CAMPBELL (Thomas, English poet), 1777-1844. "_No; it was one Tom Campbell._" Campbell's friends were doubtful whether he was conscious or not of what was going on in his presence, and had recourse to an artifice to learn. One of them spoke of the poem "Hohenlinden," and pretending to forget the author's name, said he had heard it was by Mr. Robinson. Campbell saw the trick, was amused, and said playfully, but in a calm and distinct tone, "No; it was one Tom Campbell."
Some time before he uttered his last words he said:--
"When I think of the existence which shall commence when the stone is laid over my head, how can literary fame appear to me, to any one, but as nothing? I believe, when I am gone, justice will be done to me in this way--that I was a pure writer. It is an inexpressible comfort, at my time of life, to be able to look back and feel that I have not written one line against religion or virtue."
CANO (Alonzo, the "Michael Angelo of Spain"), 1601-1667. "_Vex me not with this thing, but give me a simple cross, that I may adore it, both as it is in itself and as I can figure it in my mind_," to a priest who gave him an elaborate but badly carved cross. He had previously refused the sacrament from the hand of a priest who had administered it to converted Jews.
CARLYLE (Thomas, essayist, translator, and historian), 1795-1881. His mind was wandering when Froude went to his bedside, but he recognized him and said: "_I am very ill. Is it not strange that these people should have chosen the very oldest man in all Britain to make suffer in this way?_" Froude answered, "We do not know exactly why those people act as they do. They may have reasons we cannot guess at." "_Yes_," said Carlyle, "_it would be rash to say that they have no reasons_." When Froude saw him next, his speech was gone.[10]
[10] On February 5th, 1881, in the tranquil exhaustion of a ripe old age, this true SAGE of modern times passed away at his home in Cheyne Row, Chelsea, where he had lived for fifty years: and,--as the _Times_ remarked,--the world seemed duller, colder, and darker, in that this one grey old man had left it.
No time was lost in collecting funds to provide for a public monument of the philosopher. The work was entrusted to Mr. J. E. Boehm, R. A., with the result of a most admirable statue in bronze, life-size, representing Carlyle as he was in his latter days, in an attitude of thought, seated in an arm-chair, and wearing his well-known dressing-gown. "For this noble piece of portraiture," Mr. Ruskin wrote of it, "I cannot trust myself to express my personal gratitude, or to speak at all of the high and harmonious measure in which it seems to me to express the mind and features of my dear master." It is appropriately placed in the little public garden, at the end of Great Cheyne Row, Chelsea, where Carlyle had spent the last forty years of his life. There, on October 26th, 1882, in presence of many of those who were his attached friends in life, it was unveiled by Professor Tyndall, who delivered an eloquent address on the occasion. Among those who assisted were Lord Houghton, Mrs. Oliphant, Miss Swanwick, Moncure D. Conway, Robert Browning, Dr. Martineau, Mr. W. E. H. Lecky, and others. A simple inscription on the massive pedestal, of Aberdeen granite, records the dates of the birth and death of the remarkable man in whose honour it is erected.--_William Bates._