of centuries, the wiser course would be to draw off from her with tenfold anxiety, lest we become partakers of her plagues; for if the divine favour by any national defection be forfeited, no long space will elapse till our rulers may perceive that the strongest defence of nations has been wickedly cast away. It is matter of great thankfulness to see the strong Protestant feeling called forth by the proposed endowment of Popery; and when we view, in connection with this, the remarkable reaction that is setting in in favour of our Protestant establishments and other institutions, we may infer, that amidst the wreck of old systems, and the confusion and overthrow of the ancient order of things throughout Christendom, these are destined to be preserved by God as a safe and honourable asylum for his Truth, during the tribulations which seem ready to "come upon the earth."

go

We thank the author that the testimony of his youth is given boldly against Popish error, and we trust that he will forward" in the work he has so well begun, and dedicate his whole ability to illustrate, defend, and enforce upon the attention of all, the pure truth of the inspired Word.

Life and Letters of Thomas Campbell. Edited by WILLIAM BEATTIE, M.D., one of his Executors. London: Edward Moxon. 1848.

It was only three years after the death of Burns, when, in the metropolis of Scotland, there appeared another poet, as yet but in the first bloom of youth, who was destined to achieve for himself a long and universally allowed celebrity-to maintain his supremacy, for elegance, and for the magical glow of his verse, above all the hosts of contemporary poets that speedily arose in his train-to gain an influence over the minds of men, which not only embraced the whole thinking portion of his countrymen, but which spread with electric rapidity over every European community-and, finally, to leave his works as a present to posterity, of which no lapse of time is likely to diminish the value :

"It was figuratively remarked," says the Author of this biography, "that just as the star of Burns had disappeared from the western horizon, that of Campbell was rising with prophetic brilliancy in the east; so that they who had turned away, weeping, from the bier of the inspired peasant, looked around them, and joyfully accepted the pledge of returning day."

The same distinguished men who had welcomed the arrival of Burns in the capital of his country, were still living, and ready to hold out the right hand of fellowship and encouragement to his gifted, though yet very youthful successor and it is no indecisive evidence, at once of the high merit of the young poet, and of the just taste of his contemporaries, that while the fame of Burns was yet resounding over all the land, and his verses were the favourite theme of all hearts, his successor, whose strains were characterized by qualities essentially and obvi

ously different, was yet hailed with an enthusiasm, which has never abated-and which, as it made him the darling of all hearts, at his first appearance, still lives to influence, in his behalf, the partialities of persons of all ranks and of all ages, with a power as decided and as genial, as that which attended the original publication of his works.

Of a poet so distinguished, and possessed of such an enduring popularity, it was no easy task to present a biography that would at once satisfy the expectations of the public, and be in all respects just to the character and peculiarities of the poet. But Dr. Beattie had peculiar qualifications for the task-he had been long and intimately the friend of the poet-he knew him not only in his hours of public excitement, but amidst the privacy and quiet of domestic life-he was his medical adviser during the last and most trying period of his existence he was furnished with abundant materials by the poet himself, and by the contributions of numerous correspondents-and, lastly, he has shown himself to have possessed a candour, a correctness of judgment, and a refinement of taste, which were every way suited to the importance of his task, and which, we doubt not, that the good sense of the public will fully acknowledge and appreciate.

The consequence of all this has been, that we are now in possession of a work, which is, in every respect entitled to take its place along with the biographies of the other three great poets, whose works have delighted and illustrated our age-those, we mean, of Burns, of Byron, and of Scott, and that Dr. Beattie has, by the successful completion of his task, connected his name with that of Campbell, by a link, which will remain unbroken, to a remote posterity.

We may only add, in characterizing the work generally, that it by no means consists simply of reminiscences of the poet's life, or of detached, though it might be, of remarkable and striking portions of his history; on the contrary, it traces his progress minutely and circumstantially, throughout the whole progress of his career-from his earliest infancy, in the home of his parents-through his scholarship as a boy -his studies as an attendant on university lectures-his first appearance as an aspirant after poetic celebrity, his varied experience amidst the busy, the gay, the learned, and the powerful of public life-till the eventful career was completed, and his remains were borne

"Thro' breathing statues, those unheeded things;
Thro' rows of warriors, and thro' walks of kings,"

to their appointed chamber in that august mausoleum which the piety of Britain has appropriated as the last resting-place of the most renowned and successful of her citizens.

Of a work so complete, and so full of interesting passages, we can only give a few specimens, sufficient to justify the eulogy we have ventured to express, and to point out some of the most interesting facts in the history of the poet. The work, we doubt not, will at no distant time, appear in a shape, which will put its entire contents more completely within the reach of the generality of readers.

There is much interesting information, in the volumes before us, respecting the very earliest periods of Campbell's life-information fitted

to supply materials of profound thought to those who delight in tracing the first indications of superior talent; but though in such a notice as the present, we cannot afford space for large quotations respecting such juvenile indications, there are yet three things very remarkable in the poet's earliest history, that cannot fail to arrest the attention of thinking minds. These are, the impression universally entertained even from his birth, that he was destined for a distinguished career-his extreme susceptibility of impressions, either from natural scenery, or from passing events, his early preference of verse to prose, as a vehicle of thought-and, lastly, the singular admiration and love that were entertained for him by all his youthful contemporaries.

The following quotation will, of itself, illustrate some of the topics now mentioned.

"Thomas Campbell,' says his biographer, at the very commencement of this history, the eighth son of Alexander and Margaret Campbell, and youngest of eleven children, by the same parents, was born in his father's house in Glasgow, on the 27th July, 1777, and baptised the week following in presence of his family, by the celebrated Dr. Reid, then Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University. This happy event had been preceded by sad reverses of fortune; the worldly circumstances of the family had completely changed; but drying their tears, the parents welcomed the inspired boy us a pledge of returning happiness, and were comforted.'

6

"He was a lively, well-favoured child, rather of a delicate than of a robust constitution, with beautiful expressive features, and a precocity of intellect, which soon arrested the attention of his parents, and filled their hearts with many cheering hopes; the only hopes, probably, which they had ever the happiness to see realised. No prodigies, indeed, appeared at his birth; but his father, it is said, had a strong presentiment, that the son of his old age would do honour to his name and country. He was a remarkably affectionate child, very sensitive, keenly alive to praise, easily encouraged, and as easily disconcerted by a word or look of unkindness; the latter, however, was of rare occurrence. The indulgence of the father had long been proverbial; and now that the child grew up, and the elder branches were widely scattered over the world, his affection became centred in the youngest. Even his mother, I am told, lost much of her natural asperity,' in the treatment of this darling sou; and very seldom reproached her husband with over-indulgence to the boy.' His eldest sister Mary, had already left the paternal hearth; but in his younger sister Isabella he had a most affectionate companion and nurse. She was indefatigable in all those little arts by which the infant mind is captivated, and gradually drawn out to the free development of its inherent powers. The trivial amusements of childhood with which he was indulged, had an object beyond the passing hour. His parents, too, had tact and discernment enough to perceive the rich intellectual ore which soon began to discover itself in their son, and made it their study to improve the discovery, by early and assiduous cultivation, a process that was best calculated to extract the pure gold. He was of a playful disposition, easily amused by others, and a child, of so inquisitive a mind, that he found amusement and information in everything that fell in his way. Among other relics of this date, the chair in which he was nursed-his mother's chair'-is still preserved in the family. In this chair, it may be imagined, he first learned to recognise his mother by her smile,' and felt the influence of those native melodies, of which, from his very cradle, he was so passionately fond,

and to which she well knew how to give effect. Profiting by the first indications of a gifted mind, she had no difficulty in directing the future poet in that flowery path, which Nature herself had so clearly pointed out. The ballad-poetry of Scotland was familiar to his ear, long before he could comprehend its meaning; and when at length it came to be understood, the charm was complete. Thus, in his opening mind, the genius of the poet and the love of poetry grew up together, and became identified with his very being.

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From the hands of this amiable and affectionate circle, Thomas, now in his eighth year, was transferred to the care of Mr. Allison, Master of the Grammar-school, whose reputation as a scholar, and, above all, as an able and successful teacher, stood most deservedly high. He was a man of the Ruddiman class, whose zeal did not relax with his experience, but kept pace with it; and whose pride, if he had any quality that might be so named, was the pride of seeing his own qualifications eclipsed by those of his pupils. This worthy man soon discovered in the interesting boy the rich quality of the materials he had to work upon; and employed every means to give them a classical shape and polish. The fruit of this cultivation soon began to show itself. The kindness and approbation of his master were not thrown away upon a mind naturally fond of praise, and ambitious to excel: young Campbell was soon at the head of his class,—a position which he invariably maintained-and became a general favourite with his schoolfellows. At home, during the short intervals between school hours, he was materially assisted in the preparation of his tasks by his father, a fact which he has commemorated in one of his earliest attempts in

verse.

"At this period the decayed merchant,' who was sixty-seven at the birth of his son, had long since completed his threescore-and-ten; but, thus occupied, he seemed to forget his years, assisted the boy in all his tasks, shared in all his little triumphs, and, like the Ritter Bann,

saw himself restored

To childhood in his child.'

"It must have been a picture in itself, of no little beauty and interest, to see the venerable Nestor stooping over the versions, and directing the studies of the future Tyrtæus.

"Thus month after month passed away; every little distinction at school imparted cheerfulness to the family circle, where a prize-book given by the master had all the importance of a great event. Commended by his father, carressed by his mother and sisters, the Dux' returned every morning to his class with renewed ardour for knowledge; and every evening brought home, in one shape or other, some new title to their approbation. His constitution, however, was originally delicate. Close application, aided by natural excitability of temperament, had begun to show its bad effects on his health; and after a little time, the boy was taken seriously ill. Country air was immediately recommended, and he was removed to a cottage on the banks of the Cart, a few miles out of town, and placed under the care of a worthy old couple-an aged 'webster and his wife, who, having no family of their own, could pay undivided attention to the health of the interesting charge thus confided to them. Here he was left to run wild for a season among the fields, chasing butterflies, gathering flowers, or gazing on the blue hills, and minnowy brooks' that flowed through the pastures. Every object around him wore, to a mind like his, an Elysian aspect. In the course of six weeks his health was quite restored; and when his mother came to fetch him home, he had so

ingratiated himself with the old people, that it was almost a contest between 'right and might' who should keep and who should take away the favourite stripling. During this recess,' the scenery of that classic river seems to have been so imprinted upon his mind, that it often returned to him in the poetry of his later days. With the mere exception of an occasional day in the country, it was the first visit-and the only one that comprised weeks-which he had ever made among the luxuriant natural scenery by which the banks of the Cart are so richly diversified. His rambles among the green fields, the woods, and 'echoing streams,' often rose up and shone brightly in the glass of his memory; and it was probably while musing on these 'summers of old,' and when carried back in fancy to the flowery borders of the Cart and Leven, that he wrote:

"Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true;
Yet, wildings of Nature, I dote upon you,

For ye waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold! . . . .'

"Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear,
Ere the fever of passion or ague of fear

Had scathed my existence's bloom;

Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage,
With the visions of youth to revisit my age,

And I wish you to grow on my tomb!'

"Again, so late as 1841, he draws from the same hoarded recollections of his own infant days, when painting the little hero of the 'Child and Hind':

"But Wilhelm loved the field-flowers bright,

With love beyond all measure;

And culled them with as keen delight

As misers gather treasure.'

"His return home to the family circle, in Charlotte-street, about the end of September, was marked by a sort of fete, which showed the young poet that he had been sadly missed. The welcome he met with from his sisters, and their congratulations on his improved looks, were the only topics of the evening. But his father having reminded him that the holidays were just ended, and that Mr. Allison's class would re-assemble on the following Monday, he returned at once to his books, never to quit them again until he should retire, bearing his blushing honours thick upon him.' "From this time forward, the feeling of poesy within his heart seemed to be struggling for utterance. He had returned from a world teeming with natural beauties, on which he had been gazing with insatiable delight for several weeks, and these at a period of the year when the face of the country was radiant with loveliness. His mind was filled with the recollection of all he had seen, and heard, and fancied; and again and again he tried to communicate to paper the impression they had left upon his memory. The seeds of genius, that had hitherto lain dormant, were now awakening into power; the first glorious view of forest, lake, and mountain had bound him as with a spell. It was now that, in his own words,

"The magic of Nature first breathed on his mind.""

The singular change of character produced in so young a person—