LIFE AND REMINISCENCES OF THOMAS CAMPBELL.

BY CYRUS REDDING

CHAP. VIII.

Illness of the Poet's Son-Contributors to the Magazine, Graham, Hazlitt, &c.— American Literature-Compliment to Rogers-Visit to Cheltenham— Letter respecting "Theodoric"-Criticism on Medwin's Book about Byron.

THE poet had placed his surviving son, as already stated, at the university of Bonn under a tutor. The attachment of both father and mother to their son was remarkably strong, and their fondness induced the wish that he should be nearer to them. He was accordingly removed to Amiens. Calling at the poet's one morning I found he was out, and Mrs. Campbell in considerable agitation. On expressing a hope that there was nothing of moment the matter, she informed me, in a manner exhibiting sufficiently her maternal fears, that there was reason to believe Thomas had run away from his tutors-that in fact he was then in prison at Boulogne; she expressed her apprehension upon his account, and added that her husband was gone to the French ambassador to endeavour to obtain his release. She knew nothing more than that it was supposed he had been arrested because he had no passport in his possession. But what business could he have at Boulogne? This proved to be the fact; the youth, having singularly enough reached Boulogne without that instrument of inquisitorial despotism, could proceed no further.

Returning home I found the poet at my own door. He had called to tell me of what had occurred, and he related the circumstances with a heavy heart. It appeared that he had not then communicated the entire affair to his wife; he feared there was much trouble in store for them. Thomas had exhibited symptoms of a wandering mind, the severest of all calamities. He had eloped from his instructor, and had contrived, no one knew how, to travel from Amiens as far as the coast without a passport. Here he had been lodged in prison from which the French ambassador on hearing a statement of the case had just written over to procure his release. This was of little consequence compared to further intelligence conveyed in a letter he had received from Amiens, stating too that his son had exhibited symptoms of mental alienation. These symptoms had been remarked for some time previously, and it would appear had rather shown themselves in petty eccentricities than in any violent acts. At the time the teacher wrote, the symptoms had become more decided. Young Campbell for example would take it into his head that persons on the other side of the street had insulted him, cross over, go up to those who had not even noticed him, and demand why they so conducted themselves, and what they intended by it. The poet was much affected, notwithstanding his efforts to suppress his feelings-a strife natural to him under circumstances of a similar character. The youth, soon set at liberty, was speedily received into his father's house. The anxious feeling in regard to the state of mind of a son respecting whom his parents had conceived brilliant hopes, was naturally very great. Their

expectations were not unfounded; young Campbell possessed excellent natural abilities, his disposition was good, his conversation, when he felt inclined to be communicative, was superior to that of most youths of his years. He was about eighteen, a period at which in the character of the constitution there generally commences some change, and from this circumstance hopes were indulged that with the development of manhood a realisation of his parents' hopes might be consummated. These hopes were destined to disappointment. The trial was the more severe to the

poet, as he kept his feelings close, and they consequently preyed more acutely upon his mind. The effect was visible in the difficulty of fixing his attention to business for a good while afterwards; frequent complaints of indisposition; the appearance of a mind continually pre-occupied; in fact, in an incapacity for his wonted literary duties marked to such an extent, that when I went to his house to consult him, I found the irksomeness of putting any question to him so great, I broke off from my purpose, and acted wholly upon my own responsibility. This was the case for the space of two or three months after this event took place, before the poet fell again into his customary course of action.

With his sensitive temperament this trying state of things was to be expected. Death had deprived him of one child, and the calamity fallen upon the other was rendered more weighty. Campbell continued to keep his son at home, in fact, the fondness of both his parents rendered such a course of things inevitable. Young Campbell behaved with so much propriety in society, that in general little or nothing of his disorder was visible to strangers. He read the newspapers, commented with some judgment upon the political events of the day, and at his father's table it would be difficult to observe traces of disorder. His complaint exhibited no increase, but seemed to settle down into a mild species of mental aberration visible only upon some exciting cause, or some erroneous fancy. The knowledge of a slight surveillance being exercised over him was a restraint fully sufficient to render him in every respect an inoffensive inmate of the parental dwelling. That of his father was fully sufficient when present, but when absent the son would at times break out on indulging in a little wine or porter until his mother became terrified. Being the only friend living near, I was repeatedly sent for by Mrs. Campbell in her husband's absence, upon these outbreaks. I found young Campbell easy enough to manage, but in a state in which some interference became necessary. His mother would entreat me, matters being restored to their usual course the next day, not to tell the poet of what had occurred, it would unhinge him and shake his nerves. I forbear to state minutiæ as to facts. A careful regimen, and a slight watchfulness was all that was necessary for young Campbell owing to the mildness of his complaint, but this required to be unrelaxing. His mother more than once said to me on calling, "Thomas has been looking at his father so fixedly that he cannot bear it; he is gone out." The poet imagined that his son felt at such moments a dislike of the paternal authority, and in consequence a feeling towards himself of which he could not bear the supposition. His son's gazing upon him most probably meant nothing. A kinder disposition than that young Campbell always exhibited could scarcely be found, but it was enough for the poet to fancy what might not have had a foundation in reality. The operation upon his sensibility was precisely the same.

Campbell, upon whose mind this affecting incident had thus cast a temporary gloom, continually lamented that he could do nothing with his son in such a state. "I can never do any thing with him—what can I make of him? Education carried further must be hopeless; he is getting old enough to be active about something; must he ever be a blank?" He never spoke of the affliction as one touching himself; he never alluded to his own torn feelings, though they were evidently fearfully rent, for this was his way; these were his own concerns alone. The burden was the impossibility of Thomas ever being any thing in the world. He considered ostensibly at least the disadvantage to the youth far more than his own acute mental suffering. "I can never make any thing of Thomas, my friend," he used to say with acute feeling to me. The mild character of the disorder, and the natural bearing of the son in general rendered the case more painful than if the disorder had been stronger and deeper marked to common observers.

I have gone more at length into this painful incident at its origin, than I should have done but for events occurring since the poet's decease, among utter strangers of all relative to the case. An observation from a writer I have before quoted I can vouch is most just "that if there was one point in Campbell's character more amiable than another it was his affection for his son." The remainder of this writer's remark is equally just except as relates to the son's "imbecility." Young Campbell was never "imbecile," nor did his disorder increase from the first attack. He learned a good deal of the Spanish language at the house where he was afterwards placed. He never was under any other restraint than that arising from the knowledge that he had a superior to whom he was responsible. He had miles of range over a pleasant country, and he availed himself of its advantages. There was more foundation for another part of the remark of the same writer, that it was a touching sight to see the poet's fine eyes watch his son, and at any stray remark he might make indicating intelligence to see how his countenance brightened with delight. Campbell did look at his son with a parent's fondness, he was pleased at the observations he made, and he often made many and pertinent remarks, all this consisting with the nature of his disorder. Campbell had no hope of a change for the better after the second or third year from the attack when his son's constitution had become completely formed. Had Mrs. Campbell survived, it is probable the son would have continued his position under the parental roof, but the poet could not after that event be always at home. He found, too, at last that his efforts to continue his former domestic establishment with no one at its head who knew his habits was impracticable; he made the attempt and was not successful. Not long before breaking it up he placed his son with a medical friend, where he remained during his father's lifetime.

Among the contributors to the Magazine about this time, was William Grenville Graham. The articles entitled "Brook Green Fair," "Epigrams," the "Italian Opera," "Social Grievances," were among his contributions. Campbell was much pleased with him, because he was a remarkably well-informed young man, had read much, and was of agreeable manners. His career was singular, a remarkable instance of a young man possessing excellent natural parts, good education, and much that was amiable and prepossessing, with a headstrong heedless temperament that drew him from folly into vice, and ultimately, six or seven years after

the time to which allusion is now made, into crime-the crime of forgery to support his extravagances. He fled to Liverpool to seek a passage to America, of which country he was a native though of English descent. It was a remarkable trait in his reckless character, that though he knew he was pursued by the officers of justice, and that death was the punishment awaiting him if taken, the packet not being ready to sail, he went to the theatre at Liverpool and walked about without disguise, audaciously braving the impending danger. He reached America, and ultimately fell in a duel in which he was the aggressor. Before he came to Europe he had been a student at law, and studied with an American lawyer, Barent Gardeneir. Campbell, who felt much interest in all about America, was anxious to become acquainted with the state of the colleges there, and the mode adopted for the instruction of youth. All his queries his contributor was able to gratify to the fullest extent. I have no doubt this desire on the part of Campbell had a prospective reference to his plan for a London University, which he had promulgated among his friends early in the first year of the appearance of the Magazine, though he had not made it public.

With the kindest feeling towards the Americans, Campbell thought it would be a very long time before it would be possible for them to have a highly marked literature of their own, if they ever should possess one at all. He thought that this was a disadvantage arising out of the early literature of England belonging equally to America. Owing to the language being common to the two nations, the higher writers of the old country must necessarily be the models for the new; there would, in consequence, be nothing sufficiently marked in American writers, to whatever excellence they might attain, that would give them an original stamp and character unconnected with their fathers, and altogether a novel creation. They might, when the vast transatlantic continent became peopled, in the course of ages, and of that decadence which is the lot of all empires, be the transmitters of the literature of England to unborn generations, but America would still be only the medium of the transmission of what had

The following letter too exhibits the peculiar character of the man. It was written the night before he fell.

"Dear sir,-What may be the result of the unhappy rencontre which is to take place at eleven o'clock in the morning between Mr. Barton and myself, cannot of course be predicted by me. In the supposition that it will be fatal, I bid you farewell, in the only language that is now left to me. I am perfectly indifferent as to myself, but I trust that Mr. Barton (towards whom I have not the faintest enmity of any kind), may escape. I admit that I am in the wrong-that by giving him a blow, I have forced him into the condition of a challenger, and that by not doing what he has, he would have blasted his character as a gentleman for ever. In common justice I am bound thus to absolve him from all suspicion of unbecoming conduct respecting the challenge. The provocation though slight was still a provocation which I could not overlook. It is out of the question for me to explain, retract, or apologise. I will not hear of any settlement short of some abject and craven submission from him. Mr. Barton is a talking man, who dwells complacently on his own skill as a marksman ; on his experience as a duellist, and on his accuracy as a person of ton. I pretend to none of these, and therefore must oppose the most inflexible obstinacy. After he is perfectly satisfied, I may, perhaps, apologise; that is, in case I am fatally wounded. It is needless for me to say I heartily detest and despise this absurd mode of settling disputes and salving the wounds of honour. But what can a poor devil do except bow to the supremacy of custom? 66 God bless you,

"W. G GRAHAM."

been common to both. America might shine in science. Graham contended that America might possess a literature sufficiently defined from that of England to constitute originality. He did not press his arguments warmly or offensively, paying a deference to Campbell's character and literary standing. The contributions of Graham ceased at the end of 1822, as well as his acquaintance with Campbell, some new pursuit had drawn away the unhappy young American-some folly, perhaps, that led him to the precipice down which he was ultimately precipitated.

It was in 1822 that Hazlitt first contributed to the Magazine. He began with his "Table Talk," in a paper entitled "Going a Journey." He continued the series in succession for some months. These papers came through the publisher. They were excellent magazine articles; it was impossible to decline their insertion and act justly to the publication. Campbell's prejudices against this able writer were strong, the reason of which will appear in the sequel. While continuing his "Table Talk," Hazlitt sent a paper, called "The Fight," being an account of the pugilistic contest between the Gas Man and the Game Chicken. There were considerable doubts about admitting such a paper. The subject was so thoroughly" blackguard," and it was giving currency to a disgraceful, demoralising species of vulgar exhibition that branded England as the bull-fight does Spain with disgrace in the sight of all civilised nations—an exhibition, too, that its advocates pretend kept up the national courage, while the real motive was the gain made of it, as of all similar shows, by blacklegs and thieves. Campbell hesitated a good while. I suggested that the paper, disgraceful as its theme was, afforded too true a picture of existing manners, and would, in the course of things, soon become a mere record of our past barbarities. The poet, too, did not like to refuse, at so early a period, a paper of Hazlitt's, because he felt that it might be charged to his personal dislike of the writer: so it was agreed, the barbarism should appear in a publication very differently characterised in its other articles.

If the poet had an antipathy to Hazlitt, it was not his common feeling towards men of genius. He had a very high opinion of Sotheby, for example, as a poet, in which there would not be many found to agree with him beyond the unquestionable elegance and classic correctness of that writer.

Ile used to praise James Montgomery, of Sheffield, very highly, and I have heard him commend Bowles, though differing from him upon a wellknown topic. An opinion of Rogers he once gave unexpectedly, I well remember, not that his respect for the author of the "Pleasures of Memory" demanded such a manifestation, for his feeling towards that literary veteran was easily discoverable when his name chanced to become a subject of conversation. I had called at his house, and was sitting with Mrs. Campbell, who expected his return every moment, when he came in with his mind evidently preoccupied with something he had seen or heard. He then said, either that he had just seen Mr. Rogers, or had heard something about him, I forget which, and added, “ He is a very extraordinary man. I firmly believe he dislikes men when they become prosperous, because he feels he can no longer do them and his own heart good, by any aid he can tender them." I could not help thinking at the time, how much higher this compliment was than volumes of diluted praise upon paper. It was of the highest character I ever heard the