gusts down the chimney of the uncouthly furnished apartment in which he lay on his death-bed, and the stifling smoke of the newly kindled fire rendered the atmosphere nearly intolerable, even to one in robust health. A miserable farthing candle glimmered on a shattered table, while the old charwoman sat on a low stool before the fire, fanning it into life with her Well, Mr Ford,' was again the cool rejoinder. 'Reach me that glass-take care, don't break it-now go along to the curate, and tell him I want him immediately-mind immediately-and call on the notary as you come back, and send him too-do you hear, Barbara.' 'Yes, Mr Ford'—and the fire was left to fight its own battle for existence, while the old woman departed on her mission. The miser now fell into an uneasy slumber, from which he was shortly awakened by the arrival of the curate. He raised himself upon his elbow in the bed, and glanced anxiously into the countenance of the new comer. 'You have sent for me, Mr Ford, I presume, in my clerical capacity,' said the curate mildly. 'I have sent for you sir, to unburden my conscienceI'm a great sinner, sir; a cold-blooded systematic old sinner.' When we arrive at a proper 'Hear me. All my life long I have been a rigidly just man-the sins of the passions have had no place in me, yet I've been a black-hearted sinner—just, yes, very just -but-but-God help us all, were we weighed in the balance of justice. I had a nephew, sir, the son of my brother; and what feeling this heart had at its command was his-I could not help that it had not more-'twas my nature. I took him to my bosom, and he was welcome to what warmth that bosom could afford-cold cherishing, in good truth-no matter. He lived under my roof, ate at my table, and I meant to have left him my all. But his old uncle's ways did not suit his young notions, and he crossed me--and thus it wrought on till I spurned him from my door, and sent him a beggar upon the world. Where he is now I know not. Oh! how often have I cursed that hour in which I left myself a blasted trunk, leafless, branchless, withered!' Here the workings of the miser's countenance and the writhings of his body became extreme, nor could the clergyman behold without wonder the sudden awakening of such a torrent of emotion in one he had considered so soulless. Reach me that cordial, Barbara. Now, Sir, I'll tell you what I'll do-yes I will. I'll leave twenty thousand pounds to endow an hospital-every farthing shall go to it-as I'm a dying sinner, I'll do it.' 'Mr Ford,' said the curate, 'build not your hope upon the deeds of the law.' 6 At this moment a knocking was heard at the outer door, and presently a voice soliciting charity reached his ear. 'He shall have it-he shall have it!' and he fumbled beneath his pillow, whence he produced a silver coin. 'Send him in, Barbara, that the last act of this hand may be to give to the needy-it has almost forgotten the way.' The mendicant entered the apartment, and approached the bed to receive the proffered gift; but scarcely had he done so, when the old man uttered a piercing shriek, and fell senseless on the couch. That beggar was the lost nephew. By the prompt use of the means at hand, Clement Ford was restored to consciousness, and then after a long, wistful gaze at the stranger's countenance, he lifted up his voice and wept. The ice that had been forming for a lifetime around the old man's heart melted away at the flow of these holy tears! He lived long enough to establish his nephew in the succession, and died, leaving behind him an example of the insufficiency of self to confer happiness, and a lesson of Providence which the inhabitants of the town he dwelt in will not soon forget. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. THOMAS CAMPBELL. IN the preceding number of the INSTRUCTOR We brought our sketch of the poet's history down to the time when he published Gertrude of Wyoming;' we now resume it. Mr Campbell himself preferred his 'Gertrude of Wyoming' to 'The Pleasures of Hope.' It was a more matured effort of his genius, and the stanza which he had chosen, perhaps the most difficult in our language to manage successfully, was finely adapted for the simple story which formed the groundwork of the poem. Thomson in his Castle of Indolence, and Beattie in his Minstrel, had rendered the Spenserian stanza familiar to all readers of poetry, but Campbell, in Gertrude, clothed it with a new beauty, as he had done the heroic verse in his Pleasures of Hope. It has been stated, that one cause of the preference we have mentioned, was the constant coupling of his name with the latter poem. Thomas Campbell, the author of 'The Pleasures of Hope,' was invariably his designation, till, from being so hackneyed, he came to feel respecting it, as a certain Athenian felt, who refused to give a vote in favour of Aristides, because he grew tired of hearing him perpetually styled Aristides the just.' The designation, too, in all likelihood, suggested the rather humbling reflection, that no subsequent effort of his muse had raised him higher in public estimation than the first had done. Soon after the publication of his Gertrude, he was engaged to deliver a course of lectures on poetry, at the Royal Institution, which, from his high reputation, and his thorough acquaintance with a subject so congenial to his taste, excited much attention at the time. These he again delivered in 1820, at the Surrey Literary and Scientific Institution. He was also employed by Mr Murray, the eminent publisher, to edit selections from the British poets, intended as specimens of each, with biographical and critical notices; and this work, which at once took its place among our standard publications, appeared in 1819, in seven volumes. The same fastidious care which he bestowed on his poetry, he devoted to his criticisms on the poets, and these, though at times somewhat over-refined in expression, show, with his other prose publications, that he excelled as a prose writer as well as a poet. One striking characteristic of Campbell was, that he never wearied in retouching what he had written, although his diction must, in some instances, have suffered in strength from his extreme fastidiousness. He valued his reputation, however, too highly to publish that whereon he had bestowed little or no pains. As an instance of the high estimation in which he was held in England, the following incident has been related by a gentleman, who had it from Mr Alison, his teacher at the grammar school of Glasgow. An English gentleman, a stranger, one day called to visit his school, and, among other things, he asked if any distinguished individual had ever been educated by him. Mr Alison replied 'No, except Thomas Campbell, the poet.' On hearing the name, the Englishman, with enthusiasm, exclaimed, Thomas Campbell! Thomas Campbell! the author of the Pleasures of Hope! Where is the spot he usually sat ?' This being pointed out to him, he immediately took possession, in presence of all the boys, of Campbell's old seat when a schoolboy; nor could he be induced to rise, till the master had given him a minute account of his appearance when under his care, his habits, his acquirements, and, in short, all he knew or could recollect about him. In 1818, Campbell revisited Germany, and was absent a year. In 1820, he undertook the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine, which, under his management, soon became the most popular of the monthlies. In this Magazine appeared several of his minor pieces, among which, that perfect emanation of his muse, The Last Man,' deserves to be particularly mentioned. In 1821, in consequence of his literary engagements, he left Sydenham, where he had resided since 1803, and removed to the metropolis. In 1824 his Theodoric' appeared, a poem not at all equal to his former productions. The volume in which it was published contained several pieces of great excellence, and, with the influence of his name, it had an extensive sale. We recollect it was declared by some anonymous punster of the day, to be the odd trick' of the season. To Mr Campbell, we believe, belongs the merit of having originated the London University, in which project Lord Brougham was an active coadjutor. During the struggle for independence in which Greece was engaged, and in which she was ultimately successful, he took a strong interest in the cause of that country, as he subsequently, and indeed all his life, did in that of Poland. 6 In November, 1826, he was chosen Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow- the greatest honour' as he himself declared, when addressing the professors and students in the College Hall, on the day of his installation, which had ever been conferred upon him.' To this event of his life he was fond of referring often has the writer of this sketch seen his eye kindling with joy and pride when talking of it. And the honour was the more valuable in his estimation, by his being elected to the same office three years in succession. The enthusiasm manifested by the students in his favour he reciprocated with the characteristic ardour of a poet. He got his inaugural address printed, and sent to each of them a copy of it, the presentation inscription being in his own hand, which, we need scarcely say, greatly enhanced the value of such a gift. Letters on the epochs of Greek and Roman literature were also addressed to them, which appeared in the New Monthly, and were afterwards reprinted for the purpose of being presented to the students, with the view, as he expressed it, of keeping himself in their friendly recollection, and from a desire to contribute towards their interest in literary pursuits. We have a vivid recollection of the day when the bard of Hohenlinden and the Baltic' -so Sir Daniel Sandford used to call him-was installed Lord Rector of that University, of which, as a student, in his boyish days, he had been so distinguished an ornament. We see him, as we pen these sentences, standing at the top of the professors' bench, clothed in the rectorial gown, his keen piercing eye beaming with intellect and emotion; and we almost fancy we still hear the tremulous tones in which he spoke his oration; the touching allusion to early scenes and youthful associates; the advertence to the boy poet' in connexion with a valuable counsel which drew forth deafening applause. It was a proud day that with every Glasgow student-we may add with every Glasgow citizen-for the poet was their fellow-citizen. We recall numerous incidents evidential of the enthusiasm felt by all classes towards their illustrious townsman; among others the notice taken of a very beautiful rainbow, the first, said to be, that had appeared that season, which was seen on the day he entered his native city, and which some fond admirer of his genius was pleased to regard as a token that Heaven was smiling on the event, and thus to record in verse:-Beneath thy span, first of the year, he comes, Who hymn'd thy glories, radiant bow of heaven; Warriors may wake their homes with trumps and drums, Thy arch is to the poet's triumph given! The degree of LL.D. was conferred on the poet, by the Senatus Academicus, soon after his inauguration, but he never assumed the title of Doctor before his name. We have already stated that Campbell was thrice chosen to the Lord Rectorship. The students in the Glasgow college are divided, according to certain geogra phical boundaries, into four different nations, as they are called, and the choice of the rector is determined by the preponderance not of votes but nations. When Campbell was proposed the third time, his supporters had to contend against claims not less weighty than those of Sir Walter Scott, who was the other candidate nominated. Though the former had by far the greatest number of votes, there was a parity of nations. The casting vote in this case devolving upon the former rector, or, as the professors thought, in the event of his absence, on the vice-rector, Professor Gibb, the latter was brought, it was said, from a sick-bed, and he declared for Sir Walter. The honour was due to his genius certainly, and under other circumstances the mighty minstrel' might have prized and coveted it as it was he respectfully declined its acceptance. Another election was appointed, when Campbell was again chosen. The enthusiasm of his supporters on this triumph knew no bounds. He had come to Glasgow in the interim, and was residing with his relative Mr Gray, the jeweller, whose house was in Great Clyde Street, a few paces from the river whence it takes its name. Thither in grand mass the students repaired, when Campbell shortly addressed them from Mr Gray's window. We remember but one sentence of that address-it was the first: Students, sooner shall that river,' alluding to the Clyde, 'cease to flow into the sea, than I, while I live, will forget the honour this day done me.' There is but a step, it has been said, between the sublime and the ludicrous, and in connexion with this scene we have heard an anecdote rather illustrative of the remark. An elderly washerwoman passing on the outskirts of the crowd, with a bundle of clothes on her back, was arrested by the sight of what she conceived to be a lunatic speaking from a window, and naïvely said, 'Puir man! can his freends no tak' him in!' On his re-election the students presented him with a silver bowl, which, in his will, he styles one of the jewels of his property.' At the same time a literary club was founded, and named after him, The Campbell Club,' which still exists in a flourishing state, and possesses an excellent library, many of the works having been donations from Campbell himself, who continued to be its patron till his death. From an elegant silver cup, presented to the club, the members on anniversary occasions have been wont, to drink the poet's health. Alas, they must now in solemn silence drink his memory! On the publication of Moore's Life of Byron, about the beginning of 1830, Mr Campbell's gallant feelings led him to espouse the cause of Lady Byron, who, he conceived, had been unjustly treated in that work. Her ladyship herself, it will be recollected, published an interesting letter on the occasion. The same year he re signed the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine, which he had conducted for ten years with acknowledged spirit and taste. He soon after established the Metropolitan, but did not long continue at its head. In 1830, too-to him an eventful year--he experienced the loss of his wife, who had for some time previously been in a state of mental alienation. Two sons were the fruit of his marriage, one of whom, a youth of great promise, died early; the other, after having been for years in a private asylum, under the care of Dr Matthew Allen, physician, High Beach, Essex, was, in September last, restored to society by the verdict of a jury, under a commission de lunatico inquirendo, which verdict declared him to be of sound mind. The poet's domestic calamities left their trace on the latter years of his life, and clouded the evening of his days; but, as long as he was able, he continued his literary occupations. The he published his life of Mrs Siddons. On the death, that Sir,-The anecdote respecting me that has gone the round of the newspapers is in so far true, that I wrote to the Earl Marshal requesting a ticket to the Abbey at the Coronation, and that the Earl sent me one with a polite note. But it is not true that I asked admission for a poor poet. I have no occasion to prefix that epithet to my name.-I am, Sir, yours respectfully, T. CAMPBELL.' So far from being a 'poor poet,' Campbell derived considerable profit from his writings, his poetry in particular; although, considering the surpassing merit of the latter, a remark which we have heard him make was correct enough in fact, viz., that his works had not produced him one-fiftieth part of what they ought to have done. It has been calculated that for the early editions of The Pleasures of Hope' he received in all more than £850. After the death of Mrs Campbell, he went into chambers, and for some years resided in a state of comparative loneliness, at No. 61 Lincoln's Inn Fields. His chambers were on the second floor, where he had a large well-furnished sitting-room, off which was his bed-room. One side of his principal room, all along, was arranged with shelves, like a library, which were full of books. In that room has the writer of this sketch passed many a pleasant and profitable hour with him, and he never shall forget the active benevolence and genuine kindliness of heart displayed by the poet on one occasion when he called upon him. On entering the room one forenoon in the year 1839, he found Mr Campbell busy looking over his books, while, near the fire-place, was seated an elderly gentlewoman in widow's weeds. He was desired to take a chair for a few minutes. Presently the poet disappeared into his bed-room, and returned with an armful of books, which he placed among a heap of others that he had collected together on the floor. 'There now,' he said, addressing the widow, these will help you a little, and I shall see what more I can do for you by the time you call again. I shall get them sent to you in the course of the day. The widow thanked him with tears in her eyes, and shaking her cordially by the hand, he wished her a good morning. On her departure, the poet said with great feeling That lady whom you saw just now is the widow of an early friend of mine, and as she is now in somewhat reduced circumstances, she wishes to open a little book and stationery shop, and I have been busy looking out all the books for which I have no use, to add to her stock. She has taken a small shop in the neigh-sources-so that this year I think I have done very well.' bourhood of town, and I shall do all I can to serve her, and forward her prospects, as far as my assistance and influence extend. Old times should not be forgotten.' He mentioned the name of the place, and asked if the writer had any acquaintances in the vicinity to whose notice he might recommend the widow, but was answered in the negative. The abstraction of the volumes he thus so generously bestowed on the poor widow made a sensible alteration on the appearance of his library. On another occasion, soon after this, when the writer introduced to him a friend of his of the name of Sinclair, he said, while he shook him by the hand, I am glad to see you, sir, your name recommends you to me,' adding, with much tenderness, my wife's name was Sinclair,' In 1832, the interest excited by the French conquest and colonization of Algiers induced him to pay it a visit, and on his return he furnished an account of his journey to the New Monthly Magazine, which he afterwards published under the name of Letters from the South,' in two volumes. He did not confine himself to Algiers, but made an excursion into the interior of the country as far as Mascara; and his work, with a great deal of light gossipping matter, contains much interesting information respecting Algiers and the various races inhabiting that part of Barbary. The same year, in conjunction with the Polish poet Niemcewiez, Prince Czartoryski, and others, he founded the society styled the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland. He also originated the Clarence Club, where he occasionally dined. În 1834 | From the various editions of his poems, which he was always bringing out, and which sold rapidly, he must have acquired considerable sums. Following the example of Rogers in his 'Italy,' he published an edition, beautifully illustrated by Turner and Harvey. Of the cheap edition of his poetical works, published by Moxon, about ten thousand copies were sold in one week! He once thus summed up his income for one year-it was either in 1839 or 1840, the writer of this does not now recollect which, but he thinks it was the former year-From the sale of the large edition of my poems,' he said, 'I have received £300, and from that of the small edition £600-then there's my pension £300, and about £150 from other These sales might have extended over a larger period than a year, but generally his receipts, from the different editions, yielded him, in his latter years, annually about £400. With regard to the amount of his pension, several erroneous statements have been published. In one paper it is said to have been £187, and in another nominally £100, but on deduction of the duty, no more than £83. Beattie had a pension of £200, and Moore and some other authors of the present day have £300, if, indeed, in Moore's case, it does not amount to more. The writer, on the occasion above referred to, heard from Campbell's own lips that his pension from Government was £300. The portrait of the Queen which, shortly after the coronation, was sent to Mr Campbell from her Majesty, and which he mentions in such special terms in his will, was highly prized by him. Always when he spoke of it he was in an ecstacy of admiration and excitement. It was, or rather is, a large full-length engraving, enclosed in a splendid frame, and was hung up in his sitting-room in Lincoln's Inn Fields, on the same side as the fire-place, but nearer the window. The writer of this called upon him a day or two after he received it, and the explanation he then gave of the way in which it was presented to him, is so nearly alike what has already appeared regard ing it, that it may be given here in nearly the same words. Indeed, he was so much flattered by the unexpected compliment of a present of her portrait from his sovereign, that he must have spoken of it in a somewhat simi lar manner to every one on terms of intimacy with him, who about that time happened to come into his company. 'I was at her Majesty's coronation in Westminster Abbey,' said Campbell, and she conducted herself so well, during the long and fatiguing ceremony, that I shed tears many times. On returning home, I resolved, out of pure esteem and veneration, to send her a copy of all my works. Accordingly, I had them bound up, and went personally with them to Sir Henry Wheatley, who, when he understood my errand, told me that her Majesty made it a rule to decline presents of this kind, as it placed her under obligations which were unpleasant to her. Say to her Majesty, Sir Henry, I replied, that there is not a single thing the Queen can touch with her sceptre in any of her dominions which I covet, and I therefore entreat you, in your office, to present them with my devotion as a subject. Sir Henry then promised to comply with my request; but next day they were returned. I hesitated,' continued Campbell, to open the parcel, but, on doing so, I found, to my inexpressible joy, a note enclosed desiring my autograph upon them. Having complied with the wish, I again transmitted the books to her Majesty, and the course of a day or two received in return this elegant engraving, with her Majesty's autograph, as you see below. He then directed particular attention to the royal signature, which was in her Majesty's usual bold and beautiful hand-writing. In 1842, his 'Pilgrim of Glencoe, and other poems,' appeared, dedicated to his friend and physician Dr William Beattie, whom he also named one of his executors; Mr William Moxon, of the Middle Temple, brother of Mr Edward Moxon, his publisher, being the other. He also wrote a Life of Petrarch, and a year or two before his death he edited the Life of Frederick the Great, published by Colburn. In this year, that is in 1812, he again visited Germany. On one occasion, in the writer's presence, he expressed a strong desire to go to Greece, but he never carried that intention into effect, probably from the want of a companion. On his return from Germany, with which he was now become familiar, he took a house at No. 8 Victoria Square, Pimlico, and devoted his time to the education of his niece, Miss Mary Campbell, a Glasgow lady, whom he took to live with him. But his health, which had long been in a declining state, began to give way rapidly. He was no longer the man he was; the energy of his body and mind was gone, and in the summer of 1843 he retired to Boulogne, where at first he derived benefit from the change of air and scene. But this did not continue long, and he gradually grew feebler; he seldom went into society, and for some months before his death he corresponded but little with his friends in this country. A week before his decease Dr Beattie was sent for from London, and on his arrival at Boulogne he found him much worse than he had anticipated. The hour was approaching when the spirit of the Poet of Hope was to quit this transitory scene, and return to God who gave it. On Saturday afternoon, the 15th June, 1844, he breathed his last, in the presence of his niece, his friend Dr Beattie, and his medical attendants. His last hours were marked by calmness and resignation. The Rev. Mr Hassell, an English clergyman, was also with Mr Campbell at the time of his death. By his will, dated in November, 1842, he left all his property to his niece. It is short, and as it is an interesting document of itself, it may be inserted here. The personal property of the poet, it is stated, was sworn under £2000. The following is the will: This is the last will and testament of me, Thomas Campbell, LL.D., now resident at No. 8 Victoria Square, in the county of Middlesex. Whereas, under and by virtue of the will of Archibald Macarthur Stewart, late of Ascog, deceased, my only son, Thomas Telford Campbell, will, upon my decease, be entitled to a certain sum of money, which I deem a competent provision for him, I do not, therefore, intend to make any provision for him by this my will. 'I give and bequeath the silver bowl, presented to me by the students of Glasgow when I was rector of that university, and the copy of the portrait of her Majesty Queen Victoria, which was sent to me by the Queen herself (and which two articles I reckon the jewels of my property), and also all and every my manuscripts and copyrights of my compositions, whether in prose or verse, and the vignettes which have illustrated my poems, and also all and every my books, prints, pictures, furniture, plate, money, personal estate, and effects whatsoever and wheresoever, whereof I may die possessed, after and subject to the payment of my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses, which I do direct to be paid as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, unto my niece, Mary Campbell, the daughter of my deceased brother Alexander Campbell, late of Glasgow, for her own sole and separate use and benefit. And I do hereby appoint my staunch and inestimable friend, Dr William Beattie, of No. 6 Park Square, Regent's Park, in the said county of Middlesex, and William Moxon, of the Middle Temple, Esq., to be executors of this my will, and also to act as guardians to my said son; and I revoke all former and other wills and testamentary dispositions by me at any time heretofore made, and declare this only to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand, the seventh day of November, 1812. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 'Signed, published, and declared by the testator, Thomas Campbell, as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, present at the same time, who in his presence, and at his request, have subscribed our names as witnesses. EDWARD CLIFFORD, 9 Ranelagh Grove, Pimlico. 'HENRY MOXON, 67 Ebury Street, Eaton Square.' Campbell's funeral was worthy of his fame. He was buried in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey, on Wednesday, July 3, 1844. The funeral was attended by` a large body of noblemen and gentlemen, and by several of the most eminent authors of the day. Mr Alexander Campbell and Mr Wiss, two nephews of the deceased poet, with his executors, were the chief mourners; and the pall was borne by Sir Robert Peel, the Earl of Aberdeen, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Morpeth, Lord Brougham, Lord Campbell, Lord Dudley Coutts Stuart, and Lord Leigh. The corpse was followed by a large number of members of Parliament and other distinguished gentleThe following interesting account of the funeral was written by an American, who was present among the crowd of spectators on the mournful occasion: men. 'At twelve o'clock the procession, which had been formed in the Jerusalem Chamber, adjoining the abbey, came in sight, as you looked through the length of the abbey towards the western door. All you could see at first, at this immense distance, was a dark mass, and so slowly did the procession advance that it scarcely seemed to move. As it came near, every voice was hushed, and beside the solemn tramp of the procession, the only voice audible was the voice of the clergyman echoing along the vaulted passages, I am the resurrection and the life.' Borne before the coffin were a number of mourning plumes, so arranged as to correspond with it in shape. When the procession halted, and the coffin was laid upon the temporary scaffold before the desk, the plumes were placed upon it. There was no other attempt at splendour. All was as simple as in the most ordinary funeral solemnity. It was a grand spectacle, and such as I never expect to see again. Not merely the nobles of the land, but its ablest men, who from day to day are directing the destinies of the mightiest monarchy on the globe, and whose names will live in after times, were bearing the remains of the departed poet to the hallowed palace of the dead. Among the pall-bearers were Lord Brougham, Sir Robert Peel, and Lord Aberdeen; and among the mourners, Macaulay, D'Israeli, Lockhart, and many others known to fame. I had hoped to see Wordsworth, and perhaps Carlyle, but neither of them were there. The burial service was read by the Rev. Dr Millman [canon of Westminster, and rector of St Margaret's], author of 'the Siege of Jerusalem,' 'History of the Jews,' and other works. At the close of the service, the plumes were taken from the coffin and the body lowered into the grave. As the mourners gathered around the opening, the sound of what seemed distant thunder called my attention to the windows. It was a dull dark day, and I supposed for a moment that a storm was at hand, till the sweet strain of a beautiful melody, from the organ in the choir, in the rear, undeceived me. Then followed again the rumbling of thunder, like the marching of mighty masses of the dead, varied occasionally by snatches of harmony, and conveying an impression of unutterable solemnity. It was the Dead March in Saul! There was one part of the ceremony more impressive still. A deputation from the Polish Association was present, in addition to the Poles who attended as mourners, and when the officiating clergyman arrived at that portion of the ceremony in which dust is consigned to dust, one of the number [Colonel Szyrma] took a handful of dust, brought for the occasion from the tomb of Kosciusko, and scattered it upon the coffin. It was a worthy tribute to the memory of him who has done so much to immortalise the man and the cause; and not the less impressive because so perfectly simple. At the conclusion of the service, the solemn peals of the organ again reverberated for some minutes through the aisles of the abbey, and the procession retired as it came. The barrier with iron spikes, which protected the mourners from the jostling of the crowd, was then removed, and there was a rush to get a sight of the coffin. After waiting a little while, I succeeded in looking into the grave, and read the inscription on the large gilt plate THOMAS CAMPBELL, LL.D., 'On visiting the abbey the next day, I found the stone over the grave so carefully replaced that a stranger would never suspect there had been a recent interment. To those who may hereafter visit this spot, it may be interesting to know that it is situated between the monument of Addison and the opposite pillar, not far from that of Goldsmith, and closely adjoining that of Sheridan. His most christian wish is accomplished. He lies in the Poet's Corner, surrounded by the tombs and monuments of kings, statesmen, warriors, and scholars, in the massy building, guarded with religious care, and visited from all parts of the land with religious veneration. Ah! did he think of that more glorious resting-place, where the spirits of the just made perfect find an eternal home!' One tribute of admiration of his genius and respect for his memory remains to be paid, namely, the erection of a monument to his memory in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey. This, too, will be done. A committee has been formed, composed of noblemen and gentlemen, to raise, by subscription, a sufficient fund for the purpose, that future generations may be directed to the spot where his dust reposes, till the last trump shall sound,' and Hope, springing with him from the tomb, 'shall light its torch at nature's funeral pile.' In person, Mr Campbell was rather under the middle size, well made, and, in his younger days, remarkably fascinating in his appearance. His eyes, which were large and of a deep blue colour, had a quiet poetical expression about them; and his face, altogether, was handsome and manly. He wore a wig of chestnut brown. In conversation he was animated and agreeable, frank and unreserved. He had great sociability, and an exhaustless fund of anecdote; and his manner was marked by affability and kindness. In all matters relating to poetry and criticism he was thoroughly versant, and was fond of discoursing on the beauties of the Greek and English writers, occasionally enriching his remarks by quotations. As a poet, his fame will rest securely on 'The Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming,' and on his spiritstirring lyrics, particularly The Battle of the Baltic,' 'Ye Mariners of England,' and 'Hohenlinden.' To him eminently belongs the character of being the most classical of our modern poets. None of them all has shown the same originality and elegance, the same purity and freedom, and, notwithstanding his fastidiousness, the same energy of thought and style. It has been well said that a poet should be read with faith; but Campbell will be read not only with faith but with affection; and he will be read with safety too. The high moral tone of his verse is not the least of its many merits. There is not a sentiment throughout all his poetry, so far as we remember, that can be deemed objectionable-not a line which, 'dying, he himself need have wished to blot.' EMULATION. EMULATION, taken in its restricted and exact sense, may be defined as that principle by which we are incited to cope with others whose path of exertion runs parallel to our own. There are two affections of the mind partially resembling this, from both of which it is of consequence to distinguish it. Ambition and envy are certainly to be viewed as two varieties of the same general tendency. The aim of the former exceeds that of emulation. There is embraced in it, as a co-element with the desire of distinction, an avidity of power. The ambitious man will not be satisfied with quiescent and contemplative superiority; his ultimate and proper object-an object the losing sight of which would denude him of the quality in question-is the vigorous and continued assertion of his anticipated ascendancy. The aim of emulation is praise, that of ambition is power. A mind under the influence of the one feeling looks beyond the contest to the otium cum dignitate, the blended distinction and repose in which it is expected to issue; a mind actuated by the other only contemplates the struggle as introductory to the toils of a higher sphere. Of the insignia of success, those of emulation are the robe and the crown, those of ambition the sword and the sceptre. If a difference is thus perceptible between two emotions, each of which, though vicious in excess, is essentially good and praiseworthy, that, surely, subsisting between either and a third essentially evil and reprehensible, although in one aspect resembling the others, cannot be difficult of detection. To dilate on the distinction between envy and ambition is foreign to the design of this paper. Perhaps the latter of these dispositions is at a still more appreciable remove from the former than emulation is, the purely benevolent feelings being more decidedly implied in the right exercise of power, than in the mere possession of superiority. Our present plan, however, only requires us to distinguish emulation from envy. The line of demarcation is bold and broad. Envy, we have said, is in its own nature an evil affection; emulation, existing in proper measure, a good. The one has been habitually present to the bosoms of the best and most illustrious of the human race, and we have strong grounds for concluding that it is common with ours to superior natures; the other is the characteristic of the vicious and depraved among men, and if harboured by an angel would transform him into a fiend. Emulation springs from a due regard to our own character and position, a wish for such advancement in any pursuit as may procure for us the approval of our own consciences, and also the esteem and good offices of our fellows; envy is a state of mind usually resulting from culpable inferiority, in which the depression or downfall of a competitor is the one thing contemplated and desired. A man,' says Lord Bacon, 'that hath no virtue in himself ever envieth virtue in others, for men's minds will either feed upon their own good or upon others' evil; and who wanteth the one will play upon the other, and whoso is out of hope to attain another's virtue, will seek to come at even hand by depressing another's fortune.' The one feeling is a just and proper mode of self-love; the other is a wicked perversion of that law of our being, making evil its good, turning the successes of other men into gall and bitterness to the |