and manner often exposed him to the good-natured raillery of his juvenile friends, and attracted the observation of the Professors. He still seemed to brood, in deep abstraction, over all he had seen and heard. He divided his attention between the Clouds' of Aristophanes, and the democratic journals of the day; and politics, for a time, usurped much of the attention which he had hitherto bestowed on poetry. In the Debating Club, he inveighed with some bitterness, and with no little applause from his own side of the house,' against the spirit with which public trials were now conducted, and denounced that spirit as illiberal and unjust. In private society he was, by turns, grave, didactic, taciturn; appearing, and feeling as if he had suffered some personal wrong, which he could neither forgive nor effectually resent. He had college duties to amuse or rather distract him as much as ever; but the current of his thoughts appeared to run only in one sombre channel. After the business of the day was over, he would call a few of his comrades together, and read them lectures on the miserable prospects of society, the corrupt state of modern legislature, the glory of the ancient republics, and the wisdom of Solon and Lycurgus. He was still agitated by the recollection of what he had heard at the state-trial; and so warmly had his sympathy been enlisted in favour of the prisoners, that for some time he would talk of nothing else. Never was any philosopher of fifteen so much harrassed by political cares and apprehensions.' While he proceeded in this strain, clenching every argument with a Greek or Latin quotation, some of his audience listened with attention: others only smiled at the gravity and occasional vehemence of his manner. change was so sudden; his inherent love of fun had so quickly degenerated into moping philosophy, that even with his own vivid description of the scene he had witnessed, they could not comprehend the cause. They pitied, admired, remonstrated; or, like the gossips in the Minstrel,' only

-' stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad;

Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.'

6

The

But there was excellent method in his madness; and when two prizes were afterwards awarded him, they quickly changed their opinion, and said that it was a fit of inspiration.""

Next summer, Campbell being now in his nineteenth year, he made another journey, with the view of residing as a tutor in Mull-a journey which he has described with inimitable effect in the following paragraphs, and which will, doubtless, bring strongly to the recollection of several of our readers the corresponding adventures in which they have themselves been engaged :

"I was fain, from my father's reduced circumstances, to accept, for six months, of a tutorship in a Highland family at the farthest end of the Isle of Mull. To this, it is true, my poverty, rather than my will, consented. I was so little proud of it, that, in passing through Greenock, I purposely omitted to call on my mother's cousin, Mr. Robert Sinclair-at that time a wealthy merchant and first magistrate of the town, with a family of handsome daughters, one of whom I married some nine years afterwards. But, although I knew that the Sinclairs would have welcomed me hospitably, I did not like to tell my pretty cousins, that I was going out in that capacity. I well remember spending a long evening-sub dio, for economy's sakeon the Greenock Quay, in company with my College friend, Joseph Finlayson-now a reverend minister of the Scottish Kirk-who was also going off to a Highland tutorship. When the night came on, we repaired together to the little inn, where we had bespoken our beds; and there our famine overcame our frugality. Poor dogs! We had ate nothing since noon

and were ravenously sharp-set. In the course of the evening we had saved the life of a little boy, by plunging after him into the water; and we thought it hard that two such heroes should go supperless to bed. So we ordered a dish of beef-steaks. What the landlady chose to call a pound, was brought in, set upon the table, and vanished like smoke. Then came in another-then a third, together with a tankard of ale, that set us both singing and reciting poetry.

"I still retain the opinion that life is pleasanter in the real transition, than in the retrospect; but still 1 am bound to regard this part of my recollections of life as very agreeable. I was, it is true, very poor, but I was gay as a lark, and hardy as the Highland heather. After plunging into the sea to save the urchin, who would otherwise have been drowned, I continued in my wet clothes until they dried on my back, and felt no bad result from it.

"Finlayson and I crossed the Frith of Clyde, to Argyllshire—our trunks being sent by land to Inverary; and our whole travelling equipage, consisting of a few articles tied in our handkerchiefs, we slung on sticks over our shoulders. The wide world contained not two merrier boys. We sang and recited poetry throughout the long wild Highland glens. I had still a half-belief in Ossian, and an Ossianic interest in the Gaelic people. To be sure, travelling the Highlands, at that time, was about as comfortable as it is, now, among the Arab-tribes in Africa-with this difference in favour of Ossian, that it was not over safe to lay yourself down in a Highland bed, without being troubled with cutaneous sensations next morning-so my companion and I slept all night on chairs, by the side of a peat fire. The miracles of steam-boats and Highland hotels, were then unknown. When you came to an inn, the only bill of fair announced was- Skatan, agas spuntat, agas usquebaugh'-which is to say, herrings, and potatoes, and whiskey! Nevertheless, the roaring streams and torrents, with the yellow primroses and chanting cuckoos on their banks,-the heathy mountains, with the sound of the goats bleeting at their tops, delighted me beyond measure. I felt a soul in every muscle of my body; and my mind was satisfied that I was going to earn my bread by my own labour.

"At last, after crossing Cowal, and reaching Inverary, we regained a spot of comparative civilization, where there was a high road with mile-stones. On that road, I remember, we came up with a little boy, in a postman's dress, whose pony was left grazing on the road side, whilst red-jacket himself was quietly playing at marbles with some other boys. "You little rascal!' we said to him; are you the post-boy, and thus playing away your time? Na! sir,' he answered; I'm no the post-I'm only an express!' "At Inverary I parted with my worthy companion, Finlayson, and travelled on to Oban, across Lochawe, under rain that soaked me to the marrow. From Oban I crossed over to Mull; and in the course of a long summer's day, traversed the whole length of the island-which must be nearly thirty miles-with not a foot-path to direct me. At times I lost all traces of my way, and had no guide but the sun going westward. About twilight, however, I reached the point of Callioch-the house of my hostess, Mrs. Campbell of Sunipol-a worthy sensible widow lady, who treated me with great kindness. I am sure I made a conscience of my duty towards my pupils; I never beat them-remembering how much I loved my father for having never beaten me."

While in Mull, the youthful enthusiast was assiduously cultivating his poetical talent, and among other pieces of polished versification, and impassioned thought, produced the Elegy which ultimately won for him the friendship of Dr. Anderson, and greatly contributed to the

eventual publication of " The Pleasures of Hope." His journey homewards is thus noticed by his biographer :

"His journey by land and water occupied four days, and was performed in a season when the mountains are frequently covered with snow. The fact which he relates, of his passing a long cold night in this open waste, sufficiently proves, what he had before stated, that in spirit and health, he was as gay as a lark, and as hardy as the Highland heather.' I came back to Glasgow,' he says, in company with my friend, Joseph Finlayson, who, like myself, had been living on an adjoining Highland estate. On our way between Oban and Lochawe-side, we were benighted; and totally losing our way, were obliged to pass a cold night, in the end of October, on the lee-side of a bare whinstone wall. But wrapping ourselves in our Highland plaids, we lay quietly down on the ground, and next day found ourselves nothing worse for exposure."

When in his nineteenth year, Campbell was again occupied as a tutor at Downie, a lonely, but interesting place of residence on the Sound of Jura. There is no doubt that, besides indulging his poetic raptures, the Poet, during these early years, was repeatedly nourishing the tender passion, and it is quite certain that

Though his song has told it not, his heart had felt it all."

In Mull he had seen and admired the Caroline, on whom his beautiful verses with that title, were composed; and in one of his letters from Downie, he mentions, with strong injunctions to secrecy, that his evening walks were sometimes accompanied by one who, for a twelvemonth past, had won his purest but most ardent affection—

"Dear, precious name, rest ever unrevealed!

Nor pass those lips, in holy silence sealed."

In allusion to this passage of the Poet's history, his biographer has remarked

"The stolen interviews, to which he alludes as a profound secret, had a favourable influence in promoting his renewed appeals to the Muses. Defeated in all his other prospects, he took refuge in the enchanted garden of Love; and in the interchanges of mutual respect and affection, found compensation for his disappointments. Ever since the subject was playfully suggested to him in Mull, the title of Pleasures of Hope' seems to have dwelt in his mind; and it was most likely at the very time when he was so enthralled by a 'name'—that the beautiful opening of the second part was composed :".

"In joyous youth, what soul hath never known
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own?
Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye
Asked from his heart, the homage of a sigh?
Who hath not owned with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of Grace, the magic of a name?"

The concluding line of these verses has, doubtless, been read and quoted by innumerable persons who little suspected the definite application which the words were meant to convey. The writer of these no

tices, however, can testify, that after the lapse of half a century he still well recollects

"The power of Grace, the magic of a name.”

In looking back upon Campbell's occasional residences in the Highlands, although we may naturally wonder, that a youth of such distinction, had not been able to obtain more lucrative or promising situations, yet there are many considerations that may lead to the conclusion, that this, like all other things of the same kind, was really ordered for the best. Campbell never seems to have cherished any wish for churchpatronage his independent and peculiar turn of mind would have made him very restive under the restraints which the formalities of a great house would have imposed-while among the primitive and warmhearted occupants of Highland homes, he was as much at his ease as if he had been still in his mother's house in Glasgow-and there cannot be a doubt, that the scenery and manners with which he became acquainted in Mull, and at Downie, exerted a most favourable influence on his still opening fancy-became darling subjects of recollection to him in many periods of his future life-and supplied him with incidents and imagery, which he has reproduced with great breadth and power of effect in several of his poems that have most strongly awakened the sympathies of his readers.

Campbell made not one only, but frequent journeys on foot, between Edinburgh and Glasgow-there are, at least, four such pilgrimages recorded in these volumes. Probably it was the scanty state of his finances that led to this toilsome journey-and as it is certain, that at this period he was subject to great alternations of feeling, and sometimes to deep moods of despondency, there is no doubt that, during his wanderings, he was often sad and woe-begone enough. Yet it may be also, that he had a preference for this mode of travelling-many vigorous young persons, at the same time of life, have such a predilection;—and it must be kept in mind, that he was very far from being in the exact condition of those who have often made the same journey with "no hope"❞— he had the consciousness of being a youth of no ordinary promise:-the anticipations of his father had already been, to a certain extent, verified by the distinguished career of his son, as a student at the university; -and during some of the latest of these journeyings, the Poet was unquestionably completing the magnificent poem, which was soon to extend his fame over the whole of Europe. Can we doubt that, with such convictions of his own destiny, and with such employment to cheer him on the way, he must often have been in a state of rapturous excitement-and that whether the lines were already written or not, the sentiment which they embody must have been familiar to his heart :"With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight; Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way, That calls each slumbering passion into play: Waked by thy touch I see the sister band, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, To pleasure's path, or glory's bright career."

When Campbell came ultimately to reside in Edinburgh, it was simply as a literary adventurer-though, doubtless, as one who had already acquired no ordinary distinction for his years-and who had always in view the eventual publication of a work which would vindicate or enhance the high opinion which was generally entertained of his talents and acquirements.

But still he had devoted himself to no regular profession—he never had attended particularly to theology-he was greatly averse to the laborious drudgery of teaching-medicine was a study which, though he occasionally looked at, had, in truth, no adaptation whatever to his taste or habits and as to the bar, towards which his thoughts-probably because he saw no other professional opening before him-had been sometimes directed, there was plainly an incongruity between its dry details, its laborious preparation, and its long expectancy-and the elegant turn of the Poet's mind, and his need of some employment that would, at once, enable him to prosecute his favourite studies with success.

It was not to be wondered that a youth so situated, however previously distinguished, should have found much difficulty in procuring any good situation, or lucrative employment-and we accordingly find, that after all the exertions of his friends, on his arrival in Edinburgh, he was employed first as a transcriber in the Register House-then as an interim clerk in a solicitor's office then in literary drudgery for booksellers-then in the project of a magazine-sometimes in offering translations of the Greek dramatists, which nobody would purchaseand, lastly, in making preparations, like Burns, for leaving his native land, and settling among the wilds, or the rising towns of America.

Still, amidst all these discouragements, the prophetic spirit that had pointed him out from his birth-and that had never ceased to shed its halo, more or less brilliantly around him, during all his previous history, continued to watch over him-and to signify to all persons with whom he came into contact, that a person of no ordinary distinction had come into their fellowship-he was occasionally, even before the publication of "The Pleasures of Hope," producing poems, either for the public, or for the perusal of his personal friends, which gave satisfactory earnest of the great things that were yet to come forth-and his society was courted, and his talents extolled, and even the title by which he was afterwards distinguished, was habitually affixed to him, namely, "The Author of the Pleasures of Hope," while portions only of that work had been seen by his private friends, and before the public voice had sanctioned the expectations or the partialities of those who spoke so highly of his coming celebrity.

Among the attempts that were made to fix Campbell in some regular profession, it has been noticed, that he was for some time in the office of a Solicitor-nor can we, in this cursory review, pass over the name of that Solicitor without some notice. It was no less a person than Bain Whytt-an excellent man of business, a John Bull, or Falstaff in bodily dimensions, but a person of infinite jest-with whom even business was always transacted as a jest-though with perfect knowledge and probity-and whose good sayings are still current, among those, at least, who recollect what the Parliament House, or the