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wrote, it was a blunt demand, without either offer or terms, "My mother will now be comfortable, and, in a few years for a volume of new poems, which I had not to give him. I shall be able to add another fifty, to be an annuity to the

About half a year ago, expecting (as hitherto) a two more dependant of my sisters; that, however, must be largess on the eighth edition of my booli

, which his part- | deferred for a little time, until I can scrape up as much as ner, Mr. Mundell, promised on every edition, in considera- will bring me a sbare in some literary work, and secure me tion of what I gave hiin in addition to the second part of a good income.

Give my love to Grahame* The Pleasures of Hope,' I sent my mother a draft on Mr. dear, worthy companion of ours. He is the man who must Doig. But, alebough this premiuin on each edition is due be the intimate associate of our trio for life.

Adieu. to me, and although I was even working for him at the time, | I am giddy to an excess with this vestal fire-like vigilance. he refused the demand !"

- Believe ine, yours truly.

*** T. C.'" The negotiations with his Edinburgh publisher do Anxiety for the comfort of his mother and sisters is not appear to have been altogether successful; and he a most agreeable feature in Campbell's character, and was advised, at the same time, on account of the de- || appears in all his correspondence. The removal to licate state of his health, to remove to a quarter of Sydenham cost money; but it was a pleasant residence, the town deemed more salubrious than Pimlico. Pre- and enabled him to indulge his desire for a cottage and carious health prevented him from accepting situations suburban life. His retrospect furnishes many curious requiring close attention, which were placed within particulars regarding his private habits, which are not his power :

to be found in his letters. The

annoyances of authors

are well described in the following lines :“ London was now the only field that promised any permanent and profitable exercise of his talents. One of his ". From Edinburgh,' be says, 'I came back to London distinguished friends, indeed, had generously offered him a perfect adventurer, having nothing to depend upon for one of the highest literary appointments of the day ; but its subsistence but my pen. I was by no means without literary laborious duties and delicute responsibilities were such as employment; but the rock on which I split was over-calcuto render the undertaking so formidable, in his precarious | lating the gains I could make from them. I have observed state of health, that the tempting offer was reluctantly de- th:t authors, and all other artists, are apt to make similar clined. But he was deeply sensible of the compliment; and, | mistakes. The author and I can speak from experience although he could not profit by the offer, it had the bappy | --sits down to an engagement, for which he is to have so effect of giving him more confidence in bis own abilities, much per sheet. Ile gets through what seems a tenth of a and a better opinion of human nature, thau his recent trials day ; but innumerable and incalculable interruptions occur. had led bim to forın. Another circumstance—which had Besides, what has been written to-day, may require to be much weight in his decision to remain near London-was a re-written to morrow; and thus he finds that a grocer, who situation which he had just obtained in connection with sells a pound of figs, and puts a shilling, including three• The Star newspaper, and which produced an income of pence of profit, into the till of his counter, has a more su rely four guineas a week. His contributions to periodical lirera- | gainful vocation than the author.' ture were still a source of emolument; but iil healih super- "•In my married state,' he adds, 'I lived a year in town, veping, literary composition was usually followed by great and then look and furnished a house at Sydenham, to which mental depression-the inward struggle to resist outward I brought my young wife and a lovely boy.'" pressure. But his hopes were still sanguine ; his friends were kind, and better prospects seemed to be opening. Of His cottage at Sydenham was not quite up to the his private life and feelings, at this moment the following | picture that he had drawn of an Edinburgh cottage ; letter, though rather sanguine, presents an animated picture : but it was the next best residence, and pleased him

" . Will yo! also call and see how my mother is? I am easy now about her. Don't mention anything of bad health exceedingly - but only words of comfort! She has now, in all, £70 a

Externally, the new situation had much to soothe and year. Pray tell me, as expenses stand in Edinburgh, if you interest a poetical mind. From the south, a narrow lane, think it is enough. I am anxious to know how expensive-lined with bedgerows, and passing through a little dell ness has arisen with you ; for here, everything is dreadfully watered by a rivulet, leads to the house, froin the wiudows dear. Although my wife is a notable economist, yet the of which the eye wanders over an extensive prospect of unweek's bills are enormous beyond what they would have dilating hills, park-like enclosures, hamlets, and picturesque been a few years ago. Now, indeed, I begin to live some- villas shaded with file ornamental timber; with here and what more bravely than at first. I advise you, however, to there some village spire shooting up through the forest, marry to know the value of life's comforts. I never take my reflecting the light on its vane, or breaking the stillness with poor Matilda a jaunt to Kensington, or indulge in the

the chime of its evening bells.' Ramifying in all direcslightest luxury, without wondering that happiness—which

tions, shady walks, where he was safe from all intrusion but before I could never get for love or money-ras now to be that of the Muses, enabled bim to combine bealthful exergot by industry and the virtue that purifies love, and makes cise with profitable meditation." money wealth iudeed.

"• i bave succceded in getting my house well furnished. Want of money was his grand torment at this period. We have a most elegant little drawing-room, and furniture || If he had been richer, abler to work hard, or had fallen enougb for a parlour and study, when we get into a larger || into more profitable engagements, he believed that he house. books, and hope soon to attain to a good library. All this would also have been happier ; but his incapacity to comes of being happy at home. I should have been poor to work hard conferred on him that leisure on which his this day if I lind not got a wife. I must not omit, in my happiness greatly depended :catalogue of comforis, tiat I have secured a good store of port wine; and yet I assure you, by the orders of my "* I do not mean to say that we suffered the abso'ute prigrave list, and from better motives, I have laid aside vations of poverty. On the contrary, it was rather the fear, every propensity to take one glass more than does me good | than the substance of it, which afflicted us. But I shali to which I was sometimes addicted in Edinburgh. But never forget my sensations, when I one day received a letter who conld resist such good fellows ?

I only men- from my eldest brother in America, stating that the casual tion all this, to show you how regularly and comfortably I remittances, which he had made to my mother, must non bave now brought myself to live. All this would be nothing | cease, on account of his unfortunate circumstances; and with regard to the flattering of my owo foeling-no; but I tbat I must undertake alone the pious duty of supportivg have scribbled and blinded myself, reading and copying our widowed parent. . Here now, I had two estaba night and day, to show my dear, patient partner that, al- lishments to provide for-one at Edinburgh and another at though our first outset in matrimony was poor, tbe continu- Sydenham; and it may be remembered tbat in those times ance was not to be so. This insetting year I am preparing the price of living was a full third part dearer tban at prefor innovations, which she resists as Jacobinical! I have sent. I venture to say that I could live at the time I now banished the rummer toddy, out of which she used to drink write, as comfortably on four hundred pouods a-year, as I her solitary glass, with as pleased a face as if it had been could have lived then on an income of six hundred. The Tokay, or a better beverage.

I shall have a large war prices put all economy to flight and defiance.'' and well-aired house in the country, a stock of fowls, and The difference between war and peace prices was a good garden ; and, though Matilda's extreme caution is a guarantee

against profusion, yet I find comfort a fine support certainly a most important matter with persons enjoying to industry,

a fixed income,

The character of his engagements with the “ Star" || that he sometimes imagined himself rich when he was poor,

and on one occasion thought himself penniless, when, in newspaper, are explained in the following extract:

fact, he had a good sum of bank notes in his pocket. This, "“I accepted an engagement to write for the "Star" || however, happened at a time when the aspect of his fortunes newspaper, and the “ Philosophical Magazine,” conducted

had much improved; but a rooted disinclination to balance by Vr. Tulloch, the editor of the “ Star," for which I re

his expenditure and income drew him into many difficulties, ceived at the rate of two hundred pounds a year. But that which a very little calculation and forethought might have sum, out of which I had to pay for a horse, on which I rode prevented. to lowa every day, was quite inadequate to my wants; so One half of the difficulties by which “ men of geI betook myself to literary engagements that would allow me to labour all day in the country. Dispirited beneath all

nius" are involved are traceable to the same source. hope of raising my reputation by what I could write, I con- || They do not make their incomes stretch over their extrueted for only anonymous labour—and of course at an penditure, and leave a margin. humble price.

The consequent and *** It is always a misfortune for a literary man to have re.

bitter feelings of dependence destroy their energy; and course to anonymous writing-let his motives be never so no small portion of the misery that they sustain is caused innocent. And if there be auy excuse more admissible than || by deficient arithmetic. But the charge should not another, it is when his poverty and modesty conspire against him. But it lowers a man's gevius to compose that for which | be recklessly made against literary men alone, although his name is not to be answerable. I wrote on all subjects - that is commonly done. The rolls of commercial em. even including agricultureand smile, but hear me, for, oda barrassments will show, we suspect, similar neglect. as it may seem, I tell you the truth in saying, that by writing on agriculture, I acquired so much knowledge on the sub

whose business is in arithmetic will be found to ject as to have been more than once complimented ou that be equally prone to miscalculations in that respect. knowledge by practical farmers.'”

A literary man has, generally, a small income, compaWriting for the press was not Campbell's walk ; at || ratively, from which he is expected to maintain a valeast he does not seem to have shone in that depart-gue, indefinite, but costly position in society. Country ment, although his fondness for magazine literature gentlemen, with large estates, often exhibit correbrought him often into trouble.

sponding ignorance of arithmetic, and yet that is not Many of his friends expected that some situation charged against them as a class. At Sydenham several would have been offered to him by the Government at of Campbell's best lyrics were finally polished offthat period; but a government has always more appli- || some of them that had been known and appreciated for cants than offices to be filled, and Mr. Campbell was one or two previous years. not likely to make a good dun. He met his “noble

“Of the poetical pieces cautiously elaborated in the course friends” on something like a footing of equality; and of this year, three only were permitted to see the light. while he was often compelled to solicit and receive

These were,

'Lord Ullin's Daughter,' • The Soldier's favours from Mr. Richardson, Mr. Telfourd, and Mr. || sketched among the scenes to which they refer--the first in

Dream,' and The Turkish Lady ;' all of which had been Rogers, he was too independent, probably, to remind the Island of Mull, and the two latter in Bavaria- but were his friends in the Government that he had claims on

not revised and finished until he had retired to Sydenham.

The next on the anvil was 'The Battle of the Baltic,' which their consideration.

was composed at short intervals during the winter, and fin“During the autumn he continued to work at intervals ished in April, but reduced, before publication, to nearly upon the Andals ;' he wrote papers for the ‘Philosophical | one half of the original stanzas, as preserved in bis letter Magazine;' translated foreign correspondence for The

to Sir Walter Scott. This piece, like the two former, had Star ;' attended at the office in town; and, by a daily journey passed the ordeal of private criticism with great eclat, and of ten or twelve miles, going and returning, his strength

as soon as it came before the public, was set to music and began to improve, and he looked around for some popular | sung with applause by the great vocalists of the day." theme on which to make another trial of his powers. "Nothing, however, turned up to his satisfaction ; neither his

A considerable portion of Campbell's time at Sy. own inventive genius, nor the suggestions of bis friends, || denham was passed in devising and executing great could hit the mark; and for many months he continued in schemes--some of them well known to the world the same 'inglorions employment of anonymous writing and compilation. At length, his case baving excited particular and in the accomplishment of works on which he was attention in one or iwo influential quarters, he was en- from time to time engaged. He met many disapcouraged to hope that be should not be overlooked by a pointments, and was often crushed down by the fear of liberal Ministry, when supported by the good word of Lord || Want, not so much for himself as for those who were Holland and Lord Minto. In what form their patronage was to be expressed was still uncertain ; but a situation under dependent upon him. A desponding letter to Sir Government, unshackled by conditional service,' was that to

Walter Scott is closed with the following gratifying which he aspired, and to which be was entitled by his talents and character. With these fair and reasonable expectations, announcement:—“His Majesty has been graciously wbich his friends were all anxious to see realized, time flew || pleased to confer a pension of £200 a-year upon me. by; and if it did not find him prosperous, it found him supporting his adversity with a fortitude that commanded

God save the King!" respect."

This pension placed him for ever after above the His poems continued to be a sure source of income;

fear of wanting means to assist his friends, and to eduand regular remittances were forwarded by Mr. Rich- || cate his son. It was a great relief to his mind, and ardson, who managed the sale of his quarto edition-contributed, we have no doubt, to the improvement of the only edition then productive. Mr. Campbell, like his health. He at once made a division of the pension, many other poets and literary men, was a bad calcu- reserving one portion for himself, and dividing the lator

. He could not keep money. Real sovereigns || other between his mother and his sisters. Great efeven went from him as if in a dream ; and he would forts were made by iends to procure extensive not take the trouble necessary to reckon how they subscriptions for another quarto edition of his poems; came or where they went. Dr. Beattie says :

and they were successful. From this period his circum“ Any minute calculation of money received or disbursed,

stances were not bad; his position in life was most re. was an exercise for which he had neither taste nor patience : spectable; he was counected with all the leading men of the and of the real state of bis finances, his friends, in general

, Whig party; he had a perfect command of the trade for knew much more than himself. I am always ready to shoot myself,' he says, when I come to the subject of cash

his literary productions, and, except continued weakness, accounts;' and it will be seen in the course of these letters, / which seems to have arisen from nervousness to a very

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considerable extent, he might have been a happy and || place. But in spite of all his “ regret," the old fox went a useful man. His correspondence shows rapid ebbs | immediately to Prince Czartoryski, and told him that he,

Prince C., sbould not join “any political dinners at a Lonand flows of temperament. He was far from being an don club!” Prince Czartoryski sent for me, but being conagreeable man--but easily discomposed, and, like many

tined to bed with a cold, I could not go out. His friend

then came to me to ask if the dinner was meant to be other authors, nervously afraid of his publishers.

“ public and political ?" I assured him not, but only an A terrible calamity occurred in the insanity of his expression of private regard for his Highness., “In that son, on whom he foudly doted, and whose mind was case," said his friend, " the Prince assures you that be will

I was well enough to preside at pronounced to be at last permanently impaired. This

the dinner. The Prince tbanked us in French for drinking event formed the severest trial of his life to that date ;) his healih, and the party went off with great harmony and and yet in his correspondence it was mentioned with good feeling;

""dined with the Prince next day at a private party, and more resignation than other features in his character before leaving town had several interviews with him might have led us to anticipate. As years wore on, he

He was in mourning for his mother, the became connected with various public movements in

venerable old princess, who died last month in her eighty.

ninth year, and I believe of a broken heart more than old London. He had travelled on the continent, and studied age. The Prince asked me " Ilave you not got a letter from educational proceedings in Germany. The opinions my mother!" I said "No;" but shrinking from the touch of formed in these journies, induced him to take a warm

so tender a chord in his feelings, I dropt the subject.

His question was explained to me this morninterest in the establishment of the London Univer- | ing, when I received a letter from the pow departed Prinsity. Indeed, he might, with some propriety, be cess, which must have been written a few days before her considered its founder. In 1826 he was elected to

death. It is written, sigued, and directed with her own

hand. fill the office of Lord Rector of Glasgow University,

**T. C.' after a severe opposition on the part of the Professors. He went down to Glasgow, delivered an inaugural | the aged and august Princess is still alive, in her eighty.

• Writing a few days later, he says :-'It turns out that address, and was received with great warmth, both || ninth year. May God preserve her! there and in Edinburgh. The election is in the “ The news that waited Campbell's return from Chertsey

To be compelled to witness hands of the students, and they repeated it three threw him into great distress.

misery, which he had no adequate power to reliere, was a years in succession—an honour rarely conferred in constant burden upon his mind ; and to contemplate its Glasgow. In the month of September, 1828, Mrs. probable increase was still worse. By letters, and personal Campbell died. Their boy was lost. The youngest applications to his friends, he collected funds just sufficient

to relieve the more urgent cases ; but as the number of exsister of the poet and his mother died some timeiles increased, the duty and difficulty were, how to increase previously. These calamities fell heavily on a ner

the number of contributors. With this object, an appeal vous and sensitive mind. Indeed, from Mrs. Camp- || with which it was responded to by the public, was the sub

to British philanthropy was drawn up, and the liberality bell's death may be dated, the poet's declension intoject of grateful admiration. indulgences, which, though light, as compared with his answer to a question respecting the actual amouut of

“A lady, to whom the poet had written, having requested those which many men pursue habitually without suffering among the exiled patriots," he sat down to his desk, censure or reproach, were yet calculated to throw intending to give her one instance which had just come bea shade over the lustre of a noble name.

fore him. Mr. Back was in the room with him. After writing a short time, his friend observed that he became more and more agitated-sobbed and wept like a cbild-and

then, starting up, began to pace the room with a hurried Although stunned for a time by these bereave- step, and an expression of mental agony. Alarmed at tho ments, yet Mr. Campbell, for several years, continued violence of his emotion, Mr. Back imagined that he was lato throw his heart and soul into those objects, withbouring under acute bodily pain... No," he said, 'it is more

than bodily pain; it is the thought that so many gallant pawhich he considered himself intimately connected. | triois are starving?

What is to be done ? and The Poles bad always found him a warm, zealous | curuing earnestly to his friend, waited for an answer. friend, He was a firm believer in the truth and What would you say to an association ?

“ The question was difficult. At length, said Mr. Back,

• Association ? justice of their cause. He fervently anticipated the said Campbell - Association of the friends of Poland ! day when Poland, won back by her sons from their

that is the very thing. Let us set about it directly.'

“ They went out together, called upon Lord Panmure in conquerors, would rear her head amongst free nations. || Cockspur Street, explained their object, and received from He wrote splendid verses for Poland; he spoke elo- | him iwenty pounds as a first contribution to the funds of the quently in behalf of the exiles ; but he also wrought

association.

“ Anxious to profit by so auspicious a commencement, most vigorously in carrying forward every detail with meetings were held, a committee was formed, and in a short which their cause was associated. The following time the society was in full operation. statements evince his activity:

* To Mr. Gray, his literal adviser in all philanthropic

schemes, be willes“«St. Leonard's, January 17, 1832.

“ March 7th.-Let me consult you about a project that is

very near my heart-an association-a literary one, for col“I went to town more than a fortnightlecting, publishing, and diffusing all such information, reago, partly to pay my respects to the worthy Prince Czar. specting Poland as may tend tů interest the public mind, toryski, and party to look after our American legacy. The and keep alive in it a strong interest with respect to that Prince I found, if possible, a more interesting man than I brave but ill-used nation. The Germans are in a highly exhad imagined. He has lost £70,000 a-year, with the near cited state; their patriois are forming-or rather have formed prospect of being King of Poland.

But||--Associations of the same nature; though as I learn from he is as calm and undepressed as if he were in his palace. I them, they have to work up agaiust the wind and tide of Now and then, when I have sat beside him at dinner, 1| despo'ic governments. could overhear a stified and deep sigh; but his gentleman- · Forty most respectable individuals have pledged themlike self-command, sunvity, and dignity, are most striking.selves in London to support me in forming this Philo-Polish He is now sixty-one, but looks much younger, and is a greal | Association. We subscribe but a pound apiece ; and shall deal bandsomer than his portrait.

publish, respecting Poland, such tracts as, by dragging into "As president of the Literary Union, I invited his High. || Full light all the black and horrid facts of Russian cruelty ness to dine with thirty of our members, and, at the same towards her, may arouse public sympathy.' time, asked Prince Talleyrand to meet him. Talleyrand | With regard to the Autocrat's treatment to Poland, he consent me a note in his own hand, extremely regretting an cludes, bis sceptre is a knout ; and his councils, to use express engagement to dine elsewhere, and mentioning the the words of Æschylus, 'are embalmed in corruption,'"

THE POLISH CAUSE.

66

MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

events.

one.

My partners in the concern are, Mr. Cochrane, the

publisher, and Captain Chamier, author of "The Life of a We have repeatedly remarked Mr. Campbell's at- Silor," in " The Metropolitan," and several other amusing tachment to magazine literature. His first device in papers. He is one of the merriest and dearest souls in literature was a magazine. At every stage of his life existence; and though diametrically, opposite to me in we find him connected with some work of that de politics, is the best literary partner I could possibly have

yot; for I laugh at his Toryism, and make the publication seription. He wrote for the “ Philosophical.” Ile Whiggish, in spite of his teeth. And as my editorial power edited Mr. Colburn's “ New Monthly.” Finally, he first attacks upon him, by name and surname, in “ The Metroedited, and then purchased an interest in, the “ Metro-politan," if he presumes to interfere with me! But Chamier, politan." The history of the transaction is curious though the merriest joker in the world, is a shrewd, active, and interesting, reflecting honour on no man more than aperation. So God save our gracious King William the the venerable author of the “ Pleasures of Memory.”' Fourth! preserve my sister Mary! and speed the sale of

"The Metropolitan "'11, Waterloo Place, October 17, 1831.

"*T. C.'All is well. I have seen my son, and I have been agreeably surprised. I have got a share in the “ Me

*** Dec. 21st,

I mentioned to you having been tropolitan!" I am ien inches taller than when you saw me!! enabled by iny worthy friend Rogers, to purchase a third And my regret now is that I showed so little pluck under share of a periodical. Imagine how foolish I looked wben my laté misfortunes, as to throw a shade of the slightest | I found the concern a bubble. After weeks of agitation and uneasiness over your reception of me. I don't believe the many a sleepless night, I got back the money by dint of retraditional remark that it is best for us not to foresec future monstrance, and Rogers has got it again, though he kindly

How much liappier I should have been at Stoke, offered to let me have it for another purpose. It was not if I could have foreseen future events! Had I known what till the business was setuled, some ten days ago, that I could I know now, I should have been happy at your bouse, instead rerire with an easy mind to my cabin here, where I am of being the weak and dolorous man which I fear I was. fallen once more in love with the sea ; and I have now set

"I came to town just in the nick of time to prevent an myself down jo earnest, and with my heart and hand discminjudicious visitation of my dear boy. I spent Sunday with | barrassed, to " Mrs. Siddons' Life.' bim. No doubt all my ideas of his recovery are to be set aside. I will cherish that delusion no longer. But lie is betier. The last time I saw him, his complexion was pale

Mr. Rogers' money was repaid, and Mr. Campand sodden. It is now restored,' and he is beautiful. His bell's connection with the “Metropolitan” ceased. beauty may, perhaps, give me a decper grief for his case- He probably escaped a bad bargain, and saved himself but still it takes off the horror which bis bad looks inspired. All the time I was at Stoke there was a suspicion blister

from annoyances that he was ill able to meet. ing or rather causticating my mind, that I had done wrong Mr. Campbell was desirous for the formation of in allowing Dr. Allen to remove hiin--on account of some unions of literary men, to avoid the expense of waywardness in his temper-from being a parlour-boarder, to live in a house where the keepers have patients. But

publishing Booksellers be considered extravagant imagine the relief that came into my heart, when my son in their profits, and selfish in their transactions. told me that he liked his new residence better than his old

And yet, no living man was less competent to **When I was with you, I was uncertain of being one of do without them. The trade, we suspect, are the proprietors of the journal "The Metropolitan”_which not too well paid—and from no class of men did I condict. Let the name of my brother poet, Rogers, be for erer sacred. He has bought me a share in the partner'

Mr. Campbell experience more kindness and con. ship; and, with poble generosity, has refused even the

sideration. Mr. Moxon, the publisher, and Dr. mortgage of my Scottish property, as security for the debt. Beattie, his biographer, were the only English friends But mortgaged mny Scotch property shall be in order that be may be secure.

who followed the poet to Boulogne, where he had ** All this time I am an egotist. But egotism is, after all, gone in search of health ; but only to die. They a compliment to those for whom we may be believed bona were with him for some days previously to the 10th fide to bear a regard. In the midst of all my egotisin, your Derbyshire has a pleasant hold over my imagination. You

June, 1844; and with him when he died on the are with me, and your music. Never did I surrender to any afternoon of that day. The last years of his life cannot one but to you my verses on - They were too sacred

be contemplated without regret. Eminently doniestic (as to my feelings) to be given to the printer. My mind and heart are full of Derbyshire.

in all his habits and manner of thought, he was ill able

“*T. C.' to hear solitude in the world, which, except for the "The first notice of a Polish association' occurs in the

kindness and attention of a young lady, bis niece, he following pissage :

would have felt most severely. In looking over his "Oct 18ch. To-morrow I am obliged to stop in town, life also, we are apt to think that he should have risen out of compassion to the poor Polish poet, whose grief in his old age may well be imagined. I am forming an Association

higherinthe world, with the genius and the general talents which will support the good old man, and, I dare say, all that he possessed. But the want of patronage was his the other Polish exiles.

first obstacle, and clung to him in some measure through “. Turning from that horrid suloject, let me tell you a piece of good luck. Captain Chamier, the principal pro

life. He was fitted to render greater public services than prietor of The Metropolitan," who is very much attached were ever required at his hands, but he was not quato tne, bas always been pressing me to like a share in the

lified to push himself before the public. He was diffiwork; but as it could not be got without money, and as 1 had given all my money to the Poles, I told him it was in

dent—willing to work, but waiting to be called. His rain to ask me to take a share.

I went to Rogers, private correspondence exhibits noble points in his and said I would insure my life, and hand over my library character. No man could have been more generous to him—which has been valued by an impartial bookseller at £700 at least. He said, “you shall neither insure your

and self-denying to all who had the slightest claim on life, nor hand over your library ; you shall have the money his regard. He was actuated by the purest patriotwhen you want it." I am to get the £500 to-morrow, but in spite of his pro- | ism; and in his death the country lost its first lyrical hibition, I bave insured my life, and I have got a legalinstru

poet, and one of its most attached and enlightened ment by which my library and furniture will be at his citizens. disposal till the debt is repaid.

**T. C.'

Dr. Beattie has executed his late friend's commis“Under this pleasing delusion, he calls upon his sister

sion with the greatest care, and produced one of the to congratulate him on bis good fortune, and adds :- most interesting biographies of our time.

AN ELEGY.

1. Lo! on high heaven's clear sapphire throne,

Where chernh ardours burn,
A new-born light hath sudden shone,

Fair as the star of morn.

II.

'Tis Ellen's spirit from afar,

Flying the shades of night, Charioted in her flaming car

Back to her native light.

III.

How bright the fair immortal shines !

What glories round her glow ! While sadly garbed my spirit pines,

Sequestered, sad, below.

IV.

O Sovereign Arbiter of Fate!

Had this been Thy decree, That into heaven her spirit late *

Should have returned to Thee.

V.
But, hush ! my God is kind and wise,

For lo! in Memory's cell
Sweet Ellen's image mirror'd lics,

Where dreams delight to dwell.

VI.

There Fancy's eye may drink the beam

That cheered the darkest day; There visioned Beauty still may seem Companion of my way.

VII. No longer lone, on Time's swift streann,

My fragile skiff sweeps down,
Since Ellen meets me in a dream,
And calls me still her own.

VIII.
Ye shadows dim aye pall these eyes ;

Sun, moon and stars, adieu
I go to gaze on brighter skies

And fairer orbs than you.

A DIRGE.
HERE let never wild winds rave;

Winter howl not o'er her tomb;
Only come anigh this grave,

Summer shade and gentle gloom,
And round it ever soft low winds keep moan,

And sobs flow by,

And faint airs sigh
Sad murmurs of the fading year alone.

Low we laid her, cold and pale,

Whiter than her folding shroud,

With a grief not told aloud-
Sudden sob and smothered vrail.

Withered violets tell her tale
Tender blooms, the gleam swift lost,

The fleeting breath
Of early Spring tempts forth to blighting frost

And icy death.
Unop'd lilies o'er her tomb strew-

Primroses—the purple bloom

Of hyacinths, and faint perfume
Of every frailest star that peeps the April through.

Fair she was, and sweet as they,

With azure laugh within her eyes,
That tears and sadness gleaned away--
A thing, we said, unmade for sighs,

Till woe, love came!
Oh, tears, that love--life's best of worth!-
Love-joy

the rejoicing Earth

Her days should claim
From girlhood's mirths and careless sports, and gay
Light-hearted laugh and low-breathed prayers, away

For gaze-drooped shame;
For sobs and death-the cold still tomb's decay,

An unbreathed name.
Yet ever in our thought she lies

A memory all reproof above,
On whom reproach turns not its eyes,

But only love;
Love, with a misty gaze of gathering tears,
That no accusing word of chiding memory hears.

But unto him
Comes she not in the watches of the night,

The chamber's gloom,
Thronging the dim

And spectral room
Hith wan-felt presence, that the shuddering sight
Aches out upon through the dim taper's light?

Till cold damps start
On his dank forehead, and through his keen ears
Thirong, palpable, the utterings of his fears ;

And, ghastly fright
Scourging his spotted soul, again he hears,
In the old tones that the remembered years

Thrill'd with delight,
The grave-closed sorrow of her tale of years;

Such wages win

The accursed sin
The serpent sin--that on her pureness stole,
Shining its track across her pathless soul,
Poisoning to ill the holy peace within.

Yet there is rest for all,
Sleep for the weariest eyes
In peace she quiet lies
Where chequered shadows fall

Across her low-heaped gravem
Where the wild winds in grief forget to rave,
And ever the loud gusts of winter blow

In moanings low,
Wailing for her onr sorrow might not save,

The hueless rose,
The pallid lily plant upon her tomb,
So shall their vestal glory light its gloom--
Its shadowing gloom—with the pure gleam of snow,
And their white beauty shall the summer show
Our sweeping love for her who sleeps below.

W. C. BENNETT. Greenwich.

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