Literary Reminiscences and Memoirs of Thomas Campbell
Chapter 8
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LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND |
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CHAPTER VIII.
Inaugural address.—Political feelings of the poet.—Death of the
poet’s friend, Dugald
Stewart.—Banim’s
verses.—Lord Dillon and the symposium.—Characteristic
abstractions.—Dinner parties.—Cavaliers and Roundheads. —Prizes
distributed at Glasgow.—A breakfast in Seymour Street.—The Bishop of
Toronto.—Sir Robert Peel.
THE poet, upon his arrival at Glasgow, promised the students anew
that he would abide by them and fill the rectorship, if, on due consideration, they could
find no one more likely to unite their suffrages, who satisfied them better. A new election
took place, and Campbell was voted lord rector by a
larger majority of the students than before, and by three out of the four nations.
On the 5th of December, 1828, at three o’clock, no exclusion of the
public happening, a great assemblage of persons took place at the Hall, and when the doors
were thrown open, the building,
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galleries and all, was filled to an
overflow. For some time a noise and uproar prevailed, which were silenced by the principal.
The oath being administered to the new lord rector, and having signed it, he addressed the
students to the following effect:—
“Gentlemen,—It is an understood
conventional propriety among all civilised elective bodies, than when the tumult of
election has subsided, there should be an amnesty proclaimed as to past hostile
feeling, and an abstinence observed, on the one side, from all hostile language, and,
on the other, from any ungentlemanlike expression of discontent. I come not to break up
any such amnesty. I am not capable of degrading myself on this bench by an insidious
insinuation against any man’s motives or conduct. You, in the free exercise of
your elective franchise, had a more than ordinary right to be divided in your opinions;
and this division would have been to me, if I needed it, only a fresh incentive to my
desire of making you all my constituents in your hearts, by the faithful performance of
my duty. But contrary to what would otherwise be my wish, I shall be obliged, for a few
moments, to speak of myself; for there are some circumstances respecting my motives and
conduct in the present affair that may be unknown to, or misapprehended by many
individuals in this assembly. It may not be gene-
162 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
rally known,
that, before I suffered myself to be proposed for this high mark of your favour, I had
ascertained the entire improbability of Lord John
Russell’s being able to accept of your rectorship, if it had been
offered to him. It is also a fact, that I knew not a single popular name, except this
nobleman’s, that was likely to have divided your suffrages, at the time when I
received and answered a first letter, from a large portion of the students, asking me
to say explicitly, whether, in the event of being elected, I would come and take the
oath for the third and last time. Now, a twelvemonth had not elapsed since, in the eye
of day, and with emotions as justifiable as they were fervid and sincere, I had
declared to the assembled students of Glasgow, assembled, not at my bidding, but by
their own spontaneous enthusiasm, that whilst I lived, I should never forget the
manifestations of their attachment, or refuse them any proof of my interest in their
welfare, within the small compass of my power. And now, when they tender me a token of
their regard, that was palpably meant to be the last of its kind,—and now that
they urge their token on my acceptance, by my sympathy in their own interests,—I
ask, in the name of consistency and warmheartedness, what was the most natural and
proper answer I should send? That I was in bad health, I could not say; that it was
impossible for me to come, I could not | MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 163 |
say; that it would be
inconvenient for me to come, I disdained to say. For I should thus have shown myself a
friend weighing the duty of friendship like a light or suspected coin in the little
scale of my own convenience. Truly enough, indeed, I might have pleaded my apology for
not coming, that I had already shown some proofs of my good-will in having come last
year, merely from anxiety to say a few good words in your behalf to the
commissioners—a journey that cost me my health, and literally put my life itself
into peril. But the business between us now, was not a matter of sentimental
argumentation, but a practical question, whether I should fulfil your wishes, and
attempt to serve, what you at least considered to be your interests. And if I had
spoken of my former services, the simplest youth among you would have had a right to
ask, ‘If our rector’s zeal last year was so ardent, what has become of it
now? and if he could come to us in sickness, why can he not come to us in
health?’ Besides, all your shrewder students know, as well as I know, that, not
from any fault or indolence of mine, but from absolute necessity, and from due caution
not to moot certain points prematurely, I had, all but the journey in bad health, a
comparatively easy and placid rectorship; but that a crisis was now coming, likely to
render the rectorship of this year both a trying and a 164 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
troublesome post. By what honourable tie was I then bound to insist on leaving that
post against your general wish, just at the time when it might be feared that it would
become a little more irksome? Was I to have sailed with you all smiles and affection
through the calm, but the moment the water was a little ruffled, was I to show my
romantic interest in you by resolutely going on shore and shuddering at the prospect of
keeping you company for another year? Was I to send you a fine declaration, forsooth,
that my soul and zeal were still yours as much as ever; but to let it out after all,
that my zeal was of a delicate constitution, that it could not brook any agitation, and
that it would catch its death of cold on the first exposure to the slightest breath of
censorious opposition? No! I thought it more like a man to answer, that, if elected, I
should regard it as my bounden duty to come. And if I had sent you any other answer,
you might have been generally satisfied with me, but I should never have been satisfied
with myself. I should never have ceased to have a secret misgiving, that I had tainted
some young and ingenuous mind among you with a suspicion, that when men speak fervently
of their attachment to any public cause, they are not to be literally understood as
meaning ail that they say. I should not have been satisfied that I had acted up to my
declarations. By-and- | MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 165 |
bye came a letter, putting these
declarations to the proof, and invoking me, by all my past regard for the students, to
come to them immediately. This letter still came from a majority of them. And you,
honourable young men, even you have offered me—for I am bound to think you
honourable—let me remind your candour, that still, when I came, I coupled my
promise of abiding by my friends with the offer of withdrawing and supporting any other
man who could be found to unite more of your suffrages. But from a contested election I
could not fly without abandoning my friends and my faith, and all pretensions to moral
courage; and without setting an example to trustlessness and cowardice before a
university resorted to by the youth of England and of Ireland, and filled with the
young hearts of my native land. I, therefore, return you my best thanks for this
appointment, as a token of your confidence and regard. But if I were to thank you for
the pageantry and publicity of the office, I should record a sentiment to which my
heart is at this moment an utter and disdainful stranger. For, supposing, what is
anything but the case, that in the present circumstances of my life, I was much alive
to vain—glorious feeling, still your rectorship, honourable as it is—if I
had been without an affectionate interest in my native university—would have been
but a sorry bribe to my 166 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
most selfish calculations. And if I had
gone on these, I should not have had the honour of now addressing you. But I had no
selfish or ignoble motives. And for your accrediting this assertion, I palter not with
suspicions—I appeal to whatever is honourable in your bosoms—and I demand
belief.
“No, gentlemen, I come to you in a frame of mind not indeed
crushed, though chastened by calamity, but still in a frame of mind little coveting any
new sprig for my mere vanity to be interwoven with this crape. Gentleman, unavoidable
circumstances have robbed me of the lingua that would have been necessary for
addressing you in a worthy manner, on certain of those points connected with your
studies, on which your rectors have, for some time past, felt it their duty or their
privilege to address you. But I have not forgotten one pleasing privilege of office,
which is that of adding to the prizes that may contribute to excite your emulation and
to exercise your industry. I propose to offer two silver medals, to be competed for
only by the gown students, for the best exercises in Latin and Greek verse, on subjects
that shall be speedily announced. I propose also to give two gold medals, to be
competed for only by ungowned students, and graduates, whether gowned or not, on two
subjects, which, though not intrinsically improper for the consideration of younger
minds,
| MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 167 |
might yet, as subjects of composition, distract them from
more immediately important pursuits. The first gold medal which I propose is for the
best English essay on ‘The Evils of Intolerance towards those
who differ from us in Religion.’ I use this circuitous phrase from
disliking to couple the epithet religious with that spirit of
intolerance which, reversing the sublime aim of all religion, bows down the mind from
its celestial aspiration to the anxieties of this world; like the Indian fig-tree,
which, after bearing its head loftily in the sky, turns down again its branches from
the sunshine of heaven to be blended and buried in the dirt of earth. Another gold
medal shall be given for the best English essay on ‘The
Comparative importance of Scientific and Classical Instruction in the General
Education of Mankind.’
“Now, let no candidate imagine that I shall favour any essay on
this subject, on account of the side which he takes as to this or that opinion in the
comparative estimate, for I shall decide merely by the display of talent. In my own
opinion, the importance of science is paramount; but this idea from an unscientific
man, and thus hastily thrown out and unargued, will not, of course, affect you, still
less I hope will it cause you to suspect that I would depreciate the beautifying and
exalting influences of classic learning. No! For in looking down through the furthest
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imaginable vistas of futurity, I cannot picture to myself any
intelligent future age in which classical erudition shall not hold a high and glorious
niche in the grand temple of human knowledge.
“I have nothing further to add, than to beg you to return
assiduously to your studies; and that if any feuds have sprung up among you in
consequence of this election, you will bury them all in generous oblivion.”
He returned to London in tolerable health, and began to talk much on
politics. He contended, on the accession of the Peel
and Wellington administration that there was a want of
sound public opinion in the country. Speaking of the aspect of public affairs to a friend,
whose transcript of his words is before me, he says:—
“Your feelings on the aspect of affairs are precisely my own. It
is not that the Tories are in power again, that might be, but it is vexatious because
it proves the lamentable want of a sound public opinion, and the corruption of the
influential part of the English population. The Tories may go out, but that does not
cure the evil. Reform must come some day, and that not a distant one. Wellington’s bayonets cannot create wealth, but may
do much towards knocking it down. At our time of life, we can expect to see no revival
from enforced revolution and all the misery it brings before it brings good. I think we
all overlook one
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important thing in human affairs, and not an
inconsiderable one. We have counted too much on the increasing intelligence of society,
without recollecting that besides intellect there must be will to move onward, to
produce great ameliorations in social life. It is to be feared matters are so arranged
that the volitions of the dishonest few are and will ever be more concentrated, and
therefore more operative than those of the many, and that, as of old, to those that
have will be given. I do not say that the liberal party have acted over well, it has
shown division in itself. Each man seems to seek his own good, and forget that the good
of the public is identified with it, if it be lawful good.”
He had no high opinion of Huskisson, who made some noise at that moment in a Liverpool speech, though
he admitted that his financial views augured well. At the inveterate imbecility of
Lord Goderich the poet indulged in many a joke, and
it must be owned that time has strengthened the legality of a deeper derision than the poet
ever commanded towards such a minister. As the Catholic question gained ground the
poet’s spirit seemed to get up.
“If we cannot have political let us have religious liberty; it
is something, at least, for our thoughts to be free.”
But it was only in the society of his particular
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friends that he spoke so freely upon political topics. As a Whig he never once wavered in
his sentiments, but grew more liberal, as all, in place of a few of the Whigs ought then to
have grown. He was, however, quite vociferous at the attack made by the Duke of Wellington upon Sir
Edward Codrington for fighting the Battle of Navarino. The duke and his
ministry styled it an “untoward event.” He said it was untoward, because it was
honest and straightforward, and because it prevented years more of that sneaking,
intriguing, lying diplomacy by which the Holy Alliance powers would, out of their mutual
jealousy, damage the freedom of Greece, if they could not wholly prevent it.
Campbell, staunch as he was to sound political
principles, was too earnest and warm for a politician. His views were liberal, high-minded,
and sound, but he would have been a poor statesman from these very virtues. He would never
yield a valid principle, while he would not have had patience to work it out by that sure
and slow process which alone ensures success; by that wearisome waste of effort, of
language, of time and muscle, which must be made a sacrifice to render current any one of
the simplest truths that the cultivated mind finds self-evident. Was it worth the pains?
No, said Campbell, for if the people having learned the alphabet will
not
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proceed to words themselves, there are only two classes that will
take the pains for them, the fools and the ambitious, and one or the other have always been
rulers; the first ever blundering, and the last making the public a stepping-stone. To
consume a series of years in convincing the Lords and Commons that two and two do not make
seven, is a humiliating task for a prime minister, let his principles be what they may, and
that is the whole history of the matter. In truth, the poet would have made a sorry public
man; his want of application to business and his impatience under restraint, as well as his
scorn of the formal and pedantic, even where form and pedantry are, from usage,
indispensable, he could never have surmounted.
The repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts in the same year, and
Lord Eldon’s opposition to that repeal, made
Campbell one day laughingly remark of that
narrow-minded and bigoted old man, that what he was in law he could not judge, but out of
it he was an old woman. His solitary warning to the Lords against the repeal reminded him
of the warning of the witch of Endor, without its veracity.
Just then political feeling ran high. The poet expressed his
astonishment that Peel should deny the claims of the
Catholics to emancipation either upon the score of justice or policy.
Peel was partly a favourite with the poet.
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LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND |
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About a month after the death of Mrs.
Campbell, he lost an old friend, for whom he ever expressed the greatest
regard, one of his earliest friends too, Dugald
Stewart, to whose “Philosophy of the Human Mind” he had made frequent references to myself.
The professor retained his high mental qualities to the last, having at seventy-five
written a preface that exhibited an increase of mental power, a contrast of an opposite
nature to the poet’s own conformation, and, looking at what a few years were to bring
about, another of the many striking proofs of human frailty and blindness to the future.
When Campbell noted the brilliant mind of his friend
shining like the noon-day sun to the last, how little could he have foreseen the decay of
his own genius so long before the like age.
Banim just then sent me some verses from Sevenoaks,
which the poet did not like, I could not conceive why, and I gave them to Pringle for his little annual—“The Friendship’s Offering.” The
subject was a touching one. I give it here from his own letter. “They,”
the lines, “were at least earnestly felt and conceived. Last summer, after going
down to Hastings, Mrs. Banim and I took a walk
along the path at the bottom of Cart Hill, and passing the little churchyard, which you
may recollect, we caught a glance of the headstone of an old friend, who had just died
in the
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town, and whom we knew a few months before. Young,
beautiful, and good, after the first feeling came the remarkable
question—‘Yes, here lies poor Bessy—before her
time—yet what has she lost?’ and that answer, thus made, it was that
suggested my verses.”
The poet’s objection was not to the verses, but the subject. The
truth was, he did not like to see any thing about lost friends, as it recalled to his mind
what had just happened. Few Parisians went to see the catacombs of Paris when they were
open to the public, from something of a similar sentiment. Yet this year the poet wrote
“The Death-boat of
Heligoland,” a subject sombre enough. He published it anonymously in the Magazine.
Viscount Dillon, a great friend of
Campbell’s, launched an epic poem, in twelve books, in 1828; the metre, blank
verse, was recommended by Campbell. It had been a work of three years.
There were excellent points about Lord Dillon; he was kind,
gentlemanly, hospitable, with a handsome person. In company highly agreeable, though given
to engross a full share of conversation. In his poem he imitated some of the inversions of
language in Milton and others of the great
poet’s peculiarities, but not with success. The noble viscount, however, erred
sometimes on the score of metaphorical propriety. I remember a figure of his which compared
the flight of a female apparition through the sky to a rocket—
“Rapid as rocket rushing with a hiss She cleaves the sky.” |
Some passages were effective and poetical.
Lord Dillon patronised a young lady as a poetess, and
mentioned her in the highest terms to Campbell, to
whom she was, it subsequently appeared, to dedicate her volume. His lordship had talked of
her for nearly two years, and one day said, “She is a wonderful girl—she is
the girl to start for the Derby.” Some time after, the poet asked if she had
not “bolted,” as he had heard nothing more of her at the winning-post. The
volume at last appeared, with lines indicative of an elegant, well-informed mind.
At the poet’s this amiable but somewhat enthusiastic nobleman used
to get into conversations of a considerable length, until Campbell either got impatient, or lapsed into one of his abstractions, and
became lost to all that was said. In the meantime I was generally conversing with Mrs. Campbell. Lord
Dillon would turn and address me, on perceiving
Campbell’s inattention. It was impossible not to attend to
one who was really so kind a man, and of such thorough good manners, although, as a French
writer says, “it was difficult to get a comma into the discourse.” On
many subjects, particularly in relation to Ireland,
174 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
he was full of
information. He had made himself well acquainted with Italy, where he said he had lived
several years for less than a thousand a year in order to economise, and could get teachers
for his children, keep a carriage, horses, and a town and country house for that sum.
At the house of R——n at Paddington, a
warm conversation ensued about some Roman antiquities, volubly enunciated by Lord Dillon. Campbell, who felt the call of appetite, saw the dinner set in the next room,
and the discussion going on while the guests were seating themselves. Fancying a turkey
under one of the covers he said, “Gentlemen, let us leave Rome for
Turkey.” When the cover was taken off, the dish exhibited a goose. “We
can’t leave the Capitol, you see,” said our host.
“No,” said Campbell, “every one to his
friend—dulce domum.”
Dillon, Campbell, and one or two others, used to meet at dinner at this
friend’s house near Maida Hill, when the pleasantness and conviviality of the
after-dinner-hour were the most agreeable I ever remember. The table was strictly a
“conversable table,” never less than the Graces nor more than the Muses sitting
down to it. In general there were no more than six. Here all kinds of subjects were freely
discussed—poetry, philosophy, economy, politics, and sometimes religion, but nothing
in the way of disputation, all being in a strain
176 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
of sober inquiry or
illustration, carried on in good humour. There was none of that affectation of wit, that
intention to exhibit which too frequently in those days consumed time to no purpose; none
of that Sisyphean labor which, toiling for smartness and levity, falls back from
over-effort. The poet and the peer both came into the world in 1777, and were within a
month or two of the same age. Lord Dillon had a seat out of
Ireland—Ditchley, in Oxfordshire, where he dealt out a generous hospitality.
In 1829, the poet had become somewhat more reconciled to his domestic
misfortune. He now went into society frequently and saw company at home. He had not lost
any portion of his old abstractive habit, however, for Pringle had been circulating a paper soliciting a subscription for an
unfortunate youth named Henry Scott. A copy was put into Campbell’s hand for the purpose of mentioning the
subject at a dinner where he was to be in the chair. When the cloth was removed, the poet
had forgotten the paper and all about the subscription for which
Pringle had been solicitous. In fact,
Campbell had mislaid it at home. Pringle
complained to me; “You should have kept the paper yourself,” I observed,
“and having prepared Campbell for the expectation of it
beforehand, have gone and given it to him at the proper moment; it was eight chances
out of ten otherwise that he would lose it.”
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MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. |
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“Impossible!” said Pringle; “a charity matter, too?”
With his habitual absence of mind, as I told that excellent and kind
man, he would have lost an exchequer bill in the same way, the last property he had in the
world.
Pringle then sent him a note, recalling the
circumstance of his inattention, which the world would have declared was unpardonable
neglect, disregard of charitable feelings, and the like. Campbell instantly replied:—
“I was guilty of a sad oversight in neglecting to circulate the
paper which you gave me, and now, by some fatality, I have mislaid it for the present,
though I shall seek for it, and I think to a certainty I shall find it.
“In the meantime I enclose 3l. as the
only atonement I can offer you for the behoof of the poor fellow in whom you are so
humanely interested. With much regard, and respect, &c.”
This was but a repetition of the poet’s old way. I never heard
that the paper was discovered; the chances are, that it was never heard of again.
I think it was the time he last came up from Scotland that I crossed him
in the street just as he was entering his own house, wearied and dusty. I went in with him
for a few minutes, when putting his hand into all his pockets, he exclaimed, “I
have not lost them, surely; I had a hundred
178 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
pounds and more just
now.” He searched, but searched in vain, coat, pockets, and all. He had just
been set down in the White-horse Yard, Fetter Lane, and remarked that he was positive he
had the notes there.
“Did he know the numbers?”
“No.” He set off to the inn again, but he never heard
any thing more of his notes. He pulled them out perhaps, and dropped them in the coach in
which he left the inn. I found he had brought them loose in his pocket, such was his
careless way. Even when he wished to place any thing at home in security, he generally put
it in some place that when he wanted it he had forgotten. He soon forgot in the present
case the loss of his money, economist as he affected at times to be.
He passed the first three months of the year in London, in tolerable
health, resuming as near an approach as he could make to his old domestic life, though it
was easily seen that his efforts were far from successful. There are so many little things
demanding female supervision in the economy of a household, that are certain to be
neglected under male superintendence, and above all under the superintendence of one so
“helpless” as the poet was, to use Mrs.
Campbell’s word, that the want of her who had for so many years filled
up the void now become wider in the poet’s ex-
| MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 179 |
istence, was every
day more and more visible. On the loss of Mrs. Campbell he had to
begin a new course of life, without adaptation for the change, or experience to direct him
how to make the best of it. It is with many like the severance of life itself to be thus
torn away from past habits to form new ones. Confidence in self may do much to retrieve
such a state of things, but it will as often lead wide of the mark as it will steer
successfully, while in any case there are no more than partial restoratives, since the
memory of past things, like antique coins, gaining additional value from the green rust of
time, is quite sufficient to prevent the present from yielding satisfaction.
He decked his table with fresh plate, gave dinners, occasionally, as if
he wished to seek in society at home, the removal of that desolateness of feeling which it
was impossible he should not experience. His table had seldom more than six, including
himself and son, or eight at most. I never recollect to have met more. His dinners were
frugal and well served, there was nothing extraneous; all was in good taste, too, at this
time, for he had not yet betaken himself to those changes of domicile nor that disregard of
comfort which he afterwards fell into as he drew more towards his last years. I well
remember his giving
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dinners in the month of January in this year, on
account of circumstances occurring peculiarly characteristic.
In April this year Campbell took
a journey into Scotland again, although he had been down three months before. The object
was to distribute the prizes which it has been already seen, from his address to the
students of Glasgow, it was his intention to give them for certain essays upon subjects he
had designated. He reached Glasgow on the 6th of April, from the following communication
which I still have in my possession, stating, as was too frequently the case where business
was to be transacted under his arrangement, that some error had taken place:—
“I arrived here this morning, when I learnt to my mortification
that the prize exercises for my medals had been sent to London. They must have come to
Seymour Street this morning. Will you have the goodness, my dear friend, to get them
sent off immediately to me per mail, addressed to me Wm.
Gray, Esq., Claremont Place, Glasgow. With best remembrances, I remain,
&c. (though with a wretched steel-pen).”
He was occupied until the 17th of the month in Glasgow, about the
affairs of the university, during which time he adjudged the prizes for the different
essays which had been sent to London for his decision, under the idea that he would not
| MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 181 |
have gone down to Scotland for that purpose. His zeal in his office
and his attachment to the place of his instruction and of his much-cherished youthful
recollections, would not permit him to remain absent on such an occasion as the above
letter shows.
On the 17th of the same month, he was still in Glasgow, for he wrote
from thence under that date.
“After a good deal of discussion, I have brought my rectorial
matters to a settlement, and am now on the point of leaving this place for Edinburgh,
from whence, on Monday next, the 20th, I shall embark for London. I am bringing with me
one of the students, whom I have invited to stop a month with me in town. I long to
tell you all my adventures here.”
The first notice I had of his return was a note to the following effect,
undated:—
“I have returned sooner than I expected, last night, and am
here at your service at as early an hour as you like to come to-day. I have an apology
to make to you, which I must make verbally.
“P.S.—By an early hour, I mean five or so. I am going out
at two. Perhaps you will have the goodness to say whether you will come at five or
later.”
To what the apology related I have now no recollection. I went over and
dined. The poet was in excellent spirits, and entered into a detail
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of his journey and of the high gratification he felt at his reception in the third year of
his rectorship. He spoke of the piece of plate he had received as a memento of the most
agreeable recollections of his life, and said that he never felt so strongly before the
impression made from bygone years. That he knew it was a delusion of the past which
conferred upon them their present value, but that he could hardly overcome by reason the
fallacy of their superior worth over existing objects. That as he might not again visit
Scotland, he had taken a silent leave of the places to which he had been most attached in
early life. I rather wondered this had given no occasion for the use of his pen. In the
former year he had published his “Lines on Revisiting a Scottish River,” after his return from Glasgow, but
now, perhaps, his feelings were too deep to find a vent this way. I remember he dwelt, even
with pathos, upon recollections of his early life, as I never heard him do before, for he
was exceedingly reserved about all that related to his personal feelings, as if he would
fain have it thought he was indifferent to that which most affected mankind in general. He
spoke of calling upon some friends in Edinburgh, and of Professor Wilson, who was not at home when he came through. He spoke of
Sir Walter Scott, and of hearing that he was not in
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of the continued changes he
observed in the Scottish capital, to which he expressed a great attachment, and wound up
all by remarking that he thought the locality of a vast city like London had this
recommendation in its favour, that it made personal changes less visible, and buried in its
perpetual round of bustle and anxiety, the acuteness of those feelings which in the
country, from their causes being continually present, were sure to be prolonged to no good
end. What did it matter, we ran the same inevitable round towards age, less perceptibly in
London than in the country; here Tempora labunter, tacitisque senesoimus annis, |
it was some consideration not to have the continued observation of it before our eyes.
I remarked that he had left the poetical for the philosophical mood,
which was rather a strange thing with him.
“My good friend,” he replied, “a poet is a
philosopher; the world won’t think so, because his lessons are not delivered
according to the conventional ideas of the philosopher’s language. The difference
is, that the poet gives the same lessons over sparkling wine, that the dry philosopher
gives without even a glass of water to moisten his mouth.”
In the spring of this year, as before, Campbell
184 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
gave, now and then, breakfast-parties to ten
or a dozen literary friends. I cannot recollect whether it was this year or the preceding
that, at one of these parties, he played me a trick, which he enjoyed, and to which as late
as 1839 he referred in a mode which showed that though his bodily strength had began to
exhibit, in no slight degree, symptoms of that decay which year by year became more
visible, his memory had not quite failed him. I remember Washington Irving, Thomas Pringle,
Leigh Hunt, Generals Lallemand and Pepe, Sir C. Morgan, H.
Smith, Lord Dillon, Dr. Strachan, Archdeacon of Canada, afterwards Bishop, and
others, were present. I did not then know that the doctor was an archdeacon, or of the
church of England, but supposed he was a clergyman of the church of Scotland.
Campbell, perceiving this, slily ran me deep into my error. The
church of England came upon the carpet, in consequence of an allusion to some flagrant
circumstances that had occurred in the cloth about that time in relation to cases of great
looseness of morals in certain church clergymen. I forget now what they were, nor does it
matter, as it merely set the subject going. I began to dilate upon the greater care
exercised in respect to moral character in choosing clergymen in Scotland than in
England—addressing myself now and then to Dr. Strachan directly.
Thence I proceeded to other points, in | MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 185 |
which I conceived the church
of Scotland had an advantage over that of England. Campbell now and
then said something to me in a low tone, for no other end save to prolong the deception I
was under. At length I paid the church of Scotland so many compliments, as being more
simple in form. I do not know whether I did not speak of apostolic fishermen and purple
thrones and mitres being irreconcileable to primitive Christianity. I fairly galled the
good archdeacon, who soon withdrew solus to the drawing-room. Campbell
could contain no longer. He stated to all present that Dr. Strachan
was of the church of England, archdeacon of Toronto, in Canada, a very good man, and an old
friend of his.
“You have done your own business now,” said Campbell to me.
“Why, I saw you did not disapprove of what I said.”
“Oh no,” he replied, “the doctor is very
good-natured, and to punish one of the orthodox who put faith in prelacy is a virtue in
the eyes of a John Knoxer, as of course I am.”
I felt annoyed; I would not willingly give any one offence, and feared I
had hurt the archdeacon’s feelings.
Catholic Emancipation was at this time the engrossing topic of
conversation. The conduct of the Duke of Wellington in
yielding to the neces-
186 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
sity of the measure, obtained more than one
eulogium from the poet.
“See here,” said Campbell, showing me a letter from Ireland, in the month of January or
February, “there will be serious work, I fear; Peel, says ——, is the greatest
ignoramus or unaccountable that ever lived. He wrote to the lord-lieutenant, Lord Anglesey, a school-boy letter, most insolent and
overbearing, and attributed his recall to his correspondence with Dr. Curtis, though that correspondence was not
published till after the recall had arrived here—this is too bad even for Candor
‘himself.’”
“Soft and fair,” said the poet, “parliament
is but just opened. If Peel opposes the measure,
it will still be carried. I cannot believe he will hold out in opposition.”
Some very severe remarks upon Sir Robert
Peel’s conduct, then Mr. Peel, in afterwards
giving his late assent to that measure, were made in the poet’s hearing. It was
contended that he had sacrificed his principles, forsaken his friends, and, for the sake of
place, cast a stain upon his reputation. Campbell,
whose political tenets had never varied through life, and, therefore, might be supposed
more likely than individuals of looser political principles to join in the censures thus
unsparingly dealt out, on the contrary, vindicated the conduct of
Peel. He insisted that there was
| MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 187 |
no reason to
suppose one, who was independent in fortune, and allied to a powerful party for so long a
period as Peel had been, would change his opinion without a conviction
that he was acting for the public benefit, giving way not to any alteration effected in his
own previous prejudices, but to the consideration that those prejudices, placed in
competition with a great public advantage, must not be suffered to contravene its
operations. Our honest convictions were not dependent upon our will, nor should they be
upon our party feeling, and to restrain their effects because they opposed our wishes or
attachments, might become those who never acted from honest conviction at all, but could
not so operate with those who had better constituted minds, and more enlarged ideas.
Peel might have been given to look too little in advance of the
moment in judging of a great public question, but when the moment came that he saw the
advantage of a conduct opposite to that he had before pursued, and with boldness and
honesty gave it his support—though, at a late period, comparatively—he did not
merit censure, but praise. He, Campbell, would not allow that motive
was in such a case to be impugned in the precipitate manner in which it had been. He
thought the great preponderance of evidence was in Peel’s
favour, and he would not suffer the predilections of Whig or 188 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
Tory to
mingle with the examination of the causes of such a change in the minister. He knew,
because it was openly shown by the reasons they gave, that bigotry in religion, and a want
of right reasoning, were the main springs of the opposition made to complete
emancipation—to the removal of every sort of restraint that existed connected with
opinion, whether with “Jew or Greek.” Actions, not opinions, were the true
objects of legal restraint, because the one was dependent upon volition, and the other was
not—the one concerned man, was tangible and visible, the other arraigned mental and
unseen agencies. The advancement of knowledge caused the growing conviction of this truth.
It was operating in all civilised countries. It was rather hard upon a British minister to
censure him for becoming a party to a state of things that, sooner or later, would be
inevitable. Peel had nothing to fear from the reproach that he
differed from narrowminded friends, and incurred their censures for insuring a great
benefit to his country. For his, Campbell’s, part, he should
ever feel happy at the change in Peel’s opinions, and concede to
him heartfelt thanks for the act, as well as esteem the sacrifice he had made of party, as
one made for the public benefit.
Whenever he heard the minister attacked for changing his sentiments, he
used similar argu-
| MEMOIRS OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. | 189 |
ments, insisting, too, that Peel was not bound to go out of office unless a majority of
the House of Commons were against him. He was rather constrained to remain in place for the
purpose of carrying the measure of Emancipation. Because he had once thought as his friends
did, he ought not to suffer the good intended, to be marred for the sake of party. The
alteration in Peel’s policy bad been from wrong to right
principles, he had not acted as some had done, and gone over from right to wrong,
sacrificing liberal and enlarged to narrow and selfish views. Peel, in
advocating Emancipation, had done nothing of this kind, and was entitled to be judged
fairly on that particular measure, by the good the change in his sentiments would confer
upon the community, and not by Whig or Tory partialities. Thus the poet showed nothing of
the spirit of party upon this question. Again and again I heard him allude to it almost in
the same terms. There can be no doubt that he spoke from his own conviction of the
injustice of Peel giving up to party cabal the completion of a measure
then deemed necessary for the peace of Ireland, as well as being essential to the freedom
of the citizen. Campbell did not deny that
Peel’s former party might complain, but that was not a point
of moment where a public benefit was in question. Peel’s want of
foresight might be a constitutional failing; foresight had been denied 190 | LITERARY REMINISCENCES AND | |
to many characters of eminence—it was wanting in numberless instances in the
transactions of persons in ordinary life, and might be wanting in a statesman as well as in
any other individual who might possess other qualifications for office. If so, it was a
misfortune, not a crime, and despite the misfortune the good had been done, the true sense
of the thing had become visible in time to effect what was wanted.
It was singular that Campbell
thus strenuously defended this statesman in those days upon the very point on which, since
he has been deceased, the same statesman exhibited more striking lapses. It was singular,
too, that a Whig so zealous as Campbell should become Peel’s champion, when, by so many of all parties, his
conduct was placed on the list of unquestionable equivocations.
Ellen Banim [née Ruth] (1842 fl.)
The daughter of John Ruth, a Kilkenny farmer; in 1822 she married the novelist John
Banim.
John Banim [Abel O'Hara] (1798-1842)
Irish poet, playwright, and novelist, author of
Tales from the O'Hara
Family (1825). A friend of Richard Shiel.
Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)
Scottish poet and man of letters; author of
The Pleasures of Hope
(1799),
Gertrude of Wyoming (1808) and lyric odes. He edited the
New Monthly Magazine (1821-30).
Sir Edward Codrington (1770-1851)
Naval officer; he commanded a ship at Trafalgar and as commander-in-chief of the
Mediterranean in 1827 destroyed a Turkish fleet at Navarino. In 1831 Thomas Creevey
described him as “a real bore.”
Henry Augustus Dillon-Lee, thirteenth viscount Dillon (1777-1832)
Irish peer, son of the twelfth viscount; he was MP for Harwich (1799-1802) and Mayo
(1802-13) and contributed to the
New Monthly Magazine. Hazlitt said
of him, “but for some twist in his brain, would have been a clever man.”
William Gray (1849 fl.)
Of Blairbeth and Claremont Place, Glasgow; he was a cousin and correspondent of Thomas
Campbell.
James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)
English poet, journalist, and man of letters; editor of
The
Examiner and
The Liberal; friend of Byron, Keats, and
Shelley.
William Huskisson (1770-1830)
English politician and ally of George Canning; privately educated, he was a Tory MP for
Morpeth (1796-1802), Liskeard (1804-07), Harwich (1807-12), Chichester (1812-23), and
Liverpool (1823-30). He died in railway accident.
Charles Lallemand (1774-1839)
After serving as a general under Napoleon and attempting to found a colony in North
America he served as governor of Corsica.
John Milton (1608-1674)
English poet and controversialist; author of
Comus (1634),
Lycidas (1638),
Areopagitica (1644),
Paradise Lost (1667), and other works.
Sir Thomas Charles Morgan (1780-1843)
English physician and philosophical essayist who married the novelist Sydney Owenson in
1812; he was the author of
Sketches of the Philosophy of Morals
(1822). He corresponded with Cyrus Redding.
Henry William Paget, first marquess of Anglesey (1768-1854)
Originally Bayly, educated at Westminster and Christ Church, Oxford; he was MP
(1790-1810), commander of cavalry under Sir John Moore, lost a leg at Waterloo, and raised
to the peerage 1815; he was lord-lieutenant of Ireland (1828-29, 1830-33).
Guglielmo Pepe (1783-1855)
Italian general and liberal who served under Napoleon and fought against Austrian rule in
1848.
Thomas Pringle (1789-1834)
Scottish poet, journalist, and abolitionist, who after a brief stint as one of the
founding editors of
Blackwood's Magazine emigrated to southern
Africa.
Frederick John Robinson, first earl of Ripon (1782-1859)
Educated at Harrow and St. John's College, Cambridge, he was a Tory MP for Carlow
(1806-07) and Ripon (1807-27), Chancellor of the Exchequer (1823-27), and prime minister
(1827-28) in succession to Canning.
John Russell, first earl Russell (1792-1878)
English statesman, son of John Russell sixth duke of Bedford (1766-1839); he was author
of
Essay on the English Constitution (1821) and
Memoirs of the Affairs of Europe (1824) and was Prime Minister (1865-66).
John Scott, first earl of Eldon (1751-1838)
Lord chancellor (1801-27); he was legal counsel to the Prince of Wales and an active
opponent of the Reform Bill.
Horace Smith (1779-1849)
English poet and novelist; with his brother James he wrote
Rejected
Addresses (1812) and
Horace in London (1813). Among his
novels was
Brambletye House (1826).
Dugald Stewart (1753-1828)
Professor of moral philosophy at Edinburgh University (1785-1809); he was author of
Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind (1792-93).
John Wilson [Christopher North] (1785-1854)
Scottish poet and Tory essayist, the chief writer for the “Noctes Ambrosianae” in
Blackwood's Magazine and professor of moral philosophy at Edinburgh
University (1820).
New Monthly Magazine. (1814-1884). Founded in reaction to the radically-inclined
Monthly Magazine,
the
New Monthly was managed under the proprietorship of Henry
Colburn from 1814 to 1845. It was edited by Thomas Campbell and Cyrus Redding from
1821-1830.