At Christmas 1832 the work rested wholly, both property and editorship, with him. Prior to that period it had had contributions from Campbell, Moore, and Montgomery of Sheffield, both in prose and verse; and had it been sustained by proper funds, would no doubt have flourished. Before the establishment of the Metropolitan,' the poet had taken up with warmth the cause of the Polish exiles. When he published the 'Pleasures of Hope,' the poem had been speedily translated into several European languages. It had found its way into Poland, was admired there, and the mention of the fall of Polish liberty in the 'Pleasures of Hope' rendered Campbell's name a favourite in the extinguished kingdom. He had kept up a correspondence with some of the leading Poles afterwards, long before the last attempt they made at emancipation.

Besides the Poles, in whose behalf he was incessantly engaged, he began the Life of Mrs Siddons' with far more scanty materials than he had possessed for that of Sir Thomas Laurence. He took up his lodgings in Duke Street, St James's, at what were called the Polish Chambers, where the zeal displayed by Mr Bach, secretary to the Polish Association, attached the poet to him strongly: nor was the attachment less strong on the other side. There was a remote attic in the house, where the poet could be as retired and studious as he pleased without the knowledge of any one but his friend Bach. Here, after the poet's decease, under promise of its preservation by the landlord of the house, Mr Bach had a marble tablet placed, with the following inscription so honourable to his friendship:-'In this attic Thomas Campbell, Hope's Bard, and mourning Freedom's Hope, lived and thought, A. D. 1832, while at the head of the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland, his creation. Divinæ virtutis pietati amicitia, 1847.'

The Life of Mrs Siddons' was a difficult task to execute, owing to the paucity of materials. The booksellers would not look at it in less than two volumes. Matter was laboriously collected to eke out the required quantity; but the middle of the year 1834 had arrived before the biography made its appearance. It was printed in type larger than the ordinary size, to make it extend to a second volume. Campbell considered that in completing this undertaking he was fulfilling a sacred promise to one whom he had long known and esteemed. The work did not go off well. The public expectation had been too long upon the stretch of expectation, and curiosity had subsided. Besides, the style was indifferent; and the author was not fitted for the task by any acquaintance with the small-talk of the theatre.

This biography being published, the poet visited Paris after twenty years of absence. There the Polish Literary Society gave him the honour of a public dinner, at which Prince Czartoyisky presided. He began, too, while there, but soon dropped, a work on the 'Geography of Classical Literature.' He then proposed to visit Italy; but the mention of Algiers caused him to change his direction to Africa, and his impatience made him embark at Marseilles in a crazy merchant-vessel, which fortunately arrived safely. The result of his visit he published in his 'Letters from the South.' He was kindly treated by the French military, and visited Oran and Bona in turn; but was much affected in health by the climate. While he sojourned in Africa, the death of his old friend Telford took

place. He left the poet £1000. Campbell returned from Algiers in 1835, and arriving in Paris was presented to King Louis-Philippe.

After his return home he proceeded with the publication of an illustrated edition of his poems. He also visited Scotland the next year, where he was entertained at the Campbell Club in his native city, together with Professor Wilson, and other distinguished friends. No difference in politics ever interrupted the friendship between Campbell and Wilson. In Scotland the poet launched his anathemas against the despot of Russia, as was his custom in London and Paris, both in public and private society. At Edinburgh he was presented with the freedom of the city. Campbell made a speech here, in which he paid a pleasing tribute to Professor Wilson as a genius of the highest order, of whom Scotland might well be proud. He visited Edinburgh again in the following year, and took the chair at a Printers' Festival in that city on the 7th of June. Towards the close of this year he edited an annual, these ephemera being then nearly gone out of vogue. This, in his better days, he would not have done, or lent his name to do. He was getting senile, and when he wanted money less than before, he became more eager to acquire it. He had left his chambers in St James's Street before he went to Scotland. On his return he took lodgings in Alfred Place, Tottenham-Court Road; and then removed, towards the end of 1837, into chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He squandered considerable sums in these changes. He could not do without his books and furniture, and every change required fresh fittings and cases. While complaining of the narrowness of his income, now never less than £600 or £700 per annum, he did not put down these expenses, almost annually incurred, as of any moment, for he was a bad financier.

The engravings for his illustrated works still proceeded. Turner executed twenty-five of the drawings. It sold very well, as did a cheap edition published by Moxon the bookseller. In 1838 he placed his name to a life of Shakspeare, which he overlooked; but his name was the only advantage the edition derived from his connection with it. He was past all literary labour requiring research and thought. The Queen accepted from him the present of his works; and the poet, in grateful acknowledgment, went to court. Her Majesty soon afterwards did him the honour to send him her picture. This picture, and the silver goblet presented him by the students of the Glasgow university, became so much his favourites, that he afterwards made allusions to them with a frequency that too surely indicated the change which time had wrought upon him, and how small a thing called out a display of the vanity he would have concealed in earlier days. Notwithstanding, he began a 'Life of Petrarch,' or rather a dressing up of Archdeacon Cox's Life, while in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Upon this subject his friend Foscolo had years before told him that nothing new could be said. It could not add to his reputation, much less could a small volume of poems he afterwards published in 1842, the principal of which was called the 'Pilgrim of Glencoe,' and which was far below mediocrity. A retrospective glance at the poet's former glorious works made the world feel the change that had occurred in the valueless character of this volume more strongly. With the advance of years, that pride of feeling, that lofty self-respect which marked the poet's career for

two-thirds of his life in literature, had disappeared. The incitement of money made him go even further, and he subsequently placed his name to a 'Life of Frederick the Great,' as being compiled under his revision: a poor effort in biographical composition.

Even in 1839 his appearance had greatly changed in the eyes of those who saw him only at intervals. In 1840 this change was more strongly marked; yet he talked of founding a club, to be called The Alpha, and of new designs. He seems after his short residence in Lincoln's Inn Fields to have become tired of the spot. He had been a wanderer after his wife's death. He had tried the same kind of domestic establishment for a year or two, and could not find his former comfort. His son he had sent to an asylum at Epping. He then went from lodging to lodging, visited and journeyed, but was still far from discovering a rest for his feet, as of old. He spent time in company which he would otherwise have passed at the domestic hearth. After all his desultoriness, he came back in 1840 to what he hoped would give him domestic life again. He bought the lease of a house in Victoria Square, Pimlico, and sent to Scotland for Mary Campbell, a niece, the daughter of his second brother. He corrected the last proofs of 'Petrarch' here, and promised himself once more that peace from which he had been long estranged. But he could not revive the past. His health, not mended, made him still whimsical and restless. He had seen a pretty child one day as he entered the Park, and its face haunted him. He fancied a second sight would be gratifying, and he actually advertised for this indulgence, relying upon his own description for a success, which, it need not be added, he did not find.

In an ailing state of body he paid a visit to the baths of Wiesbaden, but returned with his health no way amended. It was evident that he was rapidly declining throughout 1841 and 1842; yet amidst all he never lost sight of his usual pursuits. In 1842 he talked of publishers and their exactions, as if they were new to him, and projected fresh undertakings. We are all reluctant to wound our self-love by giving credit to any diminution of our ability. This year he made his will, and bequeathed all he might leave behind him to his niece, Mary Campbell. His son was provided for by the interest of the legacy from the Ascoy estates, being the interest on £4500, about £200 per annum. He became as unsettled, restless, apprehensive, and even irregular as usual. His countenance exhibited anxiety and bodily decay. His former neat appearance vanished, and he was negligent in his dress. Sometimes he lit up in a mode that recalled what he had once been, but this was seldom. Yet his kindness to his friends suffered no diminution, and he was still active in his habits. He visited Cheltenham, but without any benefit.

In 1843 he lost his only surviving sister, and by this the sum of £800 came into his hands. He had an idea that even with his pension of £300 a year, the interest of the legacy from the Ascoy estates, and the profits of his works, between £600 and £700 a year at least, he might still find himself want. He therefore insured his life injudiciously, and lost £500. This made him think of going to the continent, to live frugally, disregarding the heavy expenses of removal with his library, and a certain loss on the lease of his house, which would balance any saving. Undetermined

for some time whither to proceed, he fixed upon Boulogne. At the commencement of October 1843 he removed there. His house was in a bad situation. It was cold, and the severity of the winter soon acted perniciously upon his debilitated frame: he then talked of removing more to the southward as soon as he was able. Day by day he complained of the chilliness he felt, at the same time not paying any attention to his mode of life. In February 1844 he was too weak to write even a few lines without pain. He complained that the climate made him torpid. In April he seemed to revive for a time with the softening atmosphere. Through May this improvement did not continue.

At the commencement of June it was seen that his case was utterly hopeless. For a long while he held no conversation with any one, and his appearance was more altered. When questioned about his health, he either complained of weakness and chilliness, or replied in a general way 'tolerably well.' His countenance betrayed great anxiousness, and he was usually in a state of half slumber to appearance, but retaining the full use of his mind. A few days before he departed, in order to try if he was sensible, the question was asked near his bed, if some one, giving a name, had not written 'Hohenlinden.' The poet calmly and distinctly replied, 'It was one Tom Campbell!' They talked of taking him to the seaside if he grew better, but he gave a look incredulous of that possibility. His respiration now became impeded, but he talked a little at intervals. This was at the end of the first week in June. Edema of the right ancle was at this time perceived. He was calm, and said his mind was quite easy; that he had entire control over it. On the 8th of June he exhibited oedema of the left leg and foot. Some one saying he was better, he observed, 'I am glad you think so.' In reply to a communication, he requested his niece to write to Cyrus Redding, his old literary coadjutor, the state of his health, with his kind remembrance. On the 10th of June every favourable symptom had disappeared. He complained of his strength sinking, but had still a perfect command over his mind, and was quite calm. It being observed that he had great patience, he said, 'I do suffer.' The next day he thought he felt stronger, and he had a look of cheerfulness, but this was succeeded by difficulty of breathing. He repeated that his mind was quite easy. The next night was passed easily, and the following day but one, the 13th, while his breathing was more laborious, he was still quite sensible, and listened attentively to all going on around. A friend from London arriving, the poet said he was glad to see him. On the 14th he spoke with some effort inarticulately, saying 'tolerable!' to all inquiries. His respiration now became more hurried, but he was still conscious. His lips were firm, as if he were disposed to meet the last struggle with manliness. At one time appearing to sleep, his lips were observed to move, and he said in a slow distinct whisper, 'We shall see

to-morrow,' naming a departed friend. He appeared to be losing the consciousness and self-possession which marked him before from that time. On giving him something he said, 'Thank you-much obliged!' These were the last words he uttered clearly and intelligibly. The next day was the poet's last: he answered a question put by his niece with much difficulty, but with great kindness, and soon after slumbered. There was no more restlessness; his appearance was serene, except when convulsive

breathings took place as he reposed upon his side. he opened his eyes, and then closed them for ever. struggle at a quarter past four P. M.

Two hours after noon
He expired without a

The foregoing statement is mostly from that of his medical attendant and executor, Dr William Beattie, who was at the poet's bedside when he expired, and who, with every professional attention, united the kindly concern of a friend.

The task yet remains to assign to Campbell that place in the ranks of the British poets to which his works entitle him. One proof of his merit is that he has been quoted more than any modern poet in the senate, by public orators, and by cotemporary literati. He had, too, the rare happiness of living to see his fame fixed upon an unshaken basis. His verses cannot be mistaken for those of any other English poet; his odes do not resemble those of Dryden, Collins, or Gray: they stand alone. His manner was singular Scott said he could imitate all the modern poets but Tom Campbell; he could not imitate him, because his peculiarity was more in the matter than the manner. Whatever niche in the temple of fame is hereafter assigned to him, his works are such as fame will not easily let die.

The remains of the poet were brought to England, and interred in Westminster Abbey by the side of the ashes of Sheridan, on the 3d of July 1844. The funeral was numerously attended by the titled and untitled, by the literary and non-literary. The Rev. Mr Millman read the burial service; and at the hour of noon, the dust of him whose works had so long been the delight of his native land was left to its last long repose.