such as his to convert the eloquent and impassioned culprit at the bar into a patriot of the old heroic ages, pleading less for his own life than the liberties of his country. "Gentlemen of the jury," said Gerald, at the close of his appeal, "now that I have to take leave of you for ever, let me remind you that mercy is no small part of the duty of jurymen; that the man who shuts his heart on the claims of the unfortunate, on him the gates of mercy will be shut; and for him the Saviour of the world shall have died in vain." Campbell was deeply impressed by these thrilling words, and the universal unbreathing silence of the multitude that listened; and his emotion at last found vent in the exclamation, "By heavens, sir, that is a great man!" "Ay, sir," replied the man beside him, apparently a decent tradesman, to whom the remark was addressed, "he is not only a great man himself, but he makes every other man great who listens to him." Campbell returned to Glasgow, a sadder at least, if not a wiser man, and, to the astonishment of his companions, his jokes and flashes of merriment were now laid aside. He had imbibed those impressions in behalf of freedom, and that hatred of oppression which burst forth so indignantly in the "Pleasures of Hope"—that ran like an electric gleam through the whole extent of his subsequent productions—and that finally, at his opened grave, called forth the tears of unhappy Poland, represented by the weeping group of her children who stood over it. He was now, and ever after, to be the poet of Liberty.
When Campbell reached the age of twenty, he had completed five sessions at the university of Glasgow, during the greater part of which period he had been obliged, through the mercantile losses of his father, to contribute to his own support by giving lessons in Latin and Greek as a private tutor. Long before this period he had endeavoured to make choice of a profession, but had been unable to settle upon any result: law, medicine, merchandise, the church, had successively presented themselves, and been each in turn abandoned. Even already, however, the idea of literature as a profession had occurred to him; and he was now in Edinburgh negotiating with the publishers of the day, and supporting himself, in the meantime, by the drudgery of private tuition, until some path could be struck out by his own talents, or some offer made to him by an Edinburgh bookseller. But even now, also, he was employed upon the "Pleasures of Hope," and forming those beautiful episodes of the work which became all the brighter and more attractive in consequence of the darkness by which their author was beset. Such, at this period, was the condition of the young aspirant for literary and poetical fame. If to this, the following sketch of him, by a lady, be added, the picture will be complete:—"Mr. Campbell's appearance bespoke instant favour; his countenance was beautiful, and as the expression of his face varied with his various feelings, it became quite a study for a painter to catch the fleeting graces as they rapidly succeeded each other. The pensive air which hung so gracefully over his youthful features gave a melancholy interest to his manner, which was extremely touching. But when he indulged in any lively sallies of humour, he was exceedingly amusing; every now and then, however, he seemed to check himself, as if the effort to be gay was too much for his sadder thoughts, which evidently prevailed. "And now," he says of himself, "I lived in the Scottish metropolis by instructing pupils in Greek and Latin. In this vocation I made a comfortable livelihood as long as I was industrious. But 'The Pleasures of Hope' came over me. I took long walks about Arthur's Seat, conning over my own (as I thought them) magnificent
