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he inserted a short account of Campbell. “Campbell,” says Galt, “ began his poetical career by an Ossianic poem, which his schoolfellows published by subscription, at two-pence a-piece ;' my old schoolfellow, Dr. Colin Campbell, was a subscriber. The first edition of "The Pleasures of Hope' was also by subscription, to which I was a subscriber.” When this was shown to Campbell, by Mr. Macrone, just before the publication of the book, the poet's bitterness knew no bounds. “ lle's a dirty blackguard, sir," said Campbell ; " and, sir, if Mr. Galt were in good health, I would challenge

I feel disposed to do so now, the blackguard." “What's to be done ?" said Macrone ; “the book is printed off, but I will cancel it, if you like.” Here the heading of the chapter" A Two-penny Effusion,” attracted Campbell's attention, and his thin, restless lips quivered with rage. “Look here, sir,” said Campbell, "look what the dirty blackguard's done here !” and he pointed to the words, “ A Two-penny Effusion.” Two cancels were then promised, and the soothed and irritated poet wrote with his own hand the following short account of his early efforts :-“Campbell began his poetical career by an Ossianic poem, which was published by his schoolfellows when he was only thirteen. At fifteen he wrote a poem on the Queen of France, which was published in the Glasgow Courier. At eighteen, he printed his Elegy callcd 'Love and Madness ;' and at twenty-one, before the finishing of his twenty. second year, “The Pleasures of Hope.''

Before Campbell had recovered his usual seren ity of mind, and before the ink in his pen was well dry, who should enter the shop of Messrs. Cochrane and Macrone, but the poor offending author Mr. Galt. The autobiographer was on his way home from the Athenæum, and the poet of“ Hope,”! on his way to the Literary Union. They all but met. Campbell avoided an interview, and made his exit from the shop by a side door. When the story was told to Galt, he enjoyed it heartily.

Campbell,” said Galt, "may write what he likes, for I have no wish to offend a poet I admire ; but I still adhere to the two-penny effusion as a true story.”

On quitting the Glasgow University, Mr. Campbell accepted the situation of a tutor in a family settled in Argyleshire. Here he composed a copy of verses, printed among

his

poems on the roofless abode of that sept of the Clan Campbell, from which he sprung. The Lines in question are barren of promise—they flow freely, and abound in pretty similitudes; but there is more of the trim garden breeze in their composition, than the fine bracing air of Argyleshire.

He did not remain long in the humble situation of a tutor, but made his way to Edinburgh in the winter of 1798. What his expectations were in Edinburgh, no one has told us. He came with part of a poem in his pocket, and acquiring the friendship of Dr. Robert Anderson, and the esteem of Dugald Stewart, he made bold to lay his poem and his expectations before them. The poem in question was the first rough draft of “ Pleasures of Hope." Stewart nodded approbation, and Anderson was all rapture and suggestion. The poet listened, altered, and enlarged—lopped, pruned, and amended, till the poem grew much as we now see it. The first fourteen lines were the last that were written. We have this curious piece of literary information from a lady who knew Campbell well, esteemed him truly, and was herself esteemed by him in return. Anderson always urged the want of a good beginning, and when the poem was on its way to the printer, again pressed the necessity of starting with a picture complete in itself. Campbell all along admitted the justice of the criticism, but never could please himself with what he did. The last remark of Dr. Anderson's roused the full swing of his genius within him, and he returned the next day to the delighted doctor, with that fine comparison between the beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes, of happiness which imaginative minds promise to themselves with all the certainty of hope fulfilled. Anderson was more than pleased, and the new comparison was made the opening of the new poem.

“At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?
"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus, with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus from afar, each dim-discover'd scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been;
And every form that Fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there."

There is a kind of inexpressible pleasure in ino very task of copying the Claude-like scenery and repose of lines so lovely.

With Anderson's last imprimatur upon it, the poem was sent to press. The doctor was looked upon at this time as a whole Wills' Coffee-house

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in himself; he moved in the best Eainburgh circles, and his judgment was considered infallible. He talked, wherever he went, of his young friend, and took delight, it is said, in contrasting the classical air of Campbell's verses with what he was pleased to call the clever, homespun poetry of Burns. Nor was the volume allowed to want any of the recommendations which art could then lend it. Graham, a clever artist—the preceptor of Sir David Wilkie, Sir William Allan, and John Burnet-was called in, to design a series of illustrations to accompany the poem, so that when “ The Pleasures of Hope" appeared in May, 1799, it had every kind of attendant bladder to give it a balloonwaft into public favor.

All Edinburgh was alive to its reception, and warm and hearty was its welcome. No Scotch poet, excepting Falconer, had produced a poem with the same structure of versification before. There was no Sir Walter Scott in those days; the poet of“ Marmion” and the “Lay” was only known as a modest and not indifferent translator from the German: Burns was in his grave, and Scotland was without a poet. Campbell became the Lion of Edinburgh. “ The last time I saw you,” said an elderly lady to the poet one day, within our hearing, “ was in Edinburgh ; you were then swaggering about with a Suwarrow jacket.” Yes," said Campbell, “I was then a contemptible puppy." “ But that was thirty years ago, and more," remarked the lady. “Whist, whist,” said Campbell, with an admonitory finger, “it is unfair to reveal both our puppyism and our years,"

If the poet's friends were wise in giving the, note of preparation to the public for the reception of a new poem, they were just as unwise in al.

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lowing Campbell to part with the copyright of his poems to Mundell, the bookseller, for the small sum of twenty guineas. Yet twenty guineas was a good deal to embark in the purchase of a poem by an untried poet : and when we reflect that Mundell had other risks to run--that paper and print, and above all the cost of engravings, were defrayed by him—we may safely say, that he hazarded enough in giving what he gave for that rare prize in the lottery of literature, a remunerating poem. We have no complaint to make against the publisher. Mundell behaved admirably well, if what we have heard is true, that the poet had fifty pounds of Mundell's free gift for every after edition of his poem. Our wonder ie, that Dr. Anderson and Dugald Stewart allowed the poet to part with the copyright of a poem of which they spoke so highly, and prophesied its success, as we have seen, so truly.

I have never had the good fortune to fall in with the first edition of the “ Pleasures of Hope," but learn from the magazines of the day, that several smaller poems, “ The Wounded Hussar," " The Harper," &c., were appended to it. The price of the volume was six shillings, and the dedication to Dr. Anderson, is dated “ Edinburgh, April 13, 1799.”

I have often heard it said, and in Campbell's lifetime, that there was a very different copy of the “ Pleasures of Hope,” in MS., in the hands of Dr. Anderson's family, and I once heard the question put to Campbell, who replied with a smile, “ Oh dear, no ; nothing of the kind." The alterations which the poem underwent by Anderson's advice, may have given rise to a belief that the poem wae at first very unlike what we now sec it.

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