nauseous. Sir John soars high, or rather burrows low.* "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," came at last, without the night-mare, to relieve me. Morning

came. I took a solitary walk before breakfast near the water side. "We sat by the rivers of Minto and sighed, when we thought of Edinburgh!" This day has been usefully spent in learning the geography of Castle Minto, and mapping it—as Sydney Smith says-upon my mind. Dark and comfortless evening is now coming on; the lords and ladies are laughing in the room below me, while I sit at a window that looks northward, and cast many a pitiful look to that quarter where you are sitting down to evening happiness, in such a home as the world scarcely shows.

I am indulging no whimsical ennui, but a strong and delightful gratitude to Heaven for having given me such friends. The present loss of your society I should not regret, if we had been longer acquainted; but in maturing that acquaintance, I conceive myself to be trying an interesting experiment upon my own character. If I succeed, I shall stand better in my own estimation; interruption, however, is disagreeable while I feel so desirous to learn from experience whether I am worthy of your esteem. The curiosity to see one's own character, as it is reflected in the mirror of another's mind, is surely an honest passion. I have seen myself in others' mindssometimes not to my own admiration. Was the reflection false, or the object itself disagreeable?

* In respect to this author, Campbell's opinion coincides with that of "the gentle Cowper," who says, in a letter to Mr. Rose-" I am reading Sir John Hawkins, and still hold the same opinion of his book as when you were here. There are in it undoubtedly some awkwardnesses of phrase, and, which is worse, here and there some unequivocal indications of a vanity not easily pardonable in a man of his years; but on the whole I find it amusing-and to me, at least, to whom every thing that has passed in the literary world within the last five-and-twenty years is new, sufficiently replete with information."-January 13, 1789.

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

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!

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 vicâ 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.