It was at a public meeting at the London Tavern, too, that I first saw Thomas Campbell. Like Mr. Moore, he is a diminutive man, hardly exceeds five feet four, and is totally deficient in those external characteristics which serve as indices to his mind. His forehead is low, his eye dull, and his whole face has been cast in an ordinary mould. Though prepared for this, I confess the first look disappointed me: my belief in Lavater vanished, and from that moment I abandoned the system of Gall. A second look partially reconciled me, and, in a short time, I fancied I discovered proofs of intellect. Mr. Campbell made a speech on the occasion, and, as he was extremely vehement, it was maliciously hinted that he partook, in the committee-room, of something more stimulating than — Mr. Brougham's advice.... Mr. Campbell's constitution is so vigorous that it remains uninjured by his habit of stopping in bed every day till three o'clock in the afternoon. His friends expect a new poem from him on the "Pleasures of Sleep."