In short, my dear John, I feel as if my soul had grown an inch taller since I came here. I have a thousand, and a thousand curious things to tell you; but I shall keep them all bottled up to tell you in Fludyer Street—unless the cholera comes over me. If it should, I have at least had some happy days; and the little void that I leave in the world will be soon filled up."
These "happy days" were extended over the two following months, during which the poet made short trips among the native tribes, and explored whatever was curious in the past and present history of these children of the desert, and the localities they occupied. And fortunately for him, the dreaded cholera did not come, so that he revelled uninterrupted amidst the healthy and spirit-stirring enjoyments of the new scenes into which he had entered. The consequence was, that on his return to London, his friends congratulated him on being several years younger than when he had set out on his travels. This healthy effect of a glowing Moorish atmosphere, was afterwards improved and made permanent by a trip to his native north, that followed soon after—an alternation that resembled the sudden plunge from a hot bath into a cold. But where was the poem which was to be produced on his return? Let no poet say to himself, "Go to, I will sit down on such and such a day and write an epic." History and antiquity, past events and living realities, the rich landscapes around Algiers and Oran, and their stirring throng of Moors and Frenchmen, had so wholly occupied his thoughts, that laying aside his poetical purposes to an indefinite period, he devoted himself to the preparation of "Letters from Algiers," which were afterwards published in two volumes. His financial affairs, too, notwithstanding his habitual disregard of money, and thoughtless facility in parting with it, were in a more prosperous condition than they had been at any former period. Such was the tranquil course of his life from 1836 to 1841, when a return of his former ailments so stirred his impatience, that without any previous notice or preparation, he suddenly started for Weisbaden, expecting to find a miraculous recovery among its Brunnen. Such, indeed, was his hurry, that he forgot to provide himself with money, so that on arriving at the baths, he was obliged to write to a friend in London, commissioning him to enter his house in Victoria Square, take out all the money he found there, and after remitting him a portion, to lodge the rest at his banker's. It was truly marvellous that such a man should ever have had money to leave behind him! Fortified with this authority, his friend, accompanied by a lawyer, went to Campbell's house, opened the press-door in his bedroom, which did not seem to be even locked, and commenced his exploration. But though every shelf, drawer, cranny, every shirt-fold and coat-pocket of this poetical chaos was searched and rummaged, there was nowhere a token of money. The lawyer was grievously scandalized, and talked professionally of careless custody, and burglary. At length, when closing the press-door in despair, the process was interrupted by the point of a red embroidered slipper, stuffed, as it appeared, with paper matches for lighting candles, and on unrolling these, they found that the apparently worthless papers consisted of bank-notes to the amount of more than ₤300! By an inconsistency not unusual in human nature, Campbell at this very period was grumbling at the rate of exchange in Weisbaden, where not more than 19s. 6d. was given for an English sovereign. His stay was only for six weeks, and during this period he composed the ballad of the "Child and Hind." He published also "The Pilgrim of Glencoe, with other poems," in which the "Child and Hind," the "Song of the Colonists," and "Moonlight," appeared for the
