From Zara the course of the narrative takes us to Sebenico, a town

situated on the inner side of the lake or bay into which the waters

of the Kerka debouch. It is one of the coaling stations of the

steamer; and, when the time of arrival will allow such concession,

the passengers are permitted to take a trip in a four-oared boat,

to visit the falls of the Kerka. Here the costume of the women

is noticed as being singularly graceful. In coasting along from

Sebenico to Spalato, the headland of la Planca is remarkable. Near

it is a little church which is famous in local chronicle for having

once upon a time served as a trap, wherein an ass caught a wolf. How

this marvellous feat was accomplished, we will not just now stop

to tell, but must refer the curious to the book itself. This point

is also remarkable, because here begins abruptly a change in the

climate. Some plants unknown to the northward begin to appear; and

henceforward, to one proceeding southward, the dreaded Scirocco will

be a more frequent infliction. To the southward of la Planca, this

objectionable wind is constantly blowing; and at Spalato, we are

told, it assumes for its allowance 100 days out of the 365. Apropos

to the Scirocco, we have an episode on _anemology_, and are taught

how the old Greeks and Romans used to box the compass--at least

how they would have done so, had they had compasses to box. In the

distance, to the south of the promontory of la Planca, is the island

of Lissa, famous in modern history for Sir William Hoste's action

in 1811. "Such an action," says James, "stands unrivalled in the

annals of the naval history of Great Britain, or that of any other

country, from the great disproportion in numerical force, as well

as the beauty and address of its manœuvres; it stands surpassed

by none in the spirit and enterprise with which it was encountered,

and carried through to a successful issue." There is not much risk

in making this assertion, when we consider that on that occasion

the French squadron consisted of four forty-gun frigates, two of

a smaller class, a sixteen-gun corvette, a ten-gun schooner, one

six-gun xebec, and two gunboats; and that the English squadron was

of three frigates, and one twenty-two gunship. Lissa was also famous

in the time of the Romans, being then called Issa. We have a notice

of its history, and then pass on to Bua, and so to Spalato.

Concerning Spalato details are given, as might be expected, at

some length. Much is told us of its past and present condition;

in fact, there is presented to us a very sufficient assemblage of

_indicia_ concerning it. We recommend any one who wishes to enjoy

a visit to Spalato to take with him this book, and chapter 13th of

Gibbon. The extract from Porphyrogenitus, given by Gibbon, tells us

what the palace of Diocletian was; and Sir Gardner Wilkinson tells

us what it is now, and what has been its history. Besides verbal

description, his pencil affords some apt illustrations of the actual

condition of the buildings. We see by these, and by his account,

that the treasures of Spalatine architecture have been obscured by

the building up of modern edifices on their sites. "The stranger,"

he says, "is shocked to see windows of houses through the arches of

the court, intercolumniations filled up with petty shops, and the

peristyle of the great temple masked by modern houses." Doubtless,

many a precious relic has been appropriated by modern barbarians to

common uses, and so perished out of sight. But with joy we learn

that the government has taken measures to prevent the continuance of

such destruction, and that the remaining monuments are safe, however

they may be mixed up with the houses and shops of the present

generation. We are told that, under the care of the present director

of antiquarian researches, there is good reason to hope that the

collection at Spalato may become truly valuable. The high character

of Professor Carrara is a sure warrant that all will be done which

is within scope of the means afforded. But as the government

allowance for excavations at Salona is only £80 yearly, we cannot

think that the work is likely to proceed rapidly. While we condemn

as barbarous this carelessness on the part of the Austrians, we must

bear in mind that we are open to a retort of the censure. We neglect

altogether the remains of Samos in Cephalonia, and nothing at all

is allowed for the expense of operations there; yet these remains

are very extensive, and there is every reason to believe that their

actual condition would amply repay a diligent search.

We must stop here a moment to congratulate Sir Gardner, on his

rencontre with the sphinx.

"A captive when he gazes on the light,

A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,"

and so forth, are the only people who may venture to talk of Sir

Gardner's delight at the sight of a sphinx, or a mummy. With great

gusto he gives the description of the black granite sphinx, in the

court of the palace, near the vestibule; and in the drawing which he

has made of the same court, the sphinx is conspicuous.

From Spalato to Salona, is a distance of some three miles and a

half, by a good carriage-road. This road crosses the Jader, or Il

Giadro--a stream so famous for its trout, that it has been thought

necessary seriously to prove that it was _not_ for the sake of

these--not in order that of them he might eat his _soûl_ in peace

and quietness--that Diocletian retired from the command of the world.

Salona is rich in antiquarian remains, though nothing is extant

to redeem from improbability the testimony of Porphyrogenitus,

that Salona was half the size of Constantinople. Of its origin no

record exists, nor is much known of its history till the time of

Julius Cæsar. Subsequently to that era it was subject to various

fortunes, and bore various titles. At last, in Christian times it

became a Bishop's see, and was occupied by 61 bishops in succession.

Diocletian was its great embellisher and almost rebuilder. Later

in the day, we find that it was from Salona that Belisarius set

out in 544, when recalled to the command of the army of Justinian,

and intrusted with the conduct of the war against Totila. The town

remained populous and fortified, till destroyed by the Avars in 639.

These ferocious barbarians having established themselves in Clissa,

the terror of their propinquity scared away the Salonitans. The

terrified inhabitants, after a short and ineffectual resistance,

fled to the islands. The town was pillaged and burnt, and from that

time Salona has been deserted and in ruins.

"With these historical facts before us, it is interesting to

observe the present state of the place, which affords many

illustrations of past events. The positions of its defences,

repaired at various times, may be traced: an inscription lately

discovered by Professor Carrara, shows that its walls and towers

were repaired by Valentinian II., and Theodosius; and the ditch

of Constantianus is distinctly seen on the north side. Here and

there, it has been filled up with earth and cultivated; but its

position cannot be mistaken, and in places its original breadth

may be ascertained. A very small portion of the wall remains

on the east side, and nearly all traces of it are lost towards

the river: but the northern portion is well preserved, and the

triangular front, or salient angle of many of its towers, may be

traced.

"In the western part of the town are the theatre, and what is

called the amphitheatre. Of the former, some portion of the

proscenium remains, as well as the solid tiers of arches, built

of square stone, with bevelled edges, about 6-1/4 feet diameter,

and 10 feet apart."

We have a good description of the annual fair of Salona. The

description will be suggestive of picturesque recollections to

those who have seen the open air festivities celebrated by the

orthodox--_i. e._ by the children of the Greek Church, about Easter

time. We can take it upon ourselves to recommend highly the lambs,

wont to be roasted whole on these occasions. The culinary apparatus

is rude--consisting merely of a few sticks for a fire, and another

stick to be used as a spit--but the result of their operations is

most satisfactory.

"All Spalato is of course at the fair; and the road to Salona

is thronged with carriages of every description, horsemen,

and pedestrians. The mixture of the men's hats, red caps, and

turbans, and the bonnets and Frank dresses of the Spalatine

ladies, contrasted with the costume of the country women,

presents one of the most singular sights to be soon in Europe,

and to a stranger the language adds in no small degree to the

novelty. Some business is done as well as pleasure; and a great

number of cattle, sheep, and pigs are bought and sold--as well

as various stuffs, trinkets, and the usual goods exhibited at

fairs. Long before mid-day, the groups of peasants have thronged

the road, not to say street, of Salona; some attend the small

church, picturesquely placed upon a green, surrounded by the

small streams of the Giadro, and shaded with trees; while others

rove about, seeking their friends, looking at, and looked at by

strangers, as they pass; and all are intent on the amusements of

the day, and the prospect of a feast.

"Eating and drinking soon begin. On all sides sheep are seen

roasting whole on wooden spits, in the open air; and an entire

flock is speedily converted into mutton. Small knots of hungry

friends are formed in every direction: some seated on a bank

beneath the trees, others in as many houses as will hold them;

some on grass by the road-side, regardless of sun and dust--and

a few quiet families have boats prepared for their reception.

"In the mean time, the hat-wearing townspeople from Spalato

and other places, as they pace up and down, bowing to an

occasional acquaintance, view with complacent pity the

primitive recreations of the simple peasantry; and arm-in-arm,

civilisation, with its propriety and affectation, is here

strangely contrasted with the hearty laugh of the unrefined

Morlacchi."

We do not know the country where men will meet together and eat

without drinking also: at the al-fresco entertainments of this

kind which we have seen, the kegs of wine have ever been in goodly

proportion to the spitted lambs. And wherever a mob of men set to

drinking together, they will most assuredly take to fighting. The

rows at this fair used to be considerable; and, considering that

more wine is said to be consumed here on this one day than during

the whole of the rest of the year, we cannot be surprised that

fights should come off worthy of Donnybrook. At present, better

order is preserved than of old, because these rows have been so

excessive that they have enforced the attendance of the police.

At this fair is to be seen the picturesque _collo_ dance of the

Morlacchi, of which our author affords a capital pencil-sketch, as

well as the following description:--

"It sometimes begins before dinner, but is kept up with greater

spirit afterwards. They call it _collo_, from being, like most

of their national dances, in a circle. A man generally has

one partner, sometimes two, but always at his right side. In

dancing, he takes her right hand with his, while she supports

herself by holding his girdle with her left; and when he has two

partners, the one nearest him holds in her right hand that of

her companion, who, with her left, takes the right hand of the

man; and each set dances forward in a line round the circle. The

step is rude, as in most of the Slavonic dances, including the

polka and the _radovatschka_; and the music, which is primitive,

is confined to a three-stringed violin."

Dancing for dancing's sake, is what enters into no Englishman's

category of the enjoyable, nor into many an Englishwoman's either,

we should think, after the passage out of her teens; but that it is,

in sober earnest, an enjoyment to many people under the sun, there

is no doubt. Surely there is something wonderful in the faculty of

finding pleasure in the elephantine manœuvres of the _romaika_,

or in the still more clumsy gyrations of a _palicari's_ performance.

The _collo_ we readily believe to be a picturesque dance: but such

qualification is not the general condition on which the people

of a nation accept dances as national. Most of these exhibitions

in Greece and Eastern Europe must be condemned as graceless and

unmeaning: as an exhibition of earnest tomfoolery, they may be

accepted as wonderful; and, at all events, may safely be pronounced

co-excellent with the music that inspires them.

In passing from Salona to Traü, a distance of about thirteen miles

and a half to the westward, the traveller passes by several of the

villages called Castelli. The name has been given them from the

circumstance of their having been built near to, and under the

protection of, the castles which, in the fifteenth and sixteenth

centuries, were constructed here by some of the nobles.

"The land was granted to them by the Venetians, on condition

of their erecting places of refuge for the peasants during the

wars with the Turks. A body of armed men lived within them, and,

on the approach of danger, the flocks and herds were protected

beneath the walls; and, at harvest time, the peasantry had a

place of security for their crops within range of the castle

guns."

The rights of lordship over the villages, which used to be exercised

by the nobles in virtue of the protection afforded, have nearly

all fallen into disuse. The only relic of feudalism that seems to

survive is found at Castel Cambio, over which two nobles still

possess certain rights. One of these was the hospitable host of Sir

Gardner, and his friend Professor Carrara, on their passage to and

from Traü.

A fact connected with the peculiarity of the position of this town

is, we think, well worthy of notice, and deservedly recorded by our

author. The town stands partly on a peninsula, and partly on the

island of Bua. A fosse, cut across the narrow neck of the peninsula,

has completed its isolation. This ditch has proved, on occasion, the

most effectual of fortifications to the Traürines. They were, in

1241, besieged by the Tartars in pursuit of King Bela IV., who had

fled hither before them. These impetuous assailants were unable to

pass the ditch; and, having waited on the other side till food and

forage were exhausted, they were obliged to retire. One cannot read

this story without thinking of the account that Sir Francis Head

gives of the La Plata Indians, whose habits of warfare are in many

respects so exactly akin to those of the Tartars. These terrific

horsemen would be scarcely resistible by their less robust enemies,

save for their inability to cross anything in the shape of a ditch.

Out of the saddle they can do nothing, and their horses will not

leap; so that, if you wish to be safe from their inroads, you have

but to surround your dwellings with a moderate trench. And very

striking is the story that Sir Francis Head tells of the handful

of men who, under such protection, held out successfully against a

host of Indians. Traü, however, has been elaborately fortified in

European fashion, though now the works are neglected, as being a

useless precaution against dangers no longer existent. It has also a

fine old cathedral, and some pictures of pretension.

After a brief notice of the islands of Brazza and Solta--a notice,

however, sufficient for all useful purposes--we pass on to the

picturesque neighbourhood of the falls of the Kerka. Sir Gardner

speaks of the delay to which the passage by boat from Sebenico to

Scardona is subject, but does not exactly complain of it. In fact,

we can easily understand that, for the sake of the passenger, it

is expedient that some authoritative note should be taken of his

departure under charge of the particular boatmen who undertake his

convoy. We never did ascend to Kerka, but from what we have seen

of the class of men under whose guidance the expedition has to be

performed, we are disposed to vote the caution of the police to be

anything but superfluous. Every now and then one hears dreadful

stories of the atrocities of boatmen in convenient parts of the

Mediterranean; and there is good reason to be thankful that the

Austrians think it worth while to be so careful of strangers.

The people about Sebenico, through whose lands the course of

the lake leads, are spoken of as not paying much attention to

agriculture or to their fisheries; but it seems that they are

sedulously bent on raising grapes, and neglect no patch of ground at

all likely to be available for this purpose. The lake of Scardona

is considerably larger than that of Sebenico. On the shore here

the Romans had a settlement, of which scarcely any remains are

perceptible. They are, however, remarkable as affording a manifest

proof of the rise of the level of the lake, for some of them are

under water.

Scardona, we are told, does not occupy the site of the old Scardon,

which was a place of considerable importance under the empire. Some

have even imagined that the old city stood on the opposite bank of

the river. The town at present is small, but well furnished for the

convenience of strangers. It boasts an inn, at which Sir Gardner put

up for one night. He then proceeded to the falls, which are distant

from the inn a three-quarters-of-an-hour journey. As he intended

to ascend the river above the falls, he had to send to the monks

of Vissovaz to ask for a boat, and they readily complied with his

request. The falls do not seem to have been full on the occasion

of this visit--but, when full, the effect must be striking. They

are divided into two parts, and their picturesque effect is greatly

enhanced by the surrounding scenery.

At a distance of a few minutes' walk up the river, above the falls,

the boat was waiting to transport Sir Gardner to the convent of

Vissovaz. It is to this fraternity that we have before alluded, as

being the sole mill-owners on the Kerka. Their convent must indeed

be beautifully situated, and we can quite enter into the eulogium

bestowed on it. The fathers are of the Franciscan order. The name

of Vissovaz is of curious allusion; and as probably few of our

courteous readers will be the worse for a little help in the matter

of Slavonian etymology, we may as well tell them that its import

is "the place of hanging." Not a very complimentary or well-omened

name, certainly, we would think at first sight; but we see that it

is so when we learn that the allusion is to the martyrdom of two

priests, who were hanged here by the Turkish governor of Scardona.

By the record left of the event, we cannot see that the death of

these unfortunate victims was in any sense martyrdom: they were

cruelly and unjustly put to death, but for a cause entirely worldly.

However, they were Christians, and their murderers were Turks; and

this has been enough to constitute a claim to canonisation in more

places than at Vissovaz.

Sir Gardner arrived at the picturesque, red-tiled convent in time

for dinner; but as the day happened to be a fast, the fare provided

was not sufficiently tempting to induce a wish to stay. He therefore

was preparing, with many thanks, to take his leave of the good

fathers, and proceed on his journey, when he found himself brought

up by an unexpected difficulty. He was informed that he could not

proceed except by favour of the monks of the Greek convent of St

Archangelo, another religious house still farther up the stream.

His hospitable entertainers readily volunteered to send in quest of

the requisite assistance. These are the conditions of travelling,

because there are no carriages for hire hereaway, nor any boats

to let. The Franciscans had volunteered to do what, when it came

to the point, was found to be rather an awkward thing. No great

cordiality subsists generally between the Latins and the orthodox.

Each charges the other with destructive heresy; and doubtless both

of these great branches of the church esteem a Protestant safe,

by comparison with the arch-heretics that they each see the other

to be. Thus, though dwelling on the confines of Christendom, and

in a solitude that might have rendered them neighbourly, we find

that very little intercourse takes place between the two religious

establishments. Accordingly, the writing of the letter was found to

be no easy affair; and their guest saw them lay their heads together

in consultation, after a fashion that boded ill for the prospects

of his journey. They confessed themselves to be in a fix; and were

afraid of exposing themselves to some affront if, contrary to their

wont, they should open a communication with the Greeks, asking of

them a favour.

"'Did you ever go as far as the convent?' said an old father

to a more restless and locomotive Franciscan, and a negative

answer seemed to put an end to the incipient letter; when one of

the party suggested that those Greeks had shown themselves very

civil on some occasion, and the writer of the epistle once more

resumed his spectacles and his pen. 'They are,' he observed,

'after all, like ourselves, and must be glad to see a stranger

who comes from afar; and besides, our letter may have the effect

of commencing a friendly intercourse with them, which we may

have no reason to regret.'"

This very sensible hint of the Franciscan philosopher was happily

acted out. The letter was sent, and in due course of time--_i.

e._ in time for a start next morning--an answer arrived from the

Archimandrite. It was to welcome the stranger to their hospitality,

and to inform him that a boat awaited him at the falls. As the

issue on the first intention was so favourable, let us hope that

the other good results anticipated from the sending of the letter

will have been by this time realised. At all events, Sir Gardner may

congratulate himself on having afforded occasion for the opening of

personal as well as epistolary communication between the convents,

as one of the Franciscans accompanied him in the expedition to St

Archangelo.

Much praise is bestowed on the beauty of the Kerka, and the view

of the Falls of Roncislap is especially distinguished. Sir Gardner

praises it in artistic language; and we may be allowed to regret

that he has not added a sketch of this scene to the views with

which his book is embellished. The waters of the Kerka possess a

petrifying quality that is common in Dalmatia. Much of the rock has

been formed under the water, and must present a singular appearance.

Near the Falls of Roncislap a depôt for coal has been established,

that, by all accounts, would seem to be anything but a good

speculation. We mention it merely for the sake of a good story that

hangs by it. It seems that the Austrian Lloyds' Company patronise

this coal because it is cheap. It is one reason, certainly, for

buying it; but, as the coal will not burn, we may doubt their

wisdom. We do not wish to spoil the market of the Company of Dernis,

but we agree with Sir Gardner, that there are reasonable objections

to the using of food for the furnaces that will get up no steam,

and must be taken on board in such quantities, as to lumber up the

decks. Besides this, hear how it goes on when it does burn:--

"It has also the effect of causing much smoke, and the large

flakes of soot that fall from the chimney upon the awning

actually burn holes in it, till it looks like a sail riddled

with grape-shot; and I remember one day seeing the awning on

fire from one of these showers of soot; when the captain calmly

ordered it to be put out, as if it had been a common occurrence."

"A Russian consul,"--this is the story:--

"A Russian consul, who happened to be on board, and who was not

much accustomed to the smoky doings of steamers, seemed to be

deeply impressed with the inconvenience of the falling flakes

of soot. His voice had rarely been heard during the voyage, and

he appeared to shun communication with his fellow-passengers;

when one afternoon, the awning not being up, he burst forth

with these startling remarks, uttered with a broad Slavonian

accent,--'_Que ces baateaux à vapeur sont sales! Par suite de

maaladie, il y a dix ans que je ne me zuis paas lavré, mais

maintenant j'ai zenti le bezoin de me lavver, et je me zuis

lavvé!!_'"

This must have been a Russian of the old school.

Arrived at the convent of St Archangelo, they had every reason to

be content with their hospitable reception. The Archimandrite is

praised as being gentlemanlike, and of mien as though educated in

a European capital. This is a very unusual characteristic of any

Greek ecclesiastic, and what we could predicate of but one or two

out of the numbers that we have seen. Greek priests of any kind

are bad enough, but those living in convents seem generally to go

on the principle of the Russian consul just mentioned, and might

fitly be invited to associate with him. All honour, then, to Stefano

Knezovich, and may his example be abundantly followed among his

brethren!

There was not much in the Greek convent to induce a long visit; so

the next morning Sir Gardner pushed on to Kistagne, in his progress

through the country. Here he was again the victim of letter-writing,

but in a different way. The sirdar of Kistagne took offence at the

tone of the letter sent to him by the Archimandrite, ordering horses

for the next morning; and the luckless traveller was consequently

left in the lurch. However, the monk did his best to make up for

the deficiency. He lent him his own horse, and had his baggage

conveyed by some peasants--an excellent arrangement, saving that

the porters were _female_ peasants. This is a sort of thing that

sadly shocks our sense of decorum, but which many folks besides

the Dalmatians take as a matter of course. Sir Gardner says that

the custom of assigning the heavy burden to the women is prevalent

among the Montenegrini; it is so also among the Albanians; and to a

most atrocious extent in the Peloponnesus. In this particular case,

they were well off to get the job; it was to exchange their task of

carrying heavy loads of water up the hill for that of shouldering

his light _impedimenta_.

Arrived at Kistagne, he found the sirdar, who had been so

disobliging at a distance, much improved on acquaintance, and from

him he received all requisite assistance for the prosecution of his

journey to Knin; and by him was guided in his visit to the Roman

arches, which point out the site of the ancient city of Burnum.

Knin is still a place of considerable strength, and has been once

upon a time still stronger. It is identified with the ancient

Arduba. The marshy character of the ground in its immediate

neighbourhood renders it an unhealthy place of abode; but this evil

is easily removable by a moderate attention to drainage. Not very

far from Knin, but over the Turkish border, on the other side of

Mount Gniath, is supposed to be situated the gold mine that of old

conferred on Dalmatia the title of auriferous. The mine is said to

exist here; but so much mystery is observed on its subject by the

Turks that nothing certain can be affirmed of it. From Verlicca,

to Sign we pass as quickly as may be, merely noticing that there

is another convent to be visited _en route_, and that we have the

opportunity of putting up at the Han, as Sir Gardner did. These

people certainly have admitted a great many Turkish words into their

vocabulary: we have _Sirdar_, and _Han_, and _Arambasha_--to say

nothing of others. At last we come to _Sign_; and, touching this

place, we must give an extract from the book. An annual tilting

festival has been established here, in commemoration of the brave

defence maintained in 1715, against the Pasha of Bosnia with forty

thousand men.

"The privilege of tilting is confined to natives of Sign, and

its territory. Every one is required to appear dressed in the

ancient costume, with the Tartar cap, called kalpak, surmounted

by a white heron's plume, or with flowers interlaced in it. He

is to wear a sword, to carry a lance, and to be mounted on a

good horse richly caparisoned."

"The opening of the _giostra_ is in this manner: The _footmen_,

richly dressed and armed, advance two by two before the

cavaliers. In the usual annual exhibitions each cavalier has

one _footman_; and on extraordinary occasions, besides the

footman, he has a _padrino_ well mounted and equipped. After the

_footmen_ come three persons in line--one carrying a shield,

and the other two by his side bearing a sort of ancient club;

then a fair _manège_ horse, led by the hand, with large housings

and complete trappings, richly ornamented, followed by two

cavaliers--one the adjutant, the other the ensign-bearer. Next

comes the _Maestro-di-Campo_, accompanied by the two _jousters_,

and followed by all the others, marching two and two. The

rear of the procession is brought up by the _Chiauss_, who

rides alone, and whose duty it is to maintain order during the

ceremony."

We have a description of a fair at Sign that is almost as suggestive

of the picturesque as was the account of similar doings at Salona.

Sir Gardner shall give his own account of his departure from the

town.

"In the midst of the bustle and business going on at Sign,

I found some difficulty in getting horses to take me on to

Spalato; but a letter to the Sirdar removed every impediment,

and, after a few hours' delay, the animals being brought out,

I prepared to start from the not very splendid inn.' 'Can you

ride in that?' asked the ostler, pointing to a huge Turkish

saddle that nearly concealed the whole animal, with stirrups

that might pass for a pair of coal scuttles; and finding that I

was accustomed to the use as well as sight of that un-European

horse-furniture, he seemed well satisfied--observing, at the

same time, that it was fortunate, as there was no other to

be had.... I was glad to take what I could get, and my only

question in return was, whether the horse could trot; which

being settled, I posted off, leaving my guide and baggage to

come after me--for, thanks to the Austrian police, there is

no fear of robbers appropriating a portmanteau in Dalmatia:

the interesting days of adventure and the Haiduk banditti have

passed, and the Morlacchi have ceased to covet, or at least to

take other men's goods."

And now we make a resolute halt, and determine to pass _sub

silentio_ all that intervenes between this part of the book and the

coming into the country of the Montenegrini. Unless we act thus

discreetly, we shall never contrive to compress all we have to say

into due limits; and even now we hardly know how this desirable

result is to be effected. What we thus leave as fallow-ground

for the reader will yield to his research a history of the coast

and islands between Spalato and Cattaro. The notice of Ragusa

is especially and deservedly full, and presents an admirable

condensation of Ragusan history.

But it is high time for us to get amongst the children of the Black

Mountain. Among things excellent it is permitted to institute

comparison without disparagement to any of them: and, in virtue of

this license, we are free to say that this part of Sir Gardner's

book shines forth as _inter minora sidera_. The subject itself is

of deep intrinsic interest; and he has treated it as we well knew

that he would. A picture is given of the actual condition of a scion

of the Christian stock that must astonish those who, by this book,

first learn to think of the Montenegrini; and must delight those

who, having heard somewhat of them, or haply even paid them a flying

visit, have looked in vain for some accurate statement of detail to

help out their personal observations.

The Montenegrini are descended from the old Servian stock, and still

look to modern Servia with affection, as to their mother country.

Thither also we find them, by Sir Gardner's account, retiring,

when forced by poverty to emigrate from their own territory. Among

them the Slavonian language is preserved in unusual purity. The

present population is about 100,000; and the number of fighting men

amounts to 20,000--a number which, on occasion of need, would be

greatly augmented by the calling out of the veterans. In fact every

individual man of the nation, whose arm has power to wield a weapon,

is a warrior; and the very women are ready to assist in defence. On

the Turkish border, as is well known, a constant system of bloody

reprisals is going on; and the endeavours of the Vladika to reduce

their hostilities to civilised fashion have hitherto failed of

success. They are sustained at the highest pitch of confident daring

by the successful war which they have so long been able to carry on

against their powerful neighbours. One is glad of the opportunity

of giving, on the authority of Sir Gardner, some of the stories

of their prowess; for to retail, without the authority of some

such _padrino_, the tales current in Cattaro, would be to win the

reputation of talking like Mendez Pinto.

In judging the Montenegrini, we should give charitable consideration

to their circumstances. War is a system of violence; and with them,

unhappily, war is a permanent condition of existence. The treachery

and cruelty of the Turks--are these such recent developments that we

need make any doubt of them?--have worked out cruel consequences in

the character of the Montenegrini. They believe a Turk to be utterly

without honesty and good faith--one with whom it is impossible to

hold terms--and such, probably, is about the right estimate of some

of their Turkish neighbours. Who, for instance, that knows anything

about them, has any other opinion of the Albanians? Are Kaffirs much

more hopeless subjects? The Montenegrini are far from the commission

of the horrid cruelties that are of everyday occurrence among the

Albanians. Their imperfect appreciation of Christianity allows them

to behold in revenge a virtue; and hence the acts of violence which

are quoted to their dispraise. Their marauding expeditions are but

according to the usages of war; and if they sometimes break through

the restrictions of a truce, it would seem to be because they really

do not understand what a truce is. We think that a very apt apology

for the Montenegrini is found in the speech of a German traveller

quoted by Sir Gardner. He had been mentioning several occurrences of

English and Scotch history, and spoke in allusion to them.

"'What think you,' he observed, 'of the state of society in

those times? Were the border forays of the English and Scotch

more excusable than those of the Montenegrins? And how much more

natural is the unforgiving hatred of the Montenegrins against

the Turks, the enemies of their country, and their faith, than

the relentless strife of Highland clans, with those of their own

race and religion! Has not many an old castle in other parts of

Europe, witnessed scenes as bad as any enacted by this people? I

do not wish to exculpate the Montenegrins; but theirs is still a

dark age, and some allowance must be made for their uncivilised

condition.'"

The character of the present Vladika affords good hope that an

improvement will take place among the people; for he evidently has

devoted all his energies to their amelioration. Sir Gardner entered

their territory, by what we believe to be the only route--that is to

say from Cattaro--whence he took letters of introduction from the

Austrian governor to the Vladika.

We shall best illustrate the condition of the Montenegrini by

quoting some of Sir Gardner's accounts.

"Four Montenegrins, and their sister, aged twenty-one, going

on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St Basilio, were waylaid by

seven Turks, in a rocky defile, so narrow that they could only

thread it one by one; and hardly had they entered between the

precipices that bordered it on either side, when an unexpected

discharge of fire-arms killed one brother, and desperately

wounded another. To retrace their steps was impossible without

meeting certain and shameful death, since to turn their backs

would give their enemy the opportunity of destroying them at

pleasure.

"The two who were unhurt, therefore, advanced and returned the

fire, killing two Turks--while the wounded one, supporting

himself against a rock, fired also, and mortally injured two

others, but was killed himself in the act. His sister, taking

his gun, loaded and fired simultaneously with her two brothers,

but, at the same instant, one of them dropped down dead. The

two surviving Turks then rushed furiously at the only remaining

Montenegrin--who, however, laid open the skull of one of them

with his yatagan, before receiving his own death-blow. The

hapless sister, who had all this time kept up a constant fire,

stood for an instant irresolute; when suddenly assuming an air

of terror and supplication, she entreated for mercy; but the

Turk, enraged at the death of his companions, was brutal enough

to take advantage of the unhappy girl's agony, and only promised

her life at the price of her honour. Hesitating at first, she

pretended to listen to the villain's proposal; but no sooner did

she see him thrown off his guard, than she buried in his body

the knife she carried at her girdle. Although mortally wounded,

the Turk endeavoured to make the most of his failing strength,

and plucking the dagger from his side, staggered towards the

courageous girl,--who, driven to despair, threw herself on the

relentless foe, and with superhuman energy hurled him down the

neighbouring precipice, at the very moment when some shepherds,

attracted by the continued firing, arrived just too late for the

rescue."

Fancy the tone that must be given to their lives by the constant

necessity of being ready for encounters such as this. They never lay

aside their arms; but in the field, or by the wayside, are armed and

alert. One hand may be allowed to the implement of tillage, but the

other must be reserved for the weapon of defence.

On many occasions, Montenegrin courage has prevailed against odds

far greater than in the above case--indeed such odds as, but for

authentication of facts, would be incredible. In the year 1840,

"seventy Montenegrins, in the open field, withstood the attack of

several thousand Turks; and having made breastworks with the bodies

of their fallen foes, maintained the unequal conflict till night;

when forty who survived forced their way through the hostile army,

and escaped with their lives." Another astonishing achievement

was the successful defence of a house held by seven-and-twenty

Montenegrins, against a body of about six thousand Albanians. Of

this last action, trophies are preserved by the Vladika in his

palace at Tzetinié, and there Sir Gardner saw them.

We cannot wonder that the effect on their minds of these astonishing

successes, should be an unbounded confidence in their superiority

over the Turks. Sir Gardner Wilkinson found them impressed with the

idea, that bread and arms were the only needful requisites to enable

them to drive the Turks out of Albania and Herzegovina. It seems

certain that, in their rencontres With these enemies, they dismiss

all ordinary considerations of prudence. The spirit of their feeling

with regard to the Turks is thus portrayed:--

"It is not the courage, but the cruelty of the Turks which

inspires him (the Montenegrin) with hatred; and the sufferings

inflicted upon his country by their inroads makes him look upon

them with feelings of ferocious vengeance.

"These savage sentiments are kept alive by the barbarous custom,

adopted by both parties, of cutting off the heads of the wounded

and the dead; the consequences of which are destructive of all

the conditions of fair warfare, and preclude the possibility

of peace. The bitter remembrance of the past is constantly

revived by the horrors of the present; and the love of revenge,

which strongly marks the character of the Montenegrin, makes

him insensible to reason or justice, and places the Turks, in

his opinion, out of the pale of human beings. He dreams only of

vengeance; he cares little for the means employed, and the man

who should make any excuse for not persecuting those enemies of

his country and his faith, would be treated with ignominy and

contempt. Even the sanctity of a truce is not always sufficient

to restrain him; and the hatred of the Turk is paramount to all

ordinary considerations of honour or humanity."

This cutting off of heads is not peculiar to the Montenegrins.

The Turks are, in this respect, just as bad, and Sir Gardner

found, on the occasion of his visit to Mostar, that, in point of

this barbarism, there is not a pin to choose between them. The

Turks, however, exceed in cruelty. It appears, on the evidence

of the letter of the Vladika, given in the second volume, that

they (the Turks) impale men alive; whereas the Montenegrins are

chargeable with no wanton cruelty. Indeed, they do not restrict the

performance of this operation to the case of enemies; but, as an

act of friendship, decapitate any comrade who may so be wounded in

action as to have no other means of avoiding capture by the enemy.

"You are very brave," said a well-meaning Montenegrin to a portly

Russian officer, who was unable to keep up with his detachment in

its retreat,--"you are very brave, _and must wish that I should cut

off your head_: say a prayer, and make the sign of the cross."

Life, passed amidst every hardship, and threatened by constant

and deadly peril, ought, we suppose, according to all rule, to be

short in duration. But we find that these people are remarkable for

longevity. A family is mentioned, in one of the villages, which

reckoned six generations, there and then extant. The head of the

family was a great-great-great-grandfather.

The Vladika received his visitor most courteously, as he always

does those who have the privilege of being presented to him. He

afforded to Sir Gardner every facility for seeing the country, and

engaged his secretary to draw up for him a _précis_ of Montenegrin

history. We will condense some of its more important facts. The

supremacy in things spiritual and temporal has not been very long

vested, as it at present is, in the person of the Vladika. The two

chieftain-ships were of old distinct, and the figment of a separate

temporal authority was continued till comparatively lately: the

year 1832 is mentioned as the epoch at which the office of civil

chief was definitely suppressed. The present family (Petrovich)

have possessed the dignity of the Vladikate since the close of the

seventeenth century. The reigning Vladika--this man of magnificent

presentment--this brave, intellectual, and athletic ruler of an

indomitable race--is nephew of the late Vladika, who has been

canonised, although but few years have passed since his death.

The prince-bishop is not theoretically absolute in power, as the

form of a republic is kept up: the general assembly has the right

of deliberation, under the presidency of the Vladika. But this

restriction of power is pretty nearly nominal only: we give Sir

Gardner's account of the native Diet.

"In a semicircular recess, formed by the rocks on one side of

the plain of Tzetinié, and about half a mile to the southward

of the town, is a level piece of grass land, with a thicket of

low poplar trees. Here the diet is held, from which the spot

has received the name of _mali sbor_ (the small assembly.)

When any matter is to be discussed, the people meet in this

their Runimede, or 'meadow of council,' and partly on the level

space, partly on the rocks, receive from the Vladika notice of

the question proposed. The duration of the discussion is limited

to a certain time, at the expiration of which the assembly is

expected to come to a decision; and when the monastery bell

orders silence, notwithstanding the most animated discussion, it

is instantly restored. The Metropolitan asks again what is their

decision, and whether they agree to his proposal or not. The

answer is always the same: '_Budi po to oyema, Vladika_,'--'Let

it be as thou wishest, Vladika.'"

Montenegro first secured its independence about a generation or

two before the time of the famous Scanderbeg, on the breaking up

of the kingdom of Servia. Since that time they have constantly

been subject to the inroads of the Turks, who, claiming them as

tributaries, have continued to invade their country every now and

then with savage cruelty. More than once they have carried fire and

sword to Tzetinié, but have never been able to hold their ground.

The Montenegrins sought the protection of Russia in the time of

Peter the Great, and still continue to be subsidised by Russia. At

the desire of Peter, they invaded the Turkish territory, and were

subjected to reprisals on a grand scale. At one time 60,000 Turks,

at another 120,000, broke into Montenegro. The first invasion was

gloriously repulsed; but the second, combining treachery with

violence, was successful. Great damage was done to the country; but

the invaders were at last obliged to quit, on the breaking out of

war between Turkey and Venice. The Montenegrins then returned to

their desolate homes, and have since been unintermitting in their

diligence to pay off old scores. They co-operated with the Austrians

and Russians, when they had the opportunity of such assistance; and

when they stood alone, they did so nobly and bravely. The last great

expedition of the Turks was in the time of the late Vladika. The

Pasha of Scutari, with an enormous force, invaded the country; and

the result of the expedition was that 30,000 Turks were killed, and

among them the Pasha of Albania, whose head now serves as a trophy

of victory to decorate Tzetinié.

The capital of the Vladika, has been described before--for instance,

in the pages of this Magazine; so, with one brief extract concerning

it, we will follow Sir Gardner in his progress through the country.

"On a rock immediately above the convent is a round tower

pierced with embrasures, but without cannon, on which I

counted the heads of twenty Turks fixed upon stakes round

the parapet--the trophies of Montenegrin victory; and below,

scattered upon the rock, were the fragments of other skulls,

which had fallen to pieces by time,--a strange spectacle in a

Christian country, in Europe, and in the immediate vicinity of a

convent and a bishop's palace!"

And, as we said before, when he got to Mostar, in Herzegovina, he

found a spectacle of the same shocking kind. He did allow his horror

at this sight to evaporate ineffectually; but in earnest tried to

interpose his good offices to prevent a continuance of these doings.

He talked to the two people mainly concerned--_i. e._ to the Vizir

of Herzegovina, and to the Vladika. He also, at Constantinople,

endeavoured to effect the making of an appeal to the highest Turkish

authority. His correspondence with the Vladika on the subject is

evidence of his zeal; but no positive good seems to have been the

result of his intercession.

The road leading from the capital to Ostrok is described as being

very bad at first, and bad beyond description as it recedes from

the capital. The Vladika kindly sent with Sir Gardner one of his

guards and an interpreter. The party passed by several villages, and

arrived at Mishke, the principal village of the Cevo district, where

they put up for the night at the house of the principal senator of

the province. Here some amusement was afforded by Sir Gardner's

proceeding to sketch the domestic party.

In the course of the evening a scene occurred, which sets forth

their social condition as graphically as the artist's pencil has

their personal appearance. A party of friends came in to have a

quiet pipe, and to plan a foray over the border.

"On inquiry, I found the expedition was to take place

immediately. "Is there not," I asked, "a truce at this moment

between you and the Turks of Herzegovina?" They laughed, and

seemed much amused at my scruples. "We don't mind that," said a

stern swarthy man, taking his pipe from his mouth, and shaking

his head to and fro; "they are Turks"--and all agreed that the

Turks were fair game. "Besides," they said, "it is only to be a

plundering excursion;" and they evidently considered that any

one refusing to join in a marauding expedition into Turkey, at

any time, or in an open attack during a war, would be unworthy

the name of a brave man. They seemed to treat the matter like

boys in "the good old times," who robbed orchards; the courage

it showed being in proportion to the risk, and scruples of

conscience were laughed at as a want of spirit."

In a freshly-decapitated head, affixed to a stake at Mostar, he

shortly afterwards recognised the features of one of these very men.

On the next day he proceeded to Ostrok, and found occasion to

admire the scenery by the way, especially the vale of Oranido,

distant from Mishke about four hours. From the vale of Oranido to

Ostrok is a journey of about the same time. At Ostrok he underwent

a grand reception, and fully won the hearts of his new friends by

proposing a ride to the Turkish frontier, and affording them by the

way an exhibition of Memlook riding. On the frontier is constantly

maintained a guard of Montenegrins, to give timely warning of any

suspicious movement among the Turks; and so well do they execute

this office that no Turk can approach the border without being shot

at. Near this border it was that, some little time ago, in 1843, an

affair took place which does not tell well for the Montenegrini; and

which seems for the present to preclude hope of amicable arrangement

with the Turks. A deputation of twenty-two Turks, returning from

Ostrok, were attacked by the people, and nine of them killed.

This breach of faith is, to their minds, excused by the suspicion

of meditated treachery on the part of the Turks. But it is a sad

affair; and the only circumstance which goes in mitigation of its

guilt is, that the Vladika took precautions against its occurrence.

He sent an armed guard to protect the deputation, but their defence

proved insufficient.

The Archimandrite of Ostrok is the person who holds the place of

second dignity in the government. He ranks next to the Vladika; and

we are glad to find, by Sir Gardner's account, that he cordially

co-operates with the Vladika in his plans of amelioration. Here also

was met the celebrated priest and warrior, Ivan Knezovich, or Popé

Yovan--a man who, in this nation of brave men, is renowned as the

bravest. There are two convents at Ostrok, of which one fulfils also

the function of powder magazine and store depot. Its position is

very remarkable; and certainly it does bear a strong family likeness

to Megaspelion. The same quality of not being within reach of any

missile from above belongs to both of them, and has proved the

saving of both.

The return to Tzetinié was by a different route, which took Sir

Gardner within near view of the northern end of the lake of Scutari.

The island of Vranina, situated at this extremity of the lake, is

likely to afford the next ostensible ground for an outbreak. It

belonged to Montenegro, but, a few years ago, was treacherously

seized by the Albanians, who effected a surprise in time of peace.

Remonstrances and hard blows have equally failed to promote a

restoration, _et adhuc sub judice lis est_. Throughout the course

of his journey, Sir Gardner experienced much and genuine kindness

from the rude people of the country; they brought him presents of

such things as they had to offer, and would accept no compensation.

When at last he bade them farewell, and returned to the haunts of

civilisation, it was evidently with kindly recollections of them,

and with the best of good-will towards them. He was able to give a

satisfactory account of his impressions to the Vladika, who inquired

thus,--"What do you think of the people? Do they appear to you the

assassins and barbarians some people pretend to consider them? I

hope you found them all well-behaved and civil--they are poor, but

that does not prevent their being hospitable and generous."

MODERN BIOGRAPHY.

BEATTIE'S LIFE OF CAMPBELL.

_Life and Letters of Thomas Campbell._ Edited by WILLIAM

BEATTIE, M.D., one of his Executors. 3 vols. London: Moxon, 1849.

The ancients, who lived beyond the reach of the fangs and feelers of

the printing press, had, in one respect, a decided advantage over us

unlucky moderns. They were not beset by the terrors of biography.

No hideous suspicion that, after he was dead and gone--after the

wine had been poured upon the hissing embers of the pyre, and the

ashes consigned, by the hands of weeping friends, to the oblivion

of the funereal urn--some industrious gossip of his acquaintance

would incontinently sit down to the task of laborious compilation

and collection of his literary scraps, ever crossed, like a sullen

shadow, the imagination of the Greek or the Latin poet. Homer,

though Arctinus was his near relative, could unbosom himself without

the fear of having his frailties posthumously exposed, or his amours

blazoned to the world. Lucius Varius and Plotius Tucca, the literary

executors of Virgil, never dreamed of applying to Pollio for the I O

Us which he doubtless held in the handwriting of the Mantuan bard,

or to Horace for the confidential notes suggestive of Falernian

inspiration. Socrates, indeed, has found a liberal reporter in

Plato; but this is a pardonable exception. The son of Sophroniscus

did not write; and therefore it was incumbent on his pupil to

preserve for posterity the fragments of his oral wisdom. The ancient

authors rested their reputation upon their published works alone.

They knew, what we seem to forget, that the poet, apart from his

genius, is but an ordinary man, and, in many cases, has received,

along with that gift, a larger share of propensities and weaknesses

than his fellow-mortals. Therefore it was that they insisted upon

that right of domestic privacy which is common to us all. The poet,

in his public capacity as an author, held himself responsible for

what he wrote; but he had no idea of allowing the whole world to

walk into his house, open his desk, read his love-letters, and

criticise the state of his finances. Had Varius and Tucca acted on

the modern system, the ghost of Virgil would have haunted them on

their death-beds. Only think what a legacy might have been ours if

these respectable gentlemen had written to Cremona for anecdotes of

the poet while at school! No doubt, in some private nook of the old

farm-house at Andes, there were treasured up, through the infinite

love of the mother, tablets scratched over with verses, composed

by young Master Maro at the precocious age of ten. We may, to a

certainty, calculate--for maternal fondness always has been the

same, and Virgil was an only child--that, in that emporium, themes

upon such topics as "Virtus est sola nobilitas" were religiously

treasured, along with other memorials of the dear, dear boy who

had gone to college at Naples. Modern Varius would remorselessly

have printed these: ancient Tucca was more discreet. Then what say

you to the college career? Would it not be a nice thing to have

all the squibs and feuds, the rows and rackettings of the jovial

student preserved to us precisely as they were penned, projected,

and perpetrated? Have we not lost a great deal in being defrauded of

an account of the manner in which he singed the wig of his drunken

old tutor, Parthenius Nicenus, or the scandalously late hours which

he kept in company with his especial chums? Then comes the period,

darkly hinted at by Donatus, during which he was, somehow or other,

connected with the imperial stable; that is, we presume, upon the

turf. What would we not give for a sight of Virgil's betting-book!

Did he back the field, or did he take the odds on the Emperor's bay

mare, Alma Venus Genetrix? How stood he with the legs? What sort of

reputation did he maintain in the ring of the Roman Tattersall? Was

he ever posted as a defaulter? Tucca! you should have told us this.

Then, when sobered down, and in high favour with the court, where is

the private correspondence between him and Mæcenas, the President

of the Roman Agricultural Society, touching the compilation of

the Georgics? The excellent Equestrian, we know, wanted Virgil to

construct a poem, such as Thomas Tusser afterwards wrote, under the

title of a "_Hondreth Good Points of Husbandrie_," and, doubtless,

waxed warm in his letters about draining, manure, and mangel-wurzel.

What sacrifice would we not make to place that correspondence in the

hands of Henry Stephens! How the author of the _Book of the Farm_

would revel in his exposure of the crude theories of the Minister

of the Interior! What a formidable phalanx of facts would he oppose

to Mæcenas' misconceptions of guano! Through the sensitive delicacy

of his executors, we have lost the record of Virgil's repeated

larks with Horace: the pleasant little supper-parties celebrated at

the villa of that dissipated rogue Tibullus, have passed from the

memory of mankind. We know nothing of the state of his finances, for

they have not thought fit to publish his banking-account with the

firm of Lollius, Spuræna, and Company. Their duty, as they fondly

believed, was fulfilled, when they gave to the world the glorious

but unfinished Æneid.

Under the modern system, we constantly ask ourselves whether it

is wise to wish for greatness, and whether total oblivion is not

preferable to fame, with the penalty of exposure annexed. We shudder

at the thoughts of putting out a book, not from fear of anything

that the critics can do, but lest it should take with the public,

and expose us to the danger of a posthumous biography. Were we

to awake some fine morning, and find ourselves famous, our peace

of mind would be gone for ever. Mercy on us! what a quantity of

foolish letters have we not written during the days of our youth,

under the confident impression that, when read, they would be

immediately committed to the flames. Madrigals innumerable recur to

our memory; and, if these were published, there would be no rest

for us in the grave! If any misguided critic should say of us, "The

works of this author are destined to descend to posterity," our

response would be a hollow groan. If convinced that our biography

would be attempted, from that hour the friend of our bosom would

appear in the light of a base and ignominious spy. How durst we

ever unbosom ourselves to him, when, for aught we know, the wretch

may be treasuring up our casual remarks over the fifth tumbler,

for immediate registration at home? Constitutionally we are not

hard-hearted; but, were we so situated, we own that the intimation

of the decease of each early acquaintance would be rather a relief

than otherwise. Tom, our intimate fellow-student at college, dies.

We may be sorry for the family of Thomas, but we soon wipe away the

natural drops, discovering that there is balm in Gilead. We used to

write him letters, detailing minutely our inward emotions at the

time we were distractedly in love with Jemima Higginbotham; and Tom,

who was always a methodical dog, has no doubt docqueted them as

received. Tom's heirs will doubtless be too keen upon the scent of

valuables, to care one farthing for rhapsodising: therefore, unless

they are sent to the snuff-merchant, or disseminated as autographs,

our epistles run a fair chance of perishing by the flames, and one

evidence of our weakness is removed. A member of the club meets

us in George Street, and, with a rueful longitude of countenance,

asks us if we have heard of the death of poor Harry? To the eternal

disgrace of human nature, be it recorded, that our heart leaps up

within us like a foot-ball, as we hypocritically have recourse to

our cambric. Harry knew a great deal too much about our private

history just before we joined the Yeomanry, and could have told some

stories, little flattering to our posthumous renown.

Are we not right, then, in holding that, under the present system,

celebrity is a thing to be eschewed? Why is it that we are so chary

of receiving certain Down-Easters, so different from the real

American gentlemen whom it is our good fortune to know? Simply

because Silas Fixings will take down your whole conversation

in black and white, deliberately alter it to suit his private

purposes, and Transatlantically retail it as a specimen of your

life and opinions. And is it not a still more horrible idea that a

Silas may be perpetually watching you in the shape of a pretended

friend? If the man would at once declare his intention, you might

be comparatively at ease. Even in that case you never could love

him more, for the confession implies a disgusting determination of

outliving you, or rather a hint that your health is not remarkably

robust, which would irritate the meekest of mankind. But you

might be enabled, through a strong effort, to repress the outward

exhibition of your wrath; and, if high religious principle should

deter you from mixing strychnia or prussic acid with the wine of

your volunteering executor, you may at least contrive to blind

him by cautiously maintaining your guard. Were we placed in such

a trying position, we should utter, before our intending Boswell,

nothing save sentiments which might have flowed from the lips of the

Venerable Bede. What letters, full of morality and high feeling,

would we not indite! Not an invitation to dinner--not an acceptance

of a tea and turn-out, but should be flavoured with some wholesome

apothegm. Thus we should strive, through our later correspondence,

to efface the memory of the earlier, which it is impossible to

recall,--not without a hope that we might throw upon it, if

posthumously produced, a tolerable imputation of forgery.

In these times, we repeat, no man of the least mark or likelihood

is safe. The waiter with the bandy-legs, who hands round the

negus-tray at a blue-stocking coterie, is in all probability a

leading contributor to a fifth-rate periodical; and, in a few days

after you have been rash enough to accept the insidious beverage,

M'Tavish will be correcting the proof of an article in which your

appearance and conversation are described. Distrust the gentleman

in the plush terminations; he, too, is a penny-a-liner, and keeps

a commonplace-book in the pantry. Better give up writing at once

than live in such a perpetual state of bondage. What amount of

present fame can recompense you for being shown up as a noodle, or

worse, to your children's children? Nay, recollect this, that you

are implicating your personal, and, perhaps, most innocent friends.

Bob accompanies you home from an insurance society dinner, where

the champagne has been rather superabundant, and, next morning,

you, as a bit of fun, write to the President that the watchman had

picked up Bob in a state of helpless inebriety from the kennel.

The President, after the manner of the Fogies, duly docquets your

note with name and date, and puts it up with a parcel of others,

secured by red tape. You die. Your literary executor writes to the

President, stating his biographical intentions, and requesting all

documents that may tend to throw light upon your personal history.

Preses, in deep ecstasy at the idea of seeing his name in print as

the recipient of your epistolary favours, immediately transmits the

packet; and the consequence is, that Robert is most unjustly handed

down to posterity in the character of a habitual drunkard, although

it is a fact that a more abstinent creature never went home to his

wife at ten. If you are an author, and your spouse is ailing, don't

give the details to your intimate friend, if you would not wish

to publish them to the world. Drop all correspondence, if you are

wise, and have any ambition to stand well in the eyes of the coming

generation. Let your conversation be as curt as a Quaker's, and

select no one for a friend, unless you have the meanest possible

opinion of his capacity. Even in that case you are hardly secure.

Perhaps the best mode of combining philanthropy, society, and

safety, is to have nobody in the house, save an old woman who is so

utterly deaf that you must order your dinner by pantomime.

One mode of escape suggests itself, and we do not hesitate to

recommend it. Let every man who underlies the terror of the _peine

forte et dure_, compile his own autobiography at the ripe age of

forty-five. Few people, in this country, begin to establish a

permanent reputation before thirty; and we allow them fifteen years

to complete it. Now, supposing your existence should be protracted

to seventy, here are clear five-and-twenty years remaining, which

may be profitably employed in autobiography, by which means you

secure three vast advantages. In the first place, you can deal

with your own earlier history as you please, and provide against

the subsequent production of inconvenient documents. In the second

place, you defeat the intentions of your excellent friend and

gossip, who will hardly venture to start his volumes in competition

with your own. In the third place, you leave an additional copyright

as a legacy to your children, and are not haunted in your last

moments by the agonising thought that a stranger in name and blood

is preparing to make money by your decease. It is, of course,

unnecessary to say one word regarding the general tone of your

memoirs. If you cannot contrive to block out such a fancy portrait

of your intellectual self as shall throw all others into the shade,

you may walk on fearlessly through life, for your biography never

will be attempted. Goethe, the most accomplished literary fox of our

age, perfectly understood the value of these maxims, and forestalled

his friends, by telling his own story in time. The consequence

is, that his memory has escaped unharmed. Little Eckermann, his

amanuensis in extreme old age, did indeed contrive to deliver

himself of a small Boswellian volume; but this publication, bearing

reference merely to the dicta of Goethe at a safe period of life,

could not injure the departed poet. The repetition of the early

history, and the publication of the early documents, are the points

to be especially guarded.

We beg that these remarks may be considered, not as strictures upon

any individual example, but as bearing upon the general style of

modern biography. This is a gossiping world, in which great men are

the exceptions; and when one of these ceases to exist, the public

becomes clamorous to learn the whole minutiæ of his private life.

That is a depraved taste, and one which ought not to be gratified.

The author is to be judged by the works which he voluntarily

surrenders to the public, not by the tenor of his private history,

which ought not to be irreverently exposed. Thus, in compiling the

life of a poet, we maintain that a literary executor has purely a

literary function to perform. Out of the mass of materials which

he may fortuitously collect, his duty is to select such portions

as may illustrate the public doings of the man: he may, without

transgressing the boundaries of propriety, inform us of the

circumstances which suggested the idea of any particular work,

the difficulties which were overcome by the author in the course

of its composition, and even exhibit the correspondence relative

thereto. These are matters of literary history which we may ask

for, and obtain, without any breach of the conventional rules of

society. Whatever refers to public life is public, and may be

printed: whatever refers solely to domestic existence is private,

and ought to be held sacred. A very little reflection, we think,

will demonstrate the propriety of this distinction. If we have

a dear and valued friend, to whom, in the hours of adversity or

of joy, we are wont to communicate the thoughts which lie at the

bottom of our soul, we write to him in the full conviction that he

will regard these letters as addressed to himself alone. We do not

insult him, nor wrong the holy attributes of friendship so much, as

to warn him against communicating our thoughts to any one else in

the world. We never dream that he will do so, else assuredly those

letters never would have been written. If we were to discover that

we had so grievously erred as to repose confidence in a person who,

the moment he received a letter penned in a paroxysm of emotion

and revealing a secret of our existence, was capable of exhibiting

it to the circle of his acquaintance, of a surety he should never

more be troubled with any of our correspondence. Would any man dare

to print such documents during the life of the writer? We need not

pause for a reply: there can be but one. And _why_ is this? Because

these communications bear on their face the stamp of the strictest

privacy--because they were addressed to, and meant for the eye

of but one human being in the universe--because they betray the

emotions of a soul which asks sympathy from a friend, with only

less reverence than it implores comfort from its God! Does death,

then, free the friend and the confidant from all restraint? If the

knowledge that his secret had been divulged, his agonies exposed,

his weaknesses surrendered to the vulgar gaze, could have pained

the living man--is nothing due to his memory, now that he is laid

beneath the turf, now that his voice can never more be raised to

upbraid a violated confidence? Many modern biographers, we regret

to say, do not appear to be influenced by any such consideration.

They never seem to have asked themselves the question--Would my

friend, if he had been compiling his own memoirs, have inserted such

a letter for publication--does it not refer to a matter eminently

private and personal, and never to be communicated to the world?

Instead of applying this test, they print everything, and rather

plume themselves on their impartiality in suppressing nothing.

They thus exhibit the life not only of the author but of the man.

Literary and personal history are blended together. The senator is

not only exhibited in the House of Commons, but we are courteously

invited to attend at the _accouchement_ of his wife.

What title has any of us, in the abstract, to write the private

history of his next-door neighbour? Be he poet, lawyer, physician,

or divine, his private sayings and doings are his property, not that

of a gaping and curious public. No man dares to say to another,

"Come, my good fellow! it is full time that the world should know a

little about your domestic concerns. I have been keeping a sort of

note-book of your proceedings ever since we were at school together,

and I intend to make a few pounds by exhibiting you in your true

colours. You recollect when you were in love with old Tomnoddy's

daughter? I have written a capital account of your interview with

her that fine forenoon in the Botanical Gardens! True, she jilted

you, and went off with young Heavystern of the Dragoons, but the

public won't relish the scene a bit the less on that account. Then I

have got some letters of yours from our mutual friend Fitzjaw. How

very hard-up you must have been at the time when you supplicated him

for twenty pounds to keep you out of jail! You were rather severe,

the other day when I met you at dinner, upon your professional

brother Jenkinson; but I daresay that what you said was all very

true, so I shall publish that likewise. By the way--how is your

wife? She had a lot of money, had she not? At all events people say

so, and it is shrewdly surmised that you did not marry her for her

beauty. I don't mean to say that _I_ think so, but such is the _on

dit_, and I have set it down accordingly in my journal. Do, pray,

tell me about that quarrel between you and your mother-in-law! Is

it true that she threw a joint-stool at your head? How our friends

will roar when they see the details in print!" Is the case less

flagrant if the manuscript is not sent to press, until our neighbour

is deposited in his coffin? We cannot perceive the difference. If

the feelings of living people are to be taken as the criterion, only

one of the domestic actors is removed from the stage of existence.

Old Tomnoddy still lives, and may not be abundantly gratified at the

fact of his daughter's infidelity and elopement being proclaimed.

The intimation of the garden scene, hitherto unknown to Heavystern,

may fill his warlike bosom with jealousy, and ultimately occasion

a separation. Fitzjaw can hardly complain, but he will be very

furious at finding his refusal to accommodate a friend appended to

the supplicating letter. Jenkinson is only sorry that the libeller

is dead, otherwise he would have treated him to an action in the

Jury Court. The widow believes that she was made a bride solely for

the sake of her Californian attractions, and reviles the memory

of her spouse. As for the mother-in-law, now gradually dwindling

into dotage, her feelings are perhaps of no great consequence to

any human being. Nevertheless, when the obnoxious paragraph in the

Memoirs is read to her by a shrill female companion, nature makes a

temporary rally, her withered frame shakes with agitation, and she

finally falls backward in a fit of hopeless paralysis.

Such is a feeble picture of the results that might ensue from

private biography, were we all permitted, without reservation, to

parade the lives and domestic circumstances of our neighbours to

a greedy and gloating world. Not but that, if our neighbour has

been a man of sufficient distinction to deserve commemoration,

we may gracefully and skilfully narrate all of him that is worth

the knowing. We may point to his public actions, expatiate on

his achievements, and recount the manner in which he gained his

intellectual renown; but further we ought not to go. The confidences

of the dead should be as sacred as those of the living. And here we

may observe, that there are other parties quite as much to blame

as the biographers in question. We allude to the friends of the

deceased, who have unscrupulously furnished them with materials. Is

it not the fact that in very many cases they have divulged letters

which, during the writer's lifetime, they would have withheld from

the nearest and dearest of their kindred? In many such letters

there occur observations and reflections upon living characters,

not written in malice, but still such as were never intended to

meet the eyes of the parties criticised; and these are forthwith

published, as racy passages, likely to gratify the appetite of a

coarse, vulgar, and inordinate curiosity. Even this is not the

worst. Survivors may grieve to learn that the friend whom they

loved was capable of ridiculing or misrepresenting them in secret,

and his memory may suffer in their estimation; but, put the case

of detailed private conversations, which are constantly foisted

into modern biographies, and we shall immediately discover that the

inevitable tendency is to engender dislikes among living parties.

Let us suppose that three men, all of them professional authors,

meet at a dinner party. The conversation is very lively, takes a

literary turn, and the three gentlemen, with that sportive freedom

which is very common in a society where no treachery is apprehended,

pass some rather poignant strictures upon the writings or habits of

their contemporaries. One of them either keeps a journal, or is in

the habit of writing, for the amusement of a confidential friend

at a distance, any literary gossip which may be current, and he

commits to paper the heads of the recent dialogue. He dies, and his

literary executor immediately pounces upon the document, and, to

the confusion of the two living critics, prints it. Every literary

brother whom they have noticed is of course their enemy for life.

If, in private society, a snob is discovered retailing

conversations, he is forthwith cut without compunction. He reads his

detection in the calm, cold scorn of your eye; and, referring to the

mirror of his own dim and dirty conscience, beholds the reflection

of a hound. The biographer seems to consider himself exempt from

such social secresy. He shelters himself under the plea that the

public are so deeply interested, that they must not be deprived of

any memorandum, anecdote, or jotting, told, written, or detailed by

the gifted subject of their memoirs. Therefore it is not a prudent

thing to be familiar with a man of genius. He may not betray your

confidence, but you can hardly trust to the tender mercies of his

chronicler.

* * * * *

Such are our deliberate views upon the subject of biography, and we

state them altogether independent of the three bulky volumes which

are now lying before us for review.

We cordially admit that it was right and proper that a life of Campbell

should be written. Although he did not occupy the same commanding

position as others of his renowned contemporaries--although his

writings have not, like those of Scott, Byron, and Southey,

contributed powerfully to give a tone and idiosyncrasy to the

general literature of the age--Campbell was nevertheless a man of

rich genius, and a poet of remarkable accomplishment. It would not

be easy to select, from the works of any other writer of our time,

so many brilliant and polished gems, without flaw or imperfection,

as are to be found amongst his minor poems. Criticism, in dealing

with these exquisite lyrics, is at fault. If sometimes the suspicion

of a certain effeminacy haunts us, we have but to turn the page,

and we arrive at some magnificent, bold, and trumpet-toned ditty,

appealing directly from the heart of the poet to the imagination of

his audience, and proving, beyond all contest, that power was his

glorious attribute. True, he was unequal; and towards the latter

part of his career, exhibited a marked failing in the qualities

which originally secured his renown. It is almost impossible to

believe that the _Pilgrim of Glencoe_, or even _Theodric_, was

composed by the author of the _Pleasures of Hope_ or _Gertrude_; and

if you place the _Ritter Bann_ beside _Hohenlinden_ or the _Battle

of the Baltic_, you cannot fail to be struck with the singular

diminution of power. Campbell started from a high point--walked for

some time along level or undulating ground--and then began rapidly

to descend. This is not, as some idle critics have maintained, the

common course of genius. Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton,

Dryden, Scott, Byron, and Wordsworth, are remarkable instances to

the contrary. Whatever may have been the promise of their youth,

their matured performances, eclipsing their earlier efforts, show us

that genius is capable of almost boundless cultivation, and that the

fire of the poet does not cease to burn less brightly within him,

because the sable of his hair is streaked with gray, or the furrows

deepening on his brow. Sir Walter Scott was upwards of thirty

before he began to compose in earnest: after thirty, Campbell wrote

scarcely anything which has added permanently to his reputation.

Extreme sensitiveness, an over-strained and fastidious desire of

polishing, and sometimes the pressure of outward circumstances, may

have combined to damp his early ardour. He evidently was deficient

in that resolute pertinacity of labour, through which alone great

results can be achieved. He allowed the best years of his life to

be frittered away, in pursuits which could not secure to him either

additional fame, or the more substantial rewards of fortune: and,

though far from being actually idle, he was only indolently active.

Campbell wanted an object in life. Thus, though gifted with powers

which, directed towards one point, were capable of the highest

concentration, we find him scattering these in the most desultory

and careless manner; and surrendering scheme after scheme, without

making the vigorous effort which was necessary to secure their

completion. This is a fault by no means uncommon in literature,

but one which is highly dangerous. No work requiring great mental

exertion should be undertaken rashly, for the enthusiasm which

has prompted it rapidly subsides, the labour becomes distasteful

to the writer, and unless he can bend himself to his task with

the most dogged perseverance, and a determination to vanquish all

obstacles, the result will be a fragment or a failure. Of this we

find two notable instances recorded in the book before us. Twice

in his life had Campbell meditated the construction of a great

poem, and twice did he relinquish the task. Of the _Queen of the

North_ but a few lines remain: of his favourite projected epic on

the subject of Wallace, nothing. Elegant trifles, sportive verses,

and playful epigrams were, for many years, the last fruits of that

genius which had dictated the _Pleasures of Hope_, and rejoiced the

mariners of England with a ballad worthy of the theme. And yet, so

powerful is early association--so universal was the recognition of

the transcendant genius of the boy, that when Campbell sank into

the grave, there was lamentation as though a great poet had been

stricken down in his prime, and all men felt that a brilliant light

had gone out among the luminaries of the age. Therefore it was

seemly that his memory should receive that homage which has been

rendered to others less deserving of it, and that his public career,

at least, should be traced and given to the world.

It was Campbell's own wish that Dr Beattie should undertake his

biography. Few perhaps knew the motives which led to this selection;

for the assiduity, care, and filial attachment, bestowed for years

by the warm-hearted physician upon the poet, was as unostentatious

as it was honourable and devoted. Not from the pages of this

biography can the reader form an adequate idea of the extent and

value of such disinterested friendship: indeed it is not too much

to say, that the rare and exemplary kindness of Dr Beattie was

the chief consolation of Campbell during the later period of his

existence. It was therefore natural that the dying poet should have

confided this trust to one of whose affection he was assured by so

many rare and signal proofs; and it is with a kindly feeling to the

author that we now approach the consideration of the literary merits

of the book.

The admiration of Dr Beattie for the genius of Campbell has in some

respects led him astray. It is easy to see at a glance that his

measure of admiration is not of an ordinary kind, but so excessive

as to lead him beyond all limit. He seems to have regarded Campbell

not merely as a great poet, but as the great poet of the age; and

he is unwilling, æsthetically, to admit any material diminution of

his powers. He still clings with a certain faith to _Theodric_; and

declines to perceive any palpable failure even in the _Pilgrim of

Glencoe_. Verses and fragments which, to the casual reader, convey

anything but the impression of excellence, are liberally distributed

throughout the pages of the third volume, and commented on with

evident rapture. He seems to think that, in the case of his author,

it may be said, "_Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_;" and accordingly

he is slow to suppress, even where suppression would have been of

positive advantage. In short, he is too full of his subject to do

it justice. In the hands of a skilful and less biassed artisan, the

materials which occupy these three volumes, extending to nearly

fourteen hundred pages of print, might have been condensed into

one highly interesting and popular volume. We should not then, it

is true, have been favoured with specimens of Campbell's college

exercises, with the voluminous chronicles of his family, with

verses written at the age of eleven, or with correspondence purely

domestic; but we firmly believe that the reading public would have

been grateful to Dr Beattie, had he omitted a great deal of matter

connected with the poet's earlier career, which is of no interest

whatever. The Campbells of Kirnan were, we doubt not, a highly

respectable sept, and performed their duty as kirk-elders for many

generations blamelessly in the parish of Glassary. But it was not

necessary on that account to trace their descent from the Black

Knight Of Lochawe, or to give the particular history of the family

for more than a century and a half. Gillespic-le-Camile may have

been a fine fellow in his day; but we utterly deny, in the teeth

of all the Campbells and Kembles in the world, that he had a drop

of Norman blood in his veins. It is curious to find the poet, at a

subsequent period, engaged in a correspondence, as to the common

ancestor of these names, with one of the Kembles, who, as Mrs Butler

somewhere triumphantly avers, were descended from the lords of

Campo-bello. Where that favoured region may be, we know not; but

this we know, that in Gaelic _Cambeul_ signifies _wry-mouth_, and

hence, as is the custom with primitive nations, the origin of the

name. And let not the sons of Diarmid be offended at this, or esteem

their glories less, since the gallant Camerons owe their name to a

similar conformation of the nose, and the Douglases to their dark

complexion. Having put this little matter of family etymology right,

let us return to Dr Beattie.

The first volume, we maintain, is terribly overloaded by trivial

details, and specimens of the kind to which we have alluded. We

need not enter into these, except in so far as to state that Thomas

Campbell was the youngest child of most respectable parents: that

his father, having been unfortunate in business, was so reduced

in circumstances, that, whilst attending Glasgow College, the

young student was compelled to have recourse to teaching; that he

acquitted himself admirably, and to the satisfaction of all his

professors in the literary classes; and that, for one vacation at

least, he resided as private tutor to a family in the island of

Mull. He was then about eighteen, and had already exhibited symptoms

of a rare poetical talent, particularly in translations from the

Greek. Dr Beattie's zeal as a biographer may be gathered from the

following statement:--

"I applied last year to the Rev. Dr M'Arthur, of Kilninian in Mull,

requesting him to favour me with such traditional particulars

regarding the poet as might still be current among the old

inhabitants; but I regret to say that nothing of interest has

resulted. 'In the course of my inquiries,' he says, 'I have met with

only two individuals who had seen Mr Campbell while he was in Mull,

and the amount of their information is merely that he was _a very

pretty young man_. Those who must have been personally acquainted

with him in this country, have, like himself, descended into the

tomb; so that no authentic anecdotes of him can now be procured in

this quarter.'"

There is a simplicity in this which has amused us greatly. Campbell,

in those days, was conspicuous for nothing--at least, for no

accomplishment which could be appreciated in that distant island.

In all probability two-thirds of the inhabitants of the parish were

Campbells, who expired in utter ignorance of the art of writing

their names; so that to ask for literary anecdotes, at the distance

of half a century, was rather a work of supererogation.

For two years more, Campbell led a life of great uncertainty. He was

naturally averse to the drudgery of teaching--an employment which

never can be congenial to a poetical and creative nature. He had no

decided predilection for any of the learned professions; for though

he alternately betook himself to the study of law, physic, and

divinity, it was hardly with a serious purpose. He visited Edinburgh

in search of literary employment, was for some time a clerk in a

writer's office, and, through the kindness of the late Dr Anderson,

editor of a collection of the British poets,--a man who was ever

eager to acknowledge and encourage genius,--he received his first

introduction to a bookselling firm. From them he received some

little employment, but not of a nature suited to his taste; and we

soon afterwards find him in Glasgow, meditating the establishment of

a magazine--a scheme which proved utterly abortive.

In the mean time, however, he had not been idle. At the age of

twenty the poetical instinct is active, and, even though no audience

can be found, the muse will force its way. Campbell had already

translated two plays of Æschylus and Euripides--an exercise which

no doubt developed largely his powers of versification--and,

further, had begun to compose original lyric verses. In the foreign

edition of his works, there is inserted a poem called the Dirge

of Wallace, written about this period, which, with a very little

concentration, might have been rendered as perfect as any of his

later compositions. In spirit and energy it is assuredly inferior to

none of them. "But," says Dr Beattie, "the fastidious author, who

thought it too rhapsodical, never bestowed a careful revision upon

it, and persisted in excluding it from all the London editions." We

hope to see it restored to its proper place in the next: in the mean

time we select the following noble stanzas:--

"They lighted the tapers at dead of night,

And chaunted their holiest hymn:

But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright,

Her eye was all sleepless and dim!

And the Lady of Ellerslie wept for her lord,

When a death-watch beat in her lonely room,

When her curtain had shook of its own accord,

And the raven had flapped at her window board,

To tell of her warrior's doom.

"'Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray

For the soul of my knight so dear!

And call me a widow this wretched day,

Since the warning of GOD is here.

For a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep;

The lord of my bosom is doomed to die!

His valorous heart they have wounded deep,

And the blood-red tears shall his country weep

For Wallace of Ellerslie!'

"Yet knew not his country, that ominous hour--

Ere the loud matin-bell was rung--

That the trumpet of death, from an English tower,

Had the dirge of her champion sung.

When his dungeon-light looked dim and red

On the highborn blood of a martyr slain,

No anthem was sung at his lowly death-bed--

No weeping was there when _his_ bosom bled,

And is heart was rent in twain.

"Oh! it was not thus when his ashen spear

Was true to that knight forlorn,

And hosts of a thousand wore scattered like deer

At the blast of a hunter's horn;

_When he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field,

With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land;_

_For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield,

And the sword that was fit for archangel to wield

Was light in his terrible hand!_

"Yet, bleeding and bound, though the Wallace wight

For his long-loved country die,

The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight

Than William of Ellerslie!

But the day of his triumphs shall never depart;

His head, unentombed, shall with glory be palmed--

From its blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start;

Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart,

A nobler was never embalmed!"

Nothing can be finer than the lines we have quoted in Italics, nor

perhaps did Campbell himself ever match them. Local reputations are

dearly cherished in the west of Scotland, and even at this early

period our poet was denominated "the Pope of Glasgow."

Again Campbell migrated to Edinburgh, but still with no fixed

determination as to the choice of a profession: his intention was

to attend the public lectures at the University, and also to push

his connexion with the booksellers, so as to obtain the means of

livelihood. Failing this last resource, he contemplated removing

to America, in which country his eldest brother was permanently

settled. Fortunately for himself, he now made the acquaintance

of several young men who were destined afterwards to attract the

public observation, and to win great names in different branches

of literature. Among these were Scott, Brougham, Leyden, Jeffrey,

Dr Thomas Brown, and Grahame, the author of _The Sabbath_. Mr

John Richardson, who had the good fortune to remain through life

the intimate friend both of Scott and Campbell, was also, at this

early period, the chosen companion of the latter, and contributed

much, by his judicious counsels and criticisms, to nerve the poet

for that successful effort which, shortly afterwards, took the

world of letters by storm. Dr Anderson also continued his literary

superintendence, and anxiously watched over the progress of the new

poem upon which Campbell was now engaged. At length, in 1799, the

_Pleasures of Hope_ appeared.

Rarely has any volume of poetry met with such rapid success.

Campbell had few living rivals of established reputation to contend

with; and the freshness of his thought, the extreme sweetness of his

numbers, and the fine taste which pervaded the whole composition,

fell like magic on the ear of the public, and won their immediate

approbation. It is true that, as a speculation, this volume did

not prove remarkably lucrative to the author: he had disposed of

the copyright before publication for a sum of sixty pounds, but,

through the liberality of the publishers, he received for some

years a further sum on the issue of each edition. The book was

certainly worth a great deal more; but many an author would be glad

to surrender all claim for profit on his first adventure, could he

be assured of such valuable popularity as Campbell now acquired.

He presently became a lion in Edinburgh society; and, what was far

better, he secured the countenance and friendship of such men as

Dugald Stewart, Henry Mackenzie, Dr Gregory, the Rev. Archibald

Alison, and Telford, the celebrated engineer. It is pleasant to know

that the friendships so formed were interrupted only by death.

Campbell had now, to use a common but familiar phrase, the

ball at his foot, but never did there live a man less capable

of appreciating opportunity. At an age when most young men are

students, he had won fame--fame, too, in such measure and of such a

kind as secured him against reaction, or the possibility of a speedy

neglect following upon so rapid a success. Had he deliberately

followed up his advantage with anything like ordinary diligence,

fortune as well as fame would have been his immediate reward. Like

Aladdin, he was in possession of a talisman which could open to him

the cavern in which a still greater treasure was contained; but he

shrunk from the labour which was indispensable for the effort. He

either could not or would not summon up sufficient resolution to

betake himself to a new task; but, under the pretext of improving

his mind by travel, gave way to his erratic propensities, and

departed for the Continent with a slender purse, and, as usual, no

fixity of purpose.

We confess that the portion of his correspondence which relates

to this expedition does not appear to us remarkably interesting.

He resided chiefly at Ratisbon, where his time appears to have

been tolerably equally divided between writing lyrics for the

_Morning Chronicle_, then under the superintendence of Mr

Perry, and squabbling with the monks of the Scottish Convent of

Saint James. Some of his best minor poems were composed at this

period; but it will be easily comprehended that, from the style

of their publication in a fugitive form, they could add but

little at the time to his reputation, and certainly they did not

materially improve his finances. With a contemplated poem of some

magnitude--the _Queen of the North_--he made little progress; and,

upon the whole, this year was spent uncomfortably. After his return

to Britain, he resided for some time in Edinburgh and London, mixing

in the best and most cultivated society, but sorely straitened in

circumstances, which, nevertheless, he had not the courage or the

patience to improve.

A quarto edition of the _Pleasures_, printed by subscription for

his own benefit, at length put him in funds, and probably tempted

him to marry. Then came the real cares of life,--an increased

establishment, an increasing family: new mouths to provide for,

and no settled mode of livelihood. Of all literary men, Campbell

was least calculated, both by habit and inclination, to pursue a

profession which, with many temptations, was then, and is still,

precarious. He was not, like Scott, a man of business habits and

unflagging industry. His impulses to write were short, and his

fastidiousness interfered with his impulse. Booksellers were slow

in offering him employment, for they could not depend on his

punctuality. Those who have frequent dealings with the trade know

how much depends upon the observance of this excellent virtue;

but Campbell never could be brought to appreciate its full value.

The printing-press had difficulty in keeping pace with the pen of

Scott: to wait for that of Campbell was equivalent to a cessation of

labour. Therefore it is not surprising that, about this period, most

of his negotiations failed. Proposals for an edition of the British

Poets, a large and expensive work, to be executed jointly by Scott

and Campbell, fell to the ground: and the bard of Hope gave vent to

his feelings by execrating the phalanx of the Row.

At the very moment when his prospects appeared to be shrouded in

the deepest gloom, Campbell received intimation that he had been

placed on the pension-list as an annuitant of £200. Never was the

royal bounty more seasonably extended; and this high recognition of

his genius seems for a time to have inspired him with new energy.

He commenced the compilation of the _Specimens of British Poets_;

but his indolent habits overcame him, and the work was not given to

the public until _thirteen years_ after it was undertaken. No wonder

that the booksellers were chary of staking their capital on the

faith of his promised performances!

Ten years after the publication of the _Pleasures of Hope_,

_Gertrude of Wyoming_ appeared. That exquisite little poem

demonstrated, in the most conclusive manner, that the author's

poetical powers were not exhausted by his earlier effort, and the

same volume contained the noblest of his immortal lyrics. Campbell

was now at the highest point of his renown. Critics may compare

together the longer poems, and, according as their taste leans

towards the didactic or the descriptive form of composition, may

differ in awarding the palm of excellence, but there can be but one

opinion as to the lyrical poetry. In this respect Campbell stands

alone among his contemporaries, and since then he has never been

surpassed. _Lochiel's Warning_ and the _Battle of the Baltic_ were

among the pieces then published; and it would be difficult, out of

the whole mass of British poetry, to select two specimens, by the

same author, which may fairly rank with these.