and said to an acquaintance that no friend of his would ever call him
so."

The establishment through his direct agency of the University of
London was Campbell's most important public work. Later his life was
almost wholly engrossed for a time by his interest in the cause of
Poland--a cause indeed that from his youth had lain near his heart.
But as he grew older and his health declined he became more and more
restless, and finally in 1843 took up his residence at Boulogne. His
parents, his brothers and sisters, his wife, his two children, so
tenderly loved, were all gone. But he still corresponded with his
friends, and to the last his talk was cheerful and pleasant. In June,
1844, he died, and in July he was buried in Westminster Abbey in
Poets' Corner. About his grave stood Milman, the Duke of Argyle,--the
head of his clan,--Sir Robert Peel, Brougham, Lockhart, Macaulay,
D'Israeli, Horace Smith, Croly and Thackeray, with many others, and
when the words "Dust to dust" were pronounced, Colonel Szyrma, a
distinguished Pole, scattered over the coffin a handful of earth from
the grave of Kosciuszko at Cracow.

HOPE

From the 'Pleasures of Hope'

At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been,
And every form that Fancy can repair
From dark oblivion glows divinely there.
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour?
Ah no! she darkly sees the fate of man--
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or if she hold an image to the view,
'Tis Nature pictured too severely true.
With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light
That pours remotest rapture on the sight;
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy manda