To his surprise, he tells us, he received a ready sanction, but five instead of three shillings, and orders to rest a night by the way on each journey." He could sleep for sixpence at the half-way house."

“She then gave me, I shall never forget the beautiful coin a king William and Mary crown-piece. I was dumb with gratitude; but sallying out to the streets, I saw at the first bookseller's shop a print of Elijah fed by the ravens. Now I had often heard my poor mother say confidentially to our worthy neighbour Mrs. Hamilton, whose strawberries I had plundered, that in case of my father's death, (and he was a very old man,) she did not know what would become of her. But she used to say, 'Let me not despair, for Elijah was fed by the ravens.' When I presented her with the picture, I said nothing of its tacit allusion to the possibility of my being one day her supporter; but she was much affected, and evidently felt a strong presentiment."

But his affections were soon to be put to a different trial from these amiable little tokens of love. The trial was a severe one, and nobly he stood it. When he had published "The Pleasures of Hope," at the age of twenty-two, and risen suddenly into fame, he was irresistibly attracted to visit Germany. On his return the following year, on reaching London he received the news of his father's death. He hastened to his mother. He found her surrounded by her daughters, all in indifferent health, and deprived of the means of living-for Mr. Campbell's annuity had died with him. The poet had spent all, even the mighty sum of 607. he had received for "The Pleasures of Hope." The other brothers, if indeed able and willing, were all beyond the seas. Thomas buckled on his armour, obtained literary labour, and divided with his bereaved relatives every penny. From this time forward he continued to aid his family, even to a second generation, until his dying hour. Some of his friends calculated that at least 100. yearly was set aside for this purpose; and it was often on the same account that he asked temporary aid, never denied, from his richer friends.

On this subject Dr. Beattie says :—

"It is only by a plain statement of the difficulties that now beset his path, that the reader can form a just appreciation of his character. The favourite of the Muses, but the step-child of Fortune, his whole life was a struggle with untoward circumstances; and though it met with only partial success, it was always maintained with honour. These little points of family history I desire to notice with all possible delicacy; but to pass them over in silence would be an act of injustice to all parties. His conduct at this trying period is worthy of imitation; and others who may be similarly placed on the shifting stage of life, may learn from his example the manly virtues of courage and perseverance. His kindness to his mother and sisters was that of a most affectionate relative, and with them he shared his still scanty earnings."

The next event in the poet's domestic history is his marriage. But ere this took place he had removed to London. We ought here to explain that Campbell had chosen no profession. This we deem most unfortunate; nor are the causes assigned at all satisfactory to our minds. Had he been in any profession-even nominally a lawyer—it would have been

easy for his friends or the Government to give him some office of moderate leisure and some emolument; but in a nation of shopkeepers, to provide for a man who is nothing but a poet, is no easy matter even for it is true, but the success of the experiment was not a Government. They had made Burns an exciseman, such as to invite repetition.

Campbell, therefore, had no resource but literature, and London was found to be the widest field for his talents.

He had not been long there when he fell in love with his second cousin, Matilda Sinclair; and she, very naturally-for at this period he was not only a genius and amiable, but remarkably handsome—fell in love with him. They married in spite of the grave shakings of the head of some of their elder friends,

and enjoyed a tolerably long life of happiness together, not unchequered by some severe trials. He soon afterwards took a house at Sydenham, where, for many years, he seems to have enjoyed as much felicity as falls to the lot of man. He thus announces his married happiness to John Richardson, a prosperous member of the legal profession, and one of the most judicious and warmest friends a man could be blessed

with:

"Pimlico, Nov. 3, 1803. "Now that the public astonishment has a little subsided, and the nation at large grown familiar with contemplating my unhappy marriage, I picture to myself the precincts of Edinburgh; be sure a cottage, as the best compromise one could make between town and country Edinburgh; John Richardson and Jemmy Grahame shaking their heads like two mandarins at my fireside, moralizing upon the folly of early wedlock: Mocha coffee-my wife has been in Geneva, and makes it in perfection; she is besides a very mild body, and, except in points of consequence, would give us leave to make as much and talk as much as we liked: such are the scenes. I trust, not in distant perspective. I cannot tax my. self with either misapprehending or changing my opinion before me. of the summum bonum. It is precisely what is now I see the book of life opened: the characters written upon it are, mental employment, such as to amount to industry without swelling to fatigue; a friend to be always with, and a friend to have for ever, although met with only in the gay moments of leisure. I have a little too much industry, I own, at present; for the constant consciousness of what I have now to answer for beats an alarm-bell in my heart when I detect myself indolent, and my hours of writing are now from morning to night.

"The worthy being who stands first on my list of blessings is such, that if I asked my affections, Did they ever find her match? they would say, upon oath, Nay, never! And now for my friends, John. It was no compliment for a dreary forlorn pilgrim in Germany to wish for your society, and to think that it would be better than solitude; but it is now a pledge how dear I hold you, when I think how blest, how supremely blest I should be, if I had the sum of God's gifts made complete, by having the friend who wishes me most happy to

come and see me happy."

family happiness :A young lady, a distant relative, thus describes his

"I spent a short but delightful visit with my amiable and talented cousins. They were greatly attached. Mrs. C. studied her husband in every way. As one proof, the poet being devoted to his books and writing

which there was no justifiable cause.
But these
clouds speedily passed over; and among those who con-
tributed, next to his own fireside, to dispel his occa-
sional fits of gloom'-which, it appears, are the penalty
the poetic temperament pays for its refinement of
pleasure at other times-stand pre-eminent the family
of Mayows, who were his near neighbours at Syden-
ham. The father sat for the picture of Albert in
Wyoming. To the three young ladies, he had
amusingly proposed himself as their tutor in Greek
and Latin; and, doubtless, he gave these lessons with
more goodwill than when the tutor, from stern neces-
sity, at Glasgow, Mull and Downie. On one of these
occasions, having been more than usually successful,
the playful pedagogue thus addressed his pupils:-
"To be instructed by the Graces

Let other bards their favour sue;
But when I view your beaming faces,
Dear Mary, Fanny, Caroline.

A more delightful boast is mine

I teach the Graces while I'm teaching you."

Vol. ii. p. 189.

It is pleasanter to be a teacher from choice than upon compulsion; but upon one occasion was our poet obliged to act upon compulsion as a fencingmaster. Let us have the story in his own words. (To be continued.)

MY OWN PLACE:

A RHYME FOR ALL GOOD MEN AND TRUE.

BY MARTIN F. TUPPER, AUTHOR OF PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY," ETC.

WHOEVER I am, wherever my lot,

Whatever I happen to be,

Contentment and Duty shall hallow the spot
That Providence orders for me;

No covetous straining and striving to gain
One feverish step in advance,-

I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain
To hazard a change and a chance!

I care for no riches that are not my right,
No honour that is not my due;

But stand in my station, by day or by night,
The will of my Master to do;

He lent me my lot, be it humble or high,
And set me my business here,

And whether I live in His service, or die,
My heart shall be found in my sphere !
If wealthy, I stand as the steward of my King,
If poor, as the friend of my Lord,
If feeble, my prayers and my praises I bring,
If stalwart, my pen or my sword;
If wisdom be mine, I will cherish His gift,
If simpleness, bask in His love,
If sorrow, His hope shall my spirit uplift,
If joy, I will throne it above!

The good that it pleases my God to bestow,
I gratefully gather and prize;

The evil,-it can be no evil, I know,

But only a good in disguise;

Away then with "helpings" that humble and harm,
Though "bettering" trips from your tongue;
Away for your folly would scatter the charm
That round my proud poverty hung:

I felt that I stood like a man at my post,
Though peril and hardship were there,—
And all that your wisdom would counsel me most
Is-"Leave it ;-do better elsewhere."

If "better" were better indeed, and not "worse,"
I might go ahead with the rest,

But many a gain and a joy is a curse,

And many a grief for the best:
No-duties are all the "advantage" I use;

I pine not for praise or for pelf,
And as to ambition, I care not to choose

My better or worse for myself!

I will not, I dare not, I cannot !--I stand
Where God has ordain'd me to be,

An honest mechanic,-or lord in the land,-
HE fitted my calling for me:

Whatever my state, be it weak, be it strong,
With honour, or sweat, on my face,

This, this is my glory, my strength, and my song,
I stand, like a star, in MY PLACE.

EDITOR'S POSTSCRIPT.

From our Writing-desk.

THE LAST TIME! What magic is there in those three simple words! what strange power do they possess over our minds!-power completely to transform the aspect of things familiar to us, even from our childhood upwards. Let us take one of the commonest examples we can select-some household duty performed mechanically till it has become matter of habit, and we do it instinctively, as it were, without bestowing a minute's thought upon it from year's end to year's end-till at length some change takes place which renders it unnecessary, and we do it for the last time; but no longer mechanically it has now become matter of deep, and often painful reflection; memory recals old associations connected with it; some loving speech, some glance of kindly sympathyheart-treasures of which even death may fail to deprive us these throw a halo around it; and as we do it for the last time slowly and musingly, we feel that many a greater sorrow has pained us less, than the knowledge that we shall never be called upon to do it again.

:

And if this be so in trifles, how much more strongly does the feeling influence us when the occasion is one really calculated to excite it! when, as years roll on, the loved things of life are taken from us one by one, and for the last time we gaze on some dear familiar face, and know that after a few short minutes we shall see it again no more, till time shall

Reader, would you know what has suggested these reflections to our mind at this particular period? 'Tis soon told;-we are writing our last Postscript! Yes, dear reader, the pleasant bond which we would fain believe has existed between us is about to be broken. With the February Part, which concludes the Eighth Volume, FRANK FAIRLEGH resigns the editorship of SHARPE'S LONDON MAGAZINE. Various considerations have led to this determination; but the two which have exerted the most powerful influence upon us-(for we will not anticipate our abdication by discarding the regal WE of office-that comfortable pronoun, which lessens individual responsibility by wrapping the editorial unit in an impenetrable mystery, suggesting the united wisdom of, at least, a general council)-the two reasons which have mainly induced us to take this step are--first, the discovery which many a literary man has made before us, that the labours of editing and of composition are not only incompatible, but diametrically opposed to each other; the latter requiring a mind in

"Studious meditation, fancy free;"

the former necessitating a ceaseless routine of active business. This conviction, at which we have arrived by painful experience-coupled, secondly, with the fact that the confinement consequent on the double duty was proving injurious to our health-has induced us to cede the conduct of "SHARPE" to other, and, we have every reason to believe, fully competent hands. Our intercourse with the readers of the Magazine will therefore, for the future, be regulated by the degree of favour they may be disposed to accord to their new acquaintance, Lewis Arundel.

have at first sight appeared, we have directly or indirectly strengthened the hands of those good men who are working zealously in their Master's cause-we shall never regret the many toilsome hours we have devoted to SHARPE'S MAGAZINE. And so end we our last Postscript.

Amongst the books which have come under our notice, we may mention

The third and concluding volume of "Laneton Parsonage," by Miss Sewell; which, as it more fully developes the various characters of the children, ex-| cites a deeper interest than the two preceding volumes. One of the peculiar excellences of this lady's writing, is her unequalled power of individualizing character by small traits. Her young ladies wear frocks, eat bread-and-butter, and talk small conversation, with the most common-place uniformity; and yet a sentiment of Ruth's could no more be mistaken for one of Madeline's, than a corn-law speech of Sir Robert Peel's for a Young-England rhapsody of Mr.D'Israeli's. Miss Sewell has written nothing since Amy Herbert which has afforded us more pleasure than Laneton Parsonage.

"The Winds and the Waves." A pretty Christmas tale, very nicely got up. The writer occasionally imitates Dickens, and that in one of his peculiarities which, having been a virtue, has degenerated into a vice, we allude to his interminable picturesque descriptions of things inanimate, whereof the "thousandand-one" whens at the beginning of the "Haunted Man" are a lamentable instance. The writer of The Winds and the Waves inculcates emigration as the first duty of man, and paints Australia as a "valley of tranquil delights." Probably when this little book was written, that jewel of a country, California, had not been discovered to be set in gold, or our author would doubtless have laid the venue of transatlantic felicity in that modern Tom Titler's ground; still the book is a good little book, and as such we recommend it to our readers. The wood-cuts of the ornamental initial designed with taste, and are very well executed. The other larger cuts are inferior. Cruikshank's illustrations in the second number of Frank Fairlegh are worthy his reputation as a comic artist. The ejection of Lawless from the window of the pupil's room is perfectly inimitable.

"The Lancashire Witches." A very clever novel by Mr. Ainsworth, in which the agreeable and the frightful are judiciously blended. The Lancashire Witches are not beauties, but quite regular oldfashioned witches of the time of James I., whose famous (and very heavy) work on Demonology is often referred to as a test for detecting them. This is the best novel Mr. Ainsworth has written for some time.

“Dr. Birch and his Young Friends." Clever sketches, with proportionate letter-press, in Mr. Thackeray's lightest style; worth much, but not so much as 7s. 6d., when the cuts are so odiously coloured into the bargain. The uncoloured ones are, in our opinion, much more desirable than the coloured.