* * * *

;

sincere tongue can more properly express than a feather and a drop of ink can do, the cordial interest I feel in your respectable publication, and the pride and pleasure it would afford me to contribute to its success. But to write one verse, when the very mood does not happen to fall upon me is, I assure you upon my honour, more than I can tax my muse withal. I know well that in saying so, I run the risk-even with you, who possess the uncatholic quality of candour in a high degree of appearing to speak with affectation. But it is not so. I have twice or thrice in my life (perhaps a strait-laced critic would say more than twice or thrice, judging by many a bad line in my pieces), tried to write as a duty. I can only say of the verses I then wrote, that they were not good—and in poetry, there is no bearing the purgatorial state of mediocrity. I am not fond of being congratulated upon several pieces that appeared in ; and I have vowed never to write except when I can't help it. One power, however, is still left, when we abjure writing as a duty, viz., that of guiding our imaginations, as far as they will be piloted, to the particular object we wish to adopt. I do not despair of feeling, at some happy moment, an enthusiasm in the Welsh air-which is indeed a fine strain-that may enable me to give you something worthy of your collection; but I cannot promise, with any confidence in my own accidental propensity to rhyme, any song that is yet unwritten; for if I sat on purpose to write a song, I am sure it would be vapid. There was a man, indeed, who, if now living, could have handled the British harp with the hand of a master; and would to God he had lived to do justice to other music besides that of Scotland! The unpremeditated effusions of his great mind cost him no effort the god was ever upon him. The facility of his talents in clothing music with poetry, must strike upon you-as I feel it most humbly

myself as a bright contrast to that uncertainty of the creative imagination, which I am bound to acknowledge. I feel the gulf that divides us, and can only regret my inability. If the song on the " Invasion" be of any service, it may perhaps suit some out-of-the-way tune. As to the Sea-song, Mr. Ferrari might have printed it without my

consent.

Everything here speaks, thinks, and reminds us of invasion. Our volunteers are under orders to march at an hour's notice; that is one reason why I cannot leave London, without deserting my corps. Rumours of dreadful import are circulated regarding Ireland, which may not be printed. Here, as well as there, will be a bloody tussle. It strikes me with an odd sensation, to see the very broadgrin humour of Old England tinged with the horrible. All our caricatures in the print shops are red with bloody figures of Buonaparte's heart and brains. We shall soon have the originals of both; but it is an impressive era in that species of our history-for history will be better understood a hundred years hence by caricatures than by annals. "Bella-horrida bella-atque flavum Tybrim spumantem sanguine cerno."-But let us, my dear countryman, never think of outliving our liberty!-With my best compliments to all your family, I am, dear sir, yours,

THOS. CAMPBELL.

In a letter to his sister Mary, who had promptly furnished him with a loan to meet his increased expenditure, at this important crisis, the Poet thus lays open his heart and prospects:

TO MISS CAMPBELL.

"PIMLICO, October 2, 1803.

"MY DEAR MARY,

"Since the receipt of your last-indeed your two last letters, I have had a slight fever of cold, and am to-day, for the first time, on my legs again. The money I duly received, and will send you a draft on Mundell for it in as short time as possible. In the meantime I feel grateful for this temporary accommodation, for I cannot get in any money from my subscribers but guinea by guinea, and cannot muster even a few of these together. As you knew Mundell to be my bookseller, I thought it unnecessary to say that his house is the depôt of my subscriptions.

"Your kind inquiries respecting my future prospects, I cannot answer with any certainty; but this I can say, that if extraordinary crosses and vexations do not break in upon my peace of mind, I shall feel myself entirely able to support myself in London with credit and éclat. I have but few rivals in my own way in the literary world, and find my station in literature such as will, with a very, very little money in my pocket, (just sufficient to get over the necessity of asking for employment) enable me to command my own terms with the booksellers. It is not possible, however, to predict entire prosperity; and indeed I never regarded myself as the child of a lucky family.

"The plan I am at present pursuing is the best to insure industry—and that is doing much. Without a home, and such a home as I have now made to myself, I declare it was utterly impossible for me to pursue any course of industry. My disposition in solitude is so prone to melancholy, that when I lived alone, in lodgings, I was for days incapable of working at the slightest task, and could not even stir out of doors. In the cheerful company of the lady I have

chosen, I found a perpetual serenity of mind, such as no mixed or even select society could impart. This determined me to hazard everything for such a companion.

“There is every probability in favour of my industry now; for I am habitually contented and disposed to write from morning to night.-Give me but the continuance of this propensity, and if vexations from external quarters do not come in upon my balance of mind, I shall ask no other blessing from Heaven but the habit of industry. Luckily, my wife is as domestic as myself. She sits all day beside me at her seam, and, except to receive such visitors as cannot be denied, we sit for ever at our respective vocations.-I ask no more from Heaven than to be allowed calmly, and peaceably, to work for my bread in this manner; and if I can only do so, there is no earthly doubt that my circumstances will expandnot to competency, but to wealth. This is a full and true picture of my present situation and future prospects.

CHAPTER XVII.

LETTERS TO DR. CURRIE.

[THESE interesting letters, from Campbell to Dr. Currie, reached me some months too late for insertion [in VOLS. I. and II.] 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 favour, that you have recommended me to a friend so truly valuable. Captain and General Moorebrothers in worth as well as relationship-called upon me in consequence of your letter. letter. We had a long and interesting conversation, and, I may safely say, got as well acquainted in a forenoon as ceremonious visitants could

VOL. I.

* See Vol. I., pp. 241-326.

G G