Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow, on the 27th of July, 1777. His
father was a resident of that city, and a respectable shopkeeper, or
_merchant_ as the Scotch say, which is equivalent to the
_Kauffman_ of their kindred the Germans. Merchant Campbell was
descended from an old Highland family, upon which circumstance it is
said the poet prided himself no little, though most probably he
himself was the greatest man his family had ever produced. He was the
tenth and youngest child of his parents, and was born in the
sixty-seventh year of his father's age, at which age it is somewhat
remarkable that he himself died. He was baptized by his father's
intimate friend, Dr. Thomas Bird, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the
university, after whom he was also named. The house in which Campbell
was born stood very near the university, close, I believe, to the east
end of George-street; it has been, however, cleared away in effecting
some of the modern improvements of the city; but as to how much is now
known about it, or the place where it stood, may be best shown from my
own experience in Glasgow in the autumn of last year.
My peregrinations in that city in quest of traces of Campbell, was one
of the most curious things I ever met with. Accompanied by Mr. David
Chambers, the younger brother of Messrs. William and Robert Chambers,
of the Edinburgh Journal, I called on a Mr. Gray, a silversmith in
Argyle-street, a cousin of Campbell, and the gentleman at whose house
he stayed when he came there. Here we made ourselves sure of our
object, at least as to where Campbell was born. We were not so sure,
however. Mr. Gray, a tall gray man, made his appearance; and on my
asking if he could oblige me by informing me where Campbell was born,
to our great astonishment he replied, that he really did not know.
"And, indeed," asked he, very gravely, "what may be your object in
making this inquiry?" I presented my card, and informed him that it
was to gain information for a work on the residences of celebrated
poets. The tall gray man reared himself to an extraordinary height,
and looked very blank, as though it was a sort of business very
singular to him, and quite out of his line. Had my name been that of a
silver merchant, no doubt it would have been instantly recognized; as
it was, it was just as much known to him as if it had been Diggery
Mustapha, the Ambassador of the Grand Turk himself. He shook his head,
looked very solemn, and "could really say nothing to it." "What!" I
exclaimed, "not know where your celebrated cousin was born?" "Well, he
had an idea that he had sometime heard that it was in High-street."
"In what house?" "Could not say--thought it had been pulled down."
"Could he tell us of any other part of the city where Campbell had
lived?" You might just as well have asked the tallest coffee-pot in
his shop. He put on a very forbidding air,--"Gentlemen, you will
excuse me,--I have business to attend to. Good-morning!" Away went Mr.
Gray, and away we retreated as precipitately.
This was an odd beginning. We then proceeded to the shop of Mr.
Robertson the bookseller, who entered most cordially into the inquiry,
and said at once, "Oh! Mr. Gray, the silversmith, is the man!" We
laughed, and related our adventure. On this, Mr. Robertson, with the
most zealous kindness, accompanied me to various parties; but it was
not till we reached Mr. Strang, the city chamberlain, that we got a
glimpse of intelligence. Mr. Strang most politely offered to accompany
me in my search. He believed it was in High-street. Away we went, and
called on the secretaries of the Campbell Club; but they, like the
tall Mr. Gray, and still more like the Shakspeare Club, who know
nothing about Shakspeare, knew nothing of Campbell. So we proceeded to
the very end of the town, to a blind gentleman, a nephew, I believe,
of Campbell; but he was not so blind but that he had found his way
out. He was not at home. On returning, we met another Mr. Gray, a
brother of the former one, and Mr. Strang exclaimed, "Now we have it!
Mr. Gray is a particular friend of mine, and we shall learn all about
it." We accosted him with the question, but he shook his head--and
"really did not know!" This was rather too much for my gravity, and I
observed that I supposed the fact was, that Campbell was not known in
Glasgow at all. This remark seemed not quite lost. He replied
gravely--"They _had_ heard of him." And we too, had heard of him,
but not where he was born. On this we went and asked two or three
other people, with the like result. We then went across the bridge, I
suppose a mile, to Mr. Strang's house, and consulted several books.
Mr. Dibdin in his Northern Tour, we found, gave a very long account of
many things in Glasgow, and incidentally mentioned that Campbell, the
poet, was a native of the town. We referred to other books, and
learned just as much. Taking my leave of Mr. Strang, a man of much
literary taste, and a friend of the late poet Motherwell, and who had
amid pressing public business devoted some hours to assist my inquiry,
I went and dined, and afterward set out afresh to clear up this great
mystery. Had I wanted but a manufacturer of any stuff but poetry, how
soon could I have found him! I directed my way to High-street itself,
a very long street, running up to the High Kirk, that is, the old
cathedral, and in which the college stands; and inquired of the
booksellers. It was in vain. One bookseller had been forty years on
the spot, but had never heard where Campbell was born. Seeing all
inquiries vain, I went on to the cemetery, to see the grave of
Motherwell. Now Motherwell, too, was born in Glasgow, and he is buried
here. He was not only a poet, but an active editor of a paper. I asked
a respectable-looking man, walking near the cemetery gate, if he knew
where he lay. "Oh," said he, "ye'll find his grave, and that of
Tennant too." "What! is Tennant dead then?" "Oh, ay, sure is he."
"What! Tennant the author of Anster Fair? Why, he did not live here,
and I fancy is still living." "Oh, no," replied the man, "I mean Mr.
Tennant of the Secret Chemical Works there;" pointing to a tall
smoking chimney. Heaven help us! what is a poet in Glasgow!--I went on
and found tombs and mausolea as big as houses, ay, and fine large
houses too; but Motherwell has not a stone as big as an ostrich egg to
mark the spot where he lies! One of the grave-diggers, however, knew
the place. "Strangers," he said, "often inquired after it; but you'll
not find it yourself," he said, "there's nothing to distinguish
it"--so he went and pointed it out. There stand, however, on the spot
a thorn and a laburnum. It is at a turn of the carriage-road, as you
ascend at the north end of the cemetery. God save the mark! There is
the poet's grave, sure enough, without a stone or epitaph, and
opposite to it is a large Doric temple, with wreaths of bay on its
front, the resting-place, no doubt, of some mighty man of mills. Such
was my day's perambulation in Glasgow in quest of the traces of poets.
But to return now to Campbell, as a boy living in Glasgow. As a child
he gave evidence of considerable powers of mind, and before he
attained the age of twelve was a good Latin scholar. At twelve he
commenced his studies in the university, where he distinguished
himself greatly. As regards this part of his life we can not do better
than quote from a well written biographical sketch of his life,
published last year in Hogg's Weekly Instructor. "In his thirteenth
year, Campbell succeeded, after a formidable competition with a
student nearly twice his own age, in gaining the bursary on Archbishop
Leighton's foundation. He continued seven years at the university,
receiving at the close of each session numbers of prizes, the reward
of his industry and zeal. The exercises which gained him these
distinctions were often of a very difficult nature, and such as tested
his powers severely; but his correct taste and sound judgment,
combined with his diligence and application, enabled him to accomplish
the tasks prescribed to him, in a manner highly creditable to himself
and most satisfactory to his teachers. In translations from the Greek
especially he excelled; so much so, indeed, that his fellow-students
were afraid to enter the lists with him. His poetical versions of
several Greek plays of Aristophanes, Æschylus, and others, obtained
the highest commendations of his professor; who, in awarding the prize
for the translation of The Clouds of Aristophanes, thus eulogized, in
terms the most flattering, the production of the youthful poet--that,
in his opinion, it was the best performance which had ever been given
within the walls of the university. Portions of these translations
have been published in his works.
"At this period of his life, Campbell is described as being a fair and
beautiful boy, with pleasant and winning manners, and a mild and
cheerful disposition. That he had at this early age an innate
perception of his own growing powers, is proved by his commencing to
write poetry at the age of thirteen, and by his great desire, even
while still but a year or two at college, to see himself in print.
Having got one of his juvenile poems printed, to defray the expense of
this, to him, then bold adventure, it is related that he had recourse
to the singular expedient--whether of his own accord, or suggested to
him by some of his class-fellows, is not known--of selling copies to
the students at a penny each. This anecdote has been told by one who
remembers having seen the beautiful boy standing at the college gate
with the slips in his hand. Campbell himself, in after-years, used to
be angry when he was reminded of this incident; but surely it reflects
any thing but discredit on him.
"The Greek chair, during his attendance at the university, was filled
by Professor Young, who was a complete enthusiast in Greek literature.
From him Campbell caught the same enthusiasm, which, nourished and
strengthened as it was by his success at college, endured during his
whole life. Often, in his latter years, has the writer of this sketch,
while sitting in his company, been electrified by the beauty and power
with which he recited his favorite passages from the Greek poets; with
whose writings his mind was richly stored, and which he appreciated
and praised with the characteristic warmth of one who was himself a
master in their divine art.
"On leaving college he went to reside for about a year on the romantic
banks of Loch Gail, among the mountains of Argyleshire. His paternal
grandfather possessed the estate of Kernan, in the Highlands; and it
was in reference to it, that the beautiful and pathetic stanzas,
beginning, 'At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,' were
composed. He was for some time tutor in a private family residing on
the sea-coast of the island of Mull; and while in that situation he
planned and wrote a considerable part of his most celebrated poem, The
Pleasures of Hope. His youthful musings were nourished amid the
magnificent scenery around him; and by the contemplation of the wild
aspects of nature that presented themselves on every side, his ideas
were expanded, and his imagination was filled with many bright and
majestic images, which he afterward introduced with such admirable
effect into his poetry. Lochiel's Warning and Lord Ullin's Daughter,
for instance, could only have been written by one who cherished an
intense love and admiration for Highland scenery and Highland
associations. He himself has mentioned the delight with which he used
to listen, at the distance of many leagues, to the far famed roar of
Corryvreckan. 'When the weather is calm,' he says, 'and the adjacent
sea scarcely heard on these picturesque shores, the sound of the
vortex, which is like the sound of innumerable chariots, creates a
magnificent effect.'"
The poem, however, into which it seems to me he has most thoroughly
infused the spirit of the wild and romantically desolate scenery of
the Western Isles, is Reullura, one of the most exquisite poems of the
language. Without any apparent attempt at description, either of
scenery or individual character, both stand forth in strong and clear
distinctness: Aodh, the far famed preacher of the word in Iona; and
Reullura, beauty's star, with her calm, clear eye, to which visions of
the future were often revealed; and those desolate, treeless islands,
the savage shores of which, riven by primeval earthquakes, will be
lashed by the waves of a wild, stormy sea, to the end of time. The
church of Iona again stands aloft, the Gail listens to the preaching
of the word, and the heathen sea-kings come from Denmark for plunder
and massacre. This poem it is, above all others, into which the wild
music of the Corryvreckan entered; and, though it was written many
years after the poet's residence amid these scenes, nothing can be
clearer evidence of the deep impression which they made upon his mind.
After leaving Mull, Campbell removed to Edinburgh, where he also was
engaged in private tuition. He lived in Alison-square, or court, in
the old town, with his mother, who, it is said, being afflicted with
an unhappy temper, did not make her son's home as pleasant as it might
have been. It was during this time, and amid these home annoyances,
with narrow income and with a portion of his time devoted to the
drudgery of teaching, that he completed his longest and greatest poem,
The Pleasures of Hope. It is said, that at this time he was much given
to solitude, and might often be seen wandering alone over the bridge,
or in the vicinity of the city. This seems probable enough. The
Pleasures of Hope was published in April, 1799, when Campbell was
twenty-two--about the same age that Shelley published his Revolt of
Islam; Keats, his Lamia and Hyperion; and Byron, his first two cantos
of Childe Harold. The public heart, refreshed and purified by the
writings of Cowper, was in a fit state to receive with the deepest
love and the warmest admiration a poem like The Pleasures of Hope. The
success of the work was instantaneous, and at once the young author
and humble private tutor found himself in the possession of a
brilliant reputation, and taking rank among the first poetical names
of the age. This poem, remarkable for the harmony of its
versification, and the genuine fervor of its style, and for the
generous sentiments and feelings of patriotism which pervade it,
gained for him the notice and friendship of Dugald Stewart, Professor
Playfair, Henry Mackenzie, author of the Man of Feeling, and also
gained him the acquaintance of Brougham, Jeffrey, and Sidney Smith.
"The profits of this work," says the able writer we have already
quoted, "which ran through four editions in the year, enabled him to
make a tour in Germany. Early in 1800, he accordingly proceeded from
Leith to Hamburg, and remained for about a year on the Continent,
visiting several of the German states. War was at that time raging in
Bavaria, and thither he hastened, with a strong desire, as he himself
expressed it, animating his breast of seeing human nature exhibited in
its most dreadful attitude. From the walls of the monastery of St.
Jacob, he witnessed the celebrated battle of Hohenlinden, fought on
the 3d of December, 1800, between the French and Austrians. 'The sight
of Ingoldstadt in ruins,' he said, in a letter he wrote, descriptive
of the scene, 'and Hohenlinden covered with fire seven miles in
circumference, were spectacles never to be forgotten.' His
spirit-stirring lyric of Hohenlinden was written upon this event. He
afterward proceeded in the track of Moreau's army over the scene of
combat, and then continued his route. He used to relate the following
incident, as illustrative of the phlegm and attention to his own
interest of his German postillion, which happened at this time. The
latter, while driving him near a place where a skirmish of cavalry had
occurred, suddenly stopped, alighted, and disappeared, without
uttering a word, leaving the carriage, with Campbell in it, alone in
the cold, for the ground was covered with snow; and he was absent for
a considerable time. On his return, the poet discovered that the
provident German had been engaged cutting off the long tails of the
slain horses, which he deliberately placed on the vehicle beside him,
and silently pursued his journey. When Ratisbon was occupied by the
French, Mr. Campbell happened to be in the town at the time, but he
was treated with kindness by the victors. The enthusiasm and genius of
the young traveler seem to have made a very favorable impression on
the French officers, who evinced their respect for him by entertaining
him at their different mess-tables, and furnishing him with a pass
that carried him in safety through the French army. Afterward,
however, he was not so fortunate, as he was plundered of nearly all
his money, books, and papers, while endeavoring to cross into Italy,
by the route of the Tyrol, which prevented him from proceeding farther
in that direction. While he continued in Germany, he devoted himself
to acquiring the German language, and also resumed his Greek studies,
under Professor Heyne. He made the friendship of the two Schlegels,
and of other eminent men of that country, and passed an entire day
with the venerable Klopstock, who died two years afterward. On his
return to Hamburg, on his way home, he casually became acquainted with
some refugee Irishmen, who had been engaged in the rebellion of 1798,
and their story suggested to him his beautiful ballad of The Exile of
Erin, which he wrote at Altona. The hero of the poem was an Irish
exile, named Anthony M'Cann, whom he had met at Hamburg. After
remaining in that city for a few weeks, he embarked for Leith; but the
vessel he was on board of, being, while on its passage, chased by a
Danish privateer, was compelled to put in at Yarmouth. Finding himself
so near London, he at once decided upon paying it a visit. He entered
the metropolis for the first time, without being provided with a
single introduction; but his reputation had preceded him, and he soon
found admission into literary society. In one of his letters,
published by Washington Irving, he describes his impressions of a sort
of literary social club, to which he had been introduced by Sir James
Mackintosh, in the following terms: "Mackintosh, the Vindiciæ Gallicæ,
was particularly attentive to me, and took me with him to his
convivial parties at the King of Clubs--a place dedicated to the
meetings of the reigning wits of London--and, in fact, a lineal
descendant of the Johnson, Burke, and Goldsmith society, constituted
for literary conversations. The dining-table of these knights of
literature was an arena of very keen conversational rivalship,
maintained, to be sure, with perfect good-nature, but in which the
gladiators contended as hardly as ever the French and Austrians, in
the scenes I had just witnessed. Much, however, as the wit and
erudition of these men pleases an auditor at the first or second
visit, this trial of minds becomes at last fatiguing, because it is
unnatural and unsatisfactory. Every one of these brilliants goes there
to shine; for conversational powers are so much the rage in London,
that no reputation is higher than his who exhibits them. Where every
one tries to instruct, there is, in fact, but little instruction; wit,
paradox, eccentricity, even absurdity, if delivered rapidly and
facetiously, takes priority, in these societies, of sound reasoning
and delicate taste. I have watched sometimes the devious tide of
conversation, guided by accidental associations, turning from topic to
topic, and satisfactory upon none. What has one learned? has been my
general question. The mind, it is true, is electrified and quickened,
and the spirits finely exhilarated; but one grand fault pervades the
whole institution; their inquiries are desultory, and all improvements
to be reaped must be accidental." Campbell's own conversational powers
were of the highest order, and he showed singular discrimination in
the choice of subjects of an interesting and instinctive nature. Mere
talk for display on the part of others, must, therefore, have been
exceedingly disagreeable to him.
"After a short sojourn in London, the poet returned to Edinburgh,
where, strange to say, he was subjected to a private examination by
the authorities as a suspected spy, from his having been known to have
been in the society, while on the Continent, of some of the Irish
refugees. He easily satisfied the civic guardians of his unshaken
loyalty, and continued to reside for about a year in Edinburgh, during
which time he wrote his Lochiel's Warning, and others of his well
known ballads and minor poems. It is related, as an instance of the
wonderful powers of memory of Sir Walter Scott, that on Lochiel's
Warning being read to him in manuscript, he requested to be allowed to
peruse it for himself, and then astonished the author by repeating it
from memory from beginning to end. Campbell now determined upon
removing to London, as the best field for literary exertion.
Accordingly, early in 1803, he repaired to the metropolis, and on his
arrival he resided for some time in the house of his brother poet, Mr.
Telford, the celebrated engineer. In the autumn of the same year he
married his cousin, Miss Matilda Sinclair, of Greenock, a lady of
considerable personal beauty, and fixed his residence in the beautiful
village of Sydenham, in Kent, about seven miles from London. At the
time of Campbell's marriage, it appears that hope, and reliance on his
own exertions, formed by far the largest portion of his worldly
fortune; for, on his friend Telford remonstrating with him on the
inexpediency of marrying so early, he replied, 'When shall I be better
off? I have £50, and six months' work at the Encyclopædia.' The
Encyclopædia here mentioned was Brewster's Edinburgh Encyclopædia, to
which he contributed several papers."
Campbell resided at Sydenham eighteen years. His house was on
Peak-hill, and had a quiet and sweet view toward Forest-hill. The
house is one of two tenements under the same roof, consisting of only
one room in width, which, London fashion, being divided by folding
doors, formed, as was needed, two. The front looked out upon the
prospect already mentioned. To the left was a fine mass of trees, amid
which showed itself a large house, which, during part of the time, was
occupied by Lady Charlotte Campbell. The back looked out upon a small
neat garden, inclosed from the field by pales; and beyond it, on a
mass of fine wood, at the foot of which ran a canal, and now along its
bed, the atmospheric railway from London to Croydon. The house is, as
appears, small, and very modest; but its situation is very pleasant
indeed, standing on a green and quiet swell, at a distance from the
wood, and catching pleasant glimpses of the houses in Sydenham, and of
the country round. In the little back parlor he used to sit and write;
and to prevent the passage of sound, he had the door which opened into
the hall covered with green baize, which still remains. This at once
defended him from the noise of the passing, and operations of the
housemaid, as the door was near the stairs, and also from any one so
plainly hearing him, when, in poet-fashion, he sounded out sonorously
his verses as he made them.
The next door to Campbell lived his landlord, a Mr. Onis, and who is
still living there, an old man of ninety, having every one of his
windows in front filled with strong jealousies, painted green, which
give a singular and dismal air to the house, as the dwelling of one
who wishes to shut out the sight of the living world, and the sun at
the same time. To prevent too familiar inspection from his neighbor's
premises, Campbell ran up a sort of buttress between the houses at the
back, and planted trees there, so that no one could get a sight of him
as he sat in his little parlor writing. In the village is still living
Miss Mayhew, a lady afterward alluded to, and now of course, very
aged. Here Campbell lost a son, of about eleven or twelve years of
age, who is buried at Lewisham. His wife was ill at the time he left
in 1821, and he had much trouble about that time. He went to reside in
London in 1821, on account of his literary engagements. Here he wrote
Gertrude of Wyoming. The country, which then was so fresh and retired,
is now cut up with railroads, and new buildings are seen rising like
crowding apparitions on every side.
Soon after his settlement at Sydenham, he published, anonymously, a
compiled work, in three volumes 8vo, entitled, Annals of Great
Britain, from the accession of George III. to the Peace of Amiens,
intended, probably, as a continuation of Hume and Smollett's
histories. This was the first of his commissions from a London
publisher. He now devoted himself to writing and compiling for the
booksellers, and furnishing occasional articles to the daily press and
other periodical publications. His conversational powers, as we have
already stated, were very great; and these, with his other qualities,
acquired for him an extensive circle of friends. In the social parties
and convivial meetings of Sydenham and its neighborhood, his company
was at all times eagerly courted; and among the kindred spirits with
whom he was in the habit of associating there, were the brothers James
and Horace Smith, Theodore Hook, and others who afterward
distinguished themselves in literature. Through the influence of
Charles James Fox, he obtained in 1806, shortly before that
statesman's death, a pension from government of £300 per annum.
Campbell was at this period, and for many years afterward, a working
author, the better portion of his days being spent in literary
drudgery and task-work. His gains from the booksellers were not
always, however, in proportion to the merit of the matter supplied to
them; and an anecdote is recorded which strongly illustrates his
feelings in regard to them. Having been invited to a booksellers'
dinner, soon after Pam, one of the trade, had been executed by command
of Napoleon, he was asked for a toast, and with much earnestness as
well as gravity of manner, he proposed to drink the health of
Bonaparte. The company were amazed at such a toast, and asked for an
explanation of it. "Gentlemen," said Campbell, with sly humor, "I give
you Napoleon,--he was a fine fellow,--he shot a bookseller!"
In the beginning of 1809, he published his second volume of poems,
containing Gertrude of Wyoming, a simple Indian tale, in the
Spenserian stanza, the scene of which is laid among the woods of
Pennsylvania; Glenara, the Battle of the Baltic, Lochiel, and Lord
Ullin's Daughter. A subsequent edition contained also the touching
ballad of O'Connor's Child. This volume added greatly to his
popularity, and the high reputation which he had now acquired must
have been very gratifying to his feelings. Indeed, even in the
meridian of his living renown, the native simplicity and goodness of
his heart rendered him peculiarly pleased with any attention of a
complimentary nature which was shown to him. Of this many instances
might be given, but the following, related by himself, may be quoted
here:--In writing to a friend in 1840, respecting the launch of a
man-of-war at Chatham, at which he was present, he mentioned that none
of the compliments paid to him on that occasion affected him so deeply
as the circumstance of the band of two regiments striking up "The
Campbells are coming," as he entered the dockyard.
Campbell himself preferred Gertrude of Wyoming to the Pleasures of
Hope. It is said that one cause of this preference was, that from
hearing himself so exclusively called the author of the Pleasures of
Hope, it became so hackneyed, that he felt toward it as the Athenian
did, who was tired of hearing Aristides called the Just.
"His mode of life at Sydenham," says Mr. Cyrus Redding, in a memoir of
the poet now publishing in the New Monthly Magazine, "was almost
uniformly that which he afterward followed in London when he made it a
constant residence. He rose not very early, breakfasted, studied for
an hour or two, dined at two or three o'clock, and then made a call or
two in the village, often remaining for an hour or more at the house
of a maiden lady, of whose conversation he was remarkably fond. He
would return home to tea, and then retire early to his study,
remaining there to a late hour; sometimes even to an early one. His
life was strictly domestic. He gave a dinner party now and then, and
at some of them Thomas Moore, Rogers, and other literary friends from
town were present. His table was plain, hospitable, and cheered by a
hearty welcome. While he lived at Sydenham," continues Mr. Redding,
"or at least during a portion of the time, there resided in that
village the well known Thomas Hill, who was a sort of walking
chronicle. He knew the business and affairs of every literary man, and
could relate a vast deal more about them than they had ever known
themselves. There was no newspaper office into which he did not find
his way; no third-rate scribbler of whom he did not know his business
at the time. But his knowledge was not confined to literary men, he
knew almost all the world of any note. It was said of him, that he
could stand at Charing-cross at noonday, and tell the name and
business of every body that passed Northumberland-house. He died of
apoplexy in the Adelphi four or five years ago, nearly at the age of
eighty, few supposing him more than sixty.
"At the table of this singular personage at Sydenham, there used to
meet occasionally a number of literary men and choice spirits of the
age. There was to be found Theodore Hook, giving full swing to his
jests, at the expense of every thing held cheap or dear in social
life, or under conventional rule. There, too, came the authors of the
Rejected Addresses, whose humor was only the lowest among their better
qualities. The poet living hard by, could not in the common course of
things miss being among those who congregated at Hill's. Repartee and
pun passed about in a mode vainly to be looked for in these degenerate
days at the most convivial tables. Some practical jokes were played
off there, which for a long time afterward formed the burden of
after-dinner conversations. Campbell was behind none of the party in
spirits. He entered with full zest into the pleasantries of the hour.
Some of the party leaving Sydenham to return home by Dulwich, to which
they were obliged to walk on one occasion, for want of a conveyance,
those who remained behind in Sydenham escorted their friends to the
top of the hill to take leave, in doing which the poet's residence had
to be passed. But he scorned to leave his party. All went on to the
parting-place on the hill summit, exchanging jokes, or manufacturing
indifferent puns. When they separated, it was with hats off and three
boisterous cheers."
In 1820, Campbell undertook the editorship of the New Monthly
Magazine; and in this magazine appeared some of his most beautiful
minor poems. For some time he had lodgings at 62, Margaret-street,
Cavendish-square. In 1824, he published Theodoric, a poem, by no means
equal to his former productions. "To Mr. Campbell," says his anonymous
biographer, "belongs the merit, we believe, of originating the London
University, in which project Lord Brougham was an active coadjutor.
During the struggle for independence in which Greece was engaged, and
in which she was ultimately successful, he took a strong interest in
the cause of that country, as he subsequently, and indeed all his life
did in that of Poland." In November, 1826, he was chosen lord rector
of the university of Glasgow. It was with the utmost enthusiasm, as
might well be supposed, that this election took place; it was a
triumphal return to the scenes of his early life; and among the
numerous incidents which might be given in evidence of the enthusiasm
felt by all classes toward their illustrious townsman may be
mentioned, the notice which was taken of a very beautiful rainbow,
which was seen on the day he entered his native city, and which fond
admirers of his genius regarded as a token that Heaven was smiling on
the event.
"The poet, after the death of his wife, and suffering from an
accumulation of domestic calamities, gave up the editorship of the New
Monthly Magazine, and went into chambers, where he resided for some
years in a state of comparative loneliness at No. 61,
Lincoln's-inn-fields. His chambers were on the second floor, where he
had a large, well furnished sitting-room, adjoining which was his
bedroom. One side of his principal room was arranged with shelves,
like a library, which were full of books. In that room has the writer
of this sketch passed many a pleasant and profitable hour with him,
and he never shall forget the active benevolence and genuine
kindliness of heart displayed by the poet on one occasion when he
called upon him. On entering the room one forenoon in the year 1839,
he found Mr. Campbell busy looking over his books, while, near the
fireplace, was seated an elderly gentlewoman in widow's weeds. He was
desired to take a chair for a few minutes. Presently the poet
disappeared into his bedroom, and returned with an armful of books,
which he placed among a heap of others that he had collected together,
on the floor. 'There now,' he said, addressing the widow, 'these will
help you a little, and I shall see what more I can do for you by the
time you call again. I shall get them sent to you in the course of the
day.' The widow thanked him with tears in her eyes, and shaking her
cordially by the hand, he wished her a good-morning. On her departure,
the poet said, with great feeling--'That lady whom you saw just now is
the widow of an early friend of mine, and as she is now in somewhat
reduced circumstances, she wishes to open a little book and stationery
shop, and I have been busy looking out all the books for which I have
no use, to add to her stock. She has taken a small shop in the
neighborhood of town, and I shall do all I can to serve her, and
forward her prospects, as far as my assistance and influence extend.
Old times should not be forgotten.' He mentioned the name of the
place, and asked if the writer had any acquaintances in the vicinity
to whose notice he might recommend the widow, but was answered in the
negative. The abstraction of the volumes he thus so generously
bestowed on the poor widow made a sensible alteration in the
appearance of his library. On another occasion, soon after this, when
the writer introduced to him a friend of his of the name of Sinclair,
he said, while he shook him by the hand, 'I am glad to see you, sir,
your name recommends you to me;' adding, with much tenderness, 'my
wife's name was Sinclair.'
"In 1832, the interest excited by the French conquest and colonization
of Algiers induced him to pay it a visit, and on his return he
furnished an account of his journey to the New Monthly Magazine, which
he afterward published under the name of Letters from the South, in
two volumes. He did not confine himself to Algiers, but made an
excursion into the interior of the country as far as Mascara; and his
work, with a great deal of light gossiping matter, contains much
interesting information respecting Algiers and the various races
inhabiting that part of Barbary. The same year, in conjunction with
the Polish poet Niemcewiez, Prince Czartoryski, and others, he founded
the society styled the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland.
He also originated the Clarence Club, where he occasionally dined. In
1834 he published his Life of Mrs. Siddons. On the death, that year,
of his friend Mr. Telford the engineer, after whom he had named his
surviving son, he, as well as Mr. Southey, was left a legacy of £500;
which, added to the gains from his works, placed him in very
comfortable circumstances so far as money was concerned.
Soon after the queen's coronation, she made Campbell a present of her
portrait. It was highly prized by him, and is especially mentioned in
his will, together with the silver bowl given to him by the students
of Glasgow; which two articles, says the said will, were considered by
him the two jewels of his property. With regard to this picture, which
always filled him with ecstasy and admiration, I can not do better
than again quote the biographical sketch to which I am already so much
indebted.
"It was, or rather is, a large, full-length engraving, inclosed in a
splendid frame, and was hung up in his sitting-room in
Lincoln's-inn-fields, on the same side as the fireplace, but nearer
the window. The writer of this called upon him a day or two after he
received it, and the explanation he then gave of the way in which it
was presented to him, is so nearly alike what has already appeared
regarding it, that it may be given here in nearly the same words.
Indeed, he was so much flattered by the unexpected compliment of a
present of her portrait from his sovereign, that he must have spoken
of it in a somewhat similar manner to every one on terms of intimacy
with him, who about that time happened to come into his company. 'I
was at her majesty's coronation in Westminster Abbey,' said Campbell,
'and she conducted herself so well, during the long and fatiguing
ceremony, that I shed tears many times. On returning home, I resolved,
out of pure esteem and veneration, to send her a copy of all my works.
Accordingly, I had them bound up, and went personally with them to Sir
Henry Wheatley, who, when he understood my errand, told me that her
majesty made it a rule to decline presents of this kind, as it placed
her under obligations which were unpleasant to her. Say to her
majesty, Sir Henry, I replied, that there is not a single thing the
queen can touch with her scepter in any of her dominions, which I
covet; and I therefore entreat you, in your office, to present them
with my devotion as a subject. Sir Henry then promised to comply with
my request; but next day they were returned. I hesitated,' continued
Campbell, 'to open the parcel, but, on doing so, I found, to my
inexpressible joy, a note inclosed, desiring my autograph upon them.
Having complied with the wish, I again transmitted the books to her
majesty, and in the course of a day or two received in return this
elegant engraving, with her majesty's autograph, as you see below.' He
then directed particular attention to the royal signature, which was
in her majesty's usual bold and beautiful handwriting.
"In 1842, his Pilgrim of Glencoe, and other Poems, appeared, dedicated
to his friend and physician. Dr. William Beattie, whom he also named
one of his executors; Mr. William Moxon, of the Middle Temple, brother
of Mr. Edward Moxon, his publisher, being the other. He also wrote a
Life of Petrarch, and a year or two before his death he edited the
Life of Frederic the Great, published by Colburn. In this year, that
is, in 1842, he again visited Germany. On one occasion, in the
writer's presence, he expressed a strong desire to go to Greece; but
he never carried that intention into effect, probably from the want of
a companion. On his return from Germany, with which he was now become
familiar, he took a house at No. 8, Victoria-square, Pimlico, and
devoted his time to the education of his niece, Miss Mary Campbell, a
Glasgow lady, whom he took to live with him. But his health, which had
long been in a declining state, began to give way rapidly. He was no
longer the man he was; the energy of his body and mind was gone, and
in the summer of 1843 he retired to Boulogne, where at first he
derived benefit from the change of air and scene. But this did not
continue long, and he gradually grew feebler; he seldom went into
society, and for some months before his death he corresponded but
little with his friends in this country. A week before his decease Dr.
Beattie was sent for from London, and on his arrival at Boulogne he
found him much worse than he had anticipated. The hour was approaching
when the spirit of the poet of Hope was to quit this transitory scene,
and return to God who gave it. On Saturday afternoon, the 15th June,
1844, he breathed his last, in the presence of his niece, his friend
Dr. Beattie, and his medical attendants. His last hours were marked by
calmness and resignation. The Rev. Mr. Hassell, an English clergyman,
was also with Mr. Campbell at the time of his death.
"Campbell's funeral," continues this able writer, "was worthy of his
fame. He was buried in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey, on
Wednesday, July 3, 1844. The funeral was attended by a large body of
noblemen and gentlemen, and by several of the most eminent authors of
the day. Mr. Alexander Campbell and Mr. Wiss, two nephews of the
deceased poet, with his executors, were the chief mourners; and the
pall was borne by Sir Robert Peel, the Earl of Aberdeen, the Duke of
Argyle, Lord Morpeth, Lord Brougham, Lord Campbell, Lord Dudley Coutts
Stuart, and Lord Leigh. The corpse was followed by a large number of
members of parliament and other distinguished gentlemen. The following
interesting account of the funeral was written by an American, who was
present among the crowd of spectators, on the mournful occasion:--
"'At twelve o'clock the procession, which had been formed in the
Jerusalem Chamber, adjoining the abbey, came in sight, as you looked
through the length of the abbey toward the western door. All you could
see, at first, at this immense distance, was a dark mass; and so
slowly did the procession advance, that it scarcely seemed to move. As
it came near, every voice was hushed, and, beside the solemn tramp of
the procession, the only voice audible was the voice of the clergyman
echoing along the vaulted passages, "I am the resurrection and the
life." Borne before the coffin were a number of mourning plumes, so
arranged as to correspond with it in shape. When the procession
halted, and the coffin was laid upon the temporary scaffold before the
desk, the plumes were placed upon it. There was no other attempt at
splendor. All was as simple as in the most ordinary funeral solemnity.
It was a grand spectacle, and such as I never expect to see again. Not
merely the nobles of the land, but its ablest men, who, from day to
day, are directing the destinies of the mightiest monarchy on the
globe, and whose names will live in after-times, were bearing the
remains of the departed poet to the hallowed palace of the dead. Among
the pall-bearers were Lord Brougham, Sir Robert Peel, and Lord
Aberdeen; among the mourners, Macaulay, D'Israeli, Lockhart, and many
others known to fame. I had hoped to see Wordsworth, and, perhaps,
Carlyle, but neither of them were there. The burial-service was read
by the Rev. Dr. Milman [canon of Westminster, and rector of St.
Margaret's], author of The Siege of Jerusalem, History of the Jews,
and other works. At the close of the service, the plumes were taken
from the coffin, and the body lowered into the grave. As the mourners
gathered around the opening, the sound of what seemed distant thunder
called my attention to the windows. It was a dull, dark day, and I
supposed, for a moment, that a storm was at hand, till the sweet
strain of a beautiful melody, from the organ in the choir, in the
rear, undeceived me. Then followed again the rumbling of thunder, like
the marching of mighty masses of the dead, varied occasionally by
snatches of harmony, and conveying an impression of unutterable
solemnity. It was the Dead March in Saul.
"'There was one part of the ceremony more impressive still. A
deputation from the Polish Association was present, in addition to the
Poles who attended as mourners; and when the officiating clergyman
arrived at that portion of the ceremony in which dust is consigned to
dust, one of the number (Colonel Szyrma) took a handful of dust,
brought for the occasion from the tomb of Kosciusko, and scattered it
upon the coffin. It was a worthy tribute to the memory of him who has
done so much to immortalize the man and the cause; and not the less
impressive because so perfectly simple. At the conclusion of the
service, the solemn peals of the organ again reverberated for some
minutes through the aisles of the abbey, and the procession retired as
it came.
"'The barrier with iron spikes, which protected the mourners from the
jostling of the crowd, was then removed, and there was a rush to get a
sight of the coffin. After waiting a little while, I succeeded in
looking into the grave, and read the inscription on the large gilt
plate:--
THOMAS CAMPBELL, LL.D.
AUTHOR OF THE PLEASURES OF HOPE,
Died June 15, 1844.
Aged 67.
"'On visiting the abbey the next day, I found the stone over the grave
so carefully replaced, that a stranger would never suspect there had
been a recent interment. To those who may hereafter visit the spot, it
may be interesting to know that it is situated between the monument of
Addison and the opposite pillar, not far from that of Goldsmith, and
closely adjoining that of Sheridan. His most Christian wish is
accomplished. He lies in the Poet's Comer, surrounded by the tombs and
monuments of kings, statesmen, warriors, and scholars, in the massy
building guarded with religious care, and visited from all parts of
the land with religious veneration.'"
[Illustration: Residence at Keswick]