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of Buckingham, Sergeant Best, Major Stanhope, Sir James Mackintosh, and a swan at dinner. Lord Byron came in the evening. It was one of the best parties I ever saw.” Byron and Campbell had first met in 1811, at the table of Mr. Rogers. On another occasion — after a dinner party at Holland House — Lord Byron writes,“ Campbell looks well, seems pleased, and dresses to sprucery. A blue coat becomes him,- so does a new wig. He really looked as if Apollo had sent him a birth-day suit, or a wedding garment. He was lively and witty.

We were standing in the ante-saloon when Lord H. brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition, similar to that used in Catholic churches; and, seeing us, he exclaimed, “Here is some incense for you!' Campbell answered, • Carry it to Lord Byron : he is used to it.''

In 1814 the poet visited Paris, and, though his acquaintance with art was so limited as to render his criticism of little value, we cannot read without interest the glowing transcript of his impressions in the Louyre.

“ Paris, September 8, 1814. “ Written in the Louvre, within two yards of the Apollo. I take out this sheet the moment I see the Apollo de Belvidere and the Venus de Medicis. Mrs. Siddons is with me. I could almost weep - indeed I must.


“ T. C.”

“ I write this after returning from the Louvre. * You may imagine with what feelings I caught the first sight of Paris, and passed under Montmartre, the scene of the last battle between the French and Allies.

* * It was evening when we entered Paris. Next morning, I met Mrs. Siddons; walked about with her, and then visited the Louvre together

* 0, how that immortal youth, Apollo, in all his splendor — majesty - divinity — flashed upon us from the end of the gallery! What a torrent of ideas, classically associated with this godlike form, rushed upon me at this moment! My heart palpitated - my eyes filled with tears — I was dumb with emotion.

“ Here are a hundred other splendid statues,- the Venus, the Menander, the Pericles, Cato and Portia, – the father and daughter in an attitude of melting tenderness. .. I wrote on the table where I stood with Mrs. Siddons the first part of this letter in pencil, - a record of the strange mo. ments in which I felt myself suddenly transported, as it were, into a new world, and while standing between the Apollo and the Venus." ***

“Coming home, I conclude a transcript of the day: The effect of the statue-gallery was quite overwhelming - it was even distracting ; for the

secondary statues are things on which you might dote for a whole day; and while you are admiring one, you seem to grudge the time, because it is not spent in admiring something else. Mrs. Siddons is a judge of statuary ; but I thought I could boast of a triumph over them, in point of taste, when she and some others of our party preferred another Venus to the statue that enchants the world.' I bade them recollect the waist of the true Venus — the chest and the shoulders. Wo returned, and they gave in to my opinion that these parts were beyond all expression. It was really a day of tremulous ecstasy. The young and glorious Apollo is, happily, still white in color. He seems as if he had just leapt from the sun! All pedantic knowledge of statuary falls away, when the most ignorant in the arts finds a divine presence in this great created form. Mrs. Siddons justly observed that it gives ono an idea of God himself having given power to catch, in such imitation, a ray of celestial beauty.

“ The Apollo is not perfect ; some parts are modern, and he is not quite placed on his perpendicular by his French transporters ; but his head, his breast, and one entire thigh and leg, are indubitable. The whole is so perfect, that, at the full distance of the ball, it seems to blaze with proportion. The muscle that supports the head thrown back- the mouth, the brow, the soul that is in the marble, - are not to be expressed.

“ After such a subject, what a falling off it is to tell you I dined with human beings !— yea, verily, at a hotel with Mrs. Siddons, her family, and Sergeant Best and party. We were all splendidly dressed, dined splendidly, and paid in proportion ; yet I never paid fourtcen shillings for a dinner with more pleasure. It was equal to any at Lord Holland's table - a profusion of luxuries and fruits fit to pall an epicure. After dinner wo repaired to the opera - a set of silly things, but with some exquisito music, at which even Mrs. Siddons, exhausted with admiring the Apollo, fell asleep. I should tell you that last night I was alone at the Orphan of China,' and read the tragody so as closely to follow, and feel the recita

“ T. 0."

tion. ***

“ Paris, Sept. 12, 1814. * * * I have seen a good deal of French society at Madame de Staël’s. Yesterday I dined with Schlegel and Humboldt, who are both very superior men, and with a host of Marquis and Marquises. After much entreaty, they made me repeat Lochiel. I have made acquaintance also with Denon, the Egyptian traveller, who is a very pleasing person, and gave me an admission to the sittings of the academy.”

A month afterwards Campbell wrote to a friend, - “ To-morrow I am to be at Madame de Staël's, where the Duke of Wellington is expected. I was introduced to him at his own house, where he was polite enough ; but the man who took me was so stupid as not to have told him the only little circumstance about me that could have entitled me to his notice. Madame de Staël asked him if he had seen me? He said a Mr.; &c., had been introduced to him, but he thought it was one of the thousands of that name from the same country; he did not know that it was the Thomas; but, after which, his Grace took my address in his memorandum-book, adding, he was sorry he had not known me sooner.”

In 1815 Campbell was called to Scotland by the death of his Highland cousin, MacArthur Stewart, of Ascog, who had left five hundred pounds, with a share of any unsettled residue of his estate, to " the author of The Pleasures of Hope.” In giving his instructions for the settlement, the old man said that "little Tommy, the poet, ought to have a legacy, because he had been so kind as to give his mother sixty pounds yearly out of his pension.” This bequest turned out to be worth nearly five thousand pounds, the income of which Campbell enjoyed during his lifetime, the capital remaining untouched, and descending, ultimately, to his son. This turn of good luck came opportunely to the poet, like many others in the course of his life. “I feel as blithe ” he said to his Edinburgh friends, if the devil were dead.” But it does not seem that Campbell was any less in want of money, whatever he might receive from pension, legacies, or copyright; his disposition to give expanded with his means, and he managed always to let his charities exceed his income just enough to subject himself to continual annoyance.

In April, 1816, Sir Walter Scott wrote to his dear Tom” that he had heard, “ with great glee,” of his intention to visit Edinburgh the next winter, with the view of lecturing; and that hearing this had put a further plan in his head, which he communicated in confidence. His idea was, that either of the two classes of rhetoric and history in the university of Edinburgh might be made worth four or five hundred pounds to Campbell, though they were of no value to the professors in possession. “Our magistrates," says Scott,“ who are patrons of the university, are at present rather well disposed towards literature (witness their giving me my freedom, with a huge silver tankard that would have done honor to Justice Shallow); and the Provost is really a great man, and a man of taste and reading; so I have strong hope our point, so advantageous to the university, may


be carried. If not, the failure is mine, not yours. You will understand me to be sufficiently selfish in this matter, since few things could give me more pleasure than to secure your good company through what part of life's journey may remain to me. In saying speak to nobody, I do not include our valuable friend John Richardson, or any other sober or well-judging friend of yours."

Campbell did not carry out his intention of lecturing in Edinburgh, and it does not appear that any action was taken upon the friendly suggestion of Sir Walter Scott.

On the death of Francis Horner, a loved and lamented friend, Campbell attempted a poem to his memory. Horner's political fame sprung from his skilful discussion of financial questions; and it was not easy to treat of banking and bullion in a poetical aspect. In spite of this difficulty, the poet succeeded better than he had hoped. The sketch of the monody was read at Holland House, and was condemned, we are inclined to believe, on the merits; though Campbell thought he had given umbrage to his noble friends by a line in praise of Canning's eloquence.

In the spring of 1817 Campbell met the poet Crabbe at IIolland House, in company with Moore. They lounged the better part of a day about the park and library, conversing, among other matters, about the English novelists. “ Your father," he wrote subsequently to the son of Crabbe, “ was a strong Fieldingite, and I as sturdy a Smollettite. His mildness in literary argument struck me with surprise in so stern a painter of nature; and I could not but contrast the unassumingness of his manners with the originality of his powers. In what may be called the ready-money small-talk of conversation, his facility might not, perhaps, seem equal to the known calibre of his talents; but in the progress of conversation 1 recollect remarking that there was a vigilant shrewdness that almost eluded you, by keeping its watch so quietly. Though an oldish man when I saw him, he was a á laudator temporis acti,' but a decided lover of later times. The part of the morning which I spent with him and Tom Moore was to me, at least, of memorable agreeableness.”

On the 27th of June, in this year, the festival in honor of John Philip Kemble was celebrated in Freemason's Hall, and the fame of it will live forever in the splendid verses which Campbell contributed to the occasion.

On the 4th of July Campbell gave a little dinner at Sydenham, at which Crabbe, Moore and Rogers, were the only guests. It may well be that at his own hospitable board the poet of Memory had sometimes brought together a more distinguished party, but it was not common at Sydenham. Moore and Campbell, at all events, remembered it, and both wrote about it. Campbell says: “One dayand how can it fail to be memorable to me, when Moore has commemorated it? – Crabbe, Rogers, and Moore came down to Sydenham, pretty early in the forenoon, and stopped to dine with me. We talked of founding a Poet's Club, and set about electing the members, not by ballot, but vivâ voce. The scheme failed — I scarcely know how; but this I know, that a week or two afterwards I met with Mr. Perry, of the Morning Chronicle, who asked me how our Poet's Club was going on. I said I don't know. We have some difficulty in giving it a name ; we thought of calling ourselves The Bees.' " Ah,' said Perry, 'that's a little different from the common report ; for they say you are to be called The Wasps !' I was so stung with this waspish report, that I thought no more of the Poet's Club."

Of the same dinner he wrote a few days afterwards, to his sister :

“We had a most pleasant day. The sky had lowered and rained till they came, and then the sun shone out. “You see,' I said to my guests, ó that Apollo is aware of our meeting !' Crabbe is absolutely delightful — simple as a child, but shrewd, and often good-naturedly reminding you of the best parts of his poetry. He took his wine cheerfully, far from excess; but his heart really seemed to expand, and he was full of anecdote and social feeling.”

The commemoration of the day by Moore is in the verses to the poet Crabbe’s Inkstand, written May, 1832:

“ How freshly doth my mind recall,

'Mong the few days I've known with thee, One that, most buoyantly of all,

Floats in the wake of memory !

“ He, too, was of our feast that day,

And all were guests of one whose hand Hath shed a new and deathless ray

Around the lyre of this great land ;

* Rogers.

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