will come forward and prove its blessings, in the devil's name let him do so; but do not let him shirk the question. (Cheers and laughter.) I therefore beg you, American gentlemen, to give my compliments to my friends on the other side of the Atlantic, and tell them that, though I scold them a little, yet I like them well. Tell them from me to write upon very the question; but, as a corollary to that, tell them, too, not to let it be in verse. (Laughter.) The Americans have noble heads for prose; among them they have the very first prose writers in the world; but in verse-ah! I will say nothing-it may do very well to run upon all fours, but it cannot rise. (Laughter.) It puts me in mind of the old story of the dying man. A friend was preaching to him, and painting all the joys of Paradise, when the poor fellow said, 'Oh, say no more about the joys of Paradise; your bad style makes them disgusting.'

"I will say no more; only let me return my fervent thanks to my kind friends for the honour of belonging to this noble association. It goes to my heart when I think of the number

of my fellow men who are labouring under the horrors of slavery; but when I look around me here, I see the germs of liberty for them budding forth." (Cheers.)

This slur upon the genius of America excited a deep sensation throughout the Hall. The loud cheers which had followed every word, were now exchanged for murmurs of disapprobation. I was exceedingly astonished to hear such sentiments from the lips of Campbell. The sympathy of the Convention was obviously on the side of America. They were evidently words spoken in an unguarded moment; and, as I afterwards was happy to know, no one regretted them so much as Campbell himself.

The American speaker again took the floor, and nobly replied to him. He defended his countrymen like a true-hearted American; and, in illustration of the genius of Whitier and Bryant, quoted some of their best lines, which were received with generous enthusiasm and prolonged cheering.

But this speech, for many reasons, Campbell never should have made. It was unjust, for our best poets have written as good lines.

as he: it was indelicate; for even had it been true, he was the last man who should have said anything about it. I listened to his speech with pain. I have often seen him since; and at every interview he has said something of that speech. He seemed grieved and mortified about it, and requested me to make his peace with my countrymen.

"I had not," said he, "the faintest idea of making a speech, or of saying one word when I entered the Convention. I am not accustomed to speaking in public assemblies, and whenever I make the attempt I am troubled with nervous excitement, which so agitates me that I hardly know what I am saying it was in an unguarded moment that I made that odious and indelicate speech.

:

"Do you suppose, sir, it will be generally known in America ?" I replied that it would be printed in a great many papers, and severely criticised; and what pained me more was, that it would be read by thousands who had loved and honoured his name, and chiefly by those who were familiar with his poetry.

"Well," said he, will your countrymen

forgive me if I repent?" I answered that we were not ungenerous in America, I trusted; and although I was very sorry he had said what he did, yet I doubted not, when his feelings were known across the water, he would still be loved and admired.

"Well," he answered, "I will make all the atonement I can. I will write you a note, authorizing you to tell what my feelings are, and requesting you to make the facts of the case known." He took his pen and wrote the following note:

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Make my peace with your countrymen. It was a foolish and inconsiderate speech that I made at the Convention;-it was unlike myself. I would give a hundred pounds I had never uttered it.

Yours truly,

THOS. CAMPBELL.

61, Lincoln's Inn Fields, 13th July, 1840.

"There, sir," said he, as he handed me the note, “I can do nothing more; I wish I could.

And I want you to promise me that you will act in my defence when you go home. Scarcely a day of my life has passed for many years that I have not thought and spoken of America; and yet I never said in all my life so cruel a thing about you before; and I never will again. I have always loved America better than any land on earth, except my own. When the whole paltry tribe of Reviewers and Critics in Great Britain were traducing America and her Authors, I opened the columns of the Magazine I edited at that time for articles which espoused your cause, and wrote such papers myself; and what strange fatality urged me on to say those words that fell from me in Freemasons' Hall, the Lord only knows; I don't. But it was one of Tom Campbell's blunders; and as the inimitable Sam Slick says, 'it's just my luck, for it never would have happened to any other man.'

"Tell your countrymen I love America; and God knows I am sincere when I say so. I love your country, for it is the scene of my Gertrude of Wyoming.' I love America for her stupendous scenery; I love her for her genius