In his publisher Campbell found an attached and admiring friend; and it must not be forgotten that, when he was on his death-bed at Boulogne, Mr. Moxon was the only private literary friend who crossed the Channel to pay him a last, reverential visit. It was at the house of Mr. Rogers, I believe, that the Poet and his future publisher first met; and the intercourse, thus begun, was continued, it may be affirmed, much less from motives of interest than the attractive force of congenial taste. Their first joint efforts proved very satisfactory; and mutual esteem and confidence keeping pace with their further acquaintance, formed a lasting bond of union, to which it is now a pleasing duty to advert. Such instances, it is to be hoped, are not rare; and, if they were so, the merit in the present instance would only be greater. Campbell, on the whole, was fortunate in his publishers; and although, at times, he indulged in a little playful satire at their expense, — "toasted" Napoleon for shooting Palm the bookseller, — and charged the whole body with holding their compotations in famished authors' skulls, — he frankly admitted that his friends in the trade were his best patrons.