-Verses as smooth and soft as cream,
In which there was neither depth nor stream.

for some men's overbearing vanity made him
And therefore, though his want of complaisance
enemies, yet the better part of mankind were
obliged by the freedom of his reflections.
remote and imperfect copy, hath shown the
His Bodleian Speech, though taken from a
world how great a master he was of the Ciceronian
eloquence, mixed with the conciseness and force
of Demosthenes, the elegant and moving turns
of Pliny, and the acute and wise reflections of

Tacitus.

studies was so much the more passionate, and his | or detraction. If he did not always commend intention upon those refined pleasures of reading the compositions of others, it was not ill-nature, and thinking so vehement, (to which his facetious (which was not in his temper,) but strict justice and unbended intervals bore no proportion,) that would not let him call a few flowers set in ranks, the habit grew upon him, and the series of medi- a glib measure, and so many couplets, by the tation and reflection being kept up whole weeks name of Poetry; he was of Ben Jonson's opinion, together, he could better sort his ideas, and take who could not admire in the sundry parts of a science at one view, without interruption or confusion. Some indeed of his acquaintance, who were pleased to distinguish between the wit and the scholar, extol led him altogether on the account of these titles; but others, who knew him better, could not for bear doing him justice as a prodigy in both kinds. He had signalized himself, in the schools, as a philosopher and polemic of extensive know ledge and deep penetration; and went through all the courses with a wise regard to the dignity and importance of each science. I remember him in the Divinity-school responding and disputing with a perspicuous energy, a ready exactness, and commanding force of argument, stood Horace better, especially as to his happy Since Temple and Roscommon, no man underwhen Dr. Jane worthily presided in the chair; diction, rolling numbers, beautiful imagery, and whose condescending and disinterested commen- alternate mixture of the soft and the sublime. dation of him gave him such a reputation as This endeared Dr. Hannes's odes to him, the silenced the envious malice of his enemies, who finest genius for Latin lyric since the Augustan durst not contradict the approbation of so pro- age. His friend Mr. Philips's ode to Mr. St. John found a master in theology. None of those late Lord Bolingbroke) after the manner of self-sufficient creatures who have either trifled Horace's Lusory or Amatorian Odes, is certainly with philosophy, by attempting to ridicule it, or have encumbered it with novel terms and bur- of the sublimer kind, though, like Waller's writa masterpiece; but Mr. Smith's "Pocockius" is densome explanations, understood its real weightings upon Oliver Cromwell, it wants not the most and purity half so well as Mr. Smith. He was delicate and surprising turns peculiar to the too discerning to allow of the character of un-person praised. I do not remember to have seen profitable, rugged, and abstruse, which some superficial sciolists (so very smooth and polite as to admit of no impression) either out of an unthinking indolence or an ill-grounded prejudice had affixed to this sort of studies. He knew the thorny terms of philosophy served well to fence in the true doctrines of religion; and looked upon school-divinity as upon a rough but wellwrought armour, which might at once adorn and defend the Christian hero, and equip him for

the combat.

any thing like it in Dr. Bathurst, who had made
some attempts this way with applause. He was
historian, that in familiar discourse he would talk
an excellent judge of humanity; and so good an
over the most memorable facts in antiquity, the
lives, actions, and characters of celebrated men,
with amazing facility and accuracy. As he had
thoroughly read and digested Thuanus's works,
in this kind was so well known and allowed,
so he was able to copy after him; and his talent
that he had been singled out by some great men
to write a history which it was their interest to
have done with the utmost art and dexterity.
I shall not mention for what reasons this design
Mr. Smith's honour.
was dropped, though they are very much to
The truth is, and I speak
it before living witnesses, whilst an agreeable
literature nobody shone to greater advantage; he
could fix him upon a subject of useful
company
seemed to be that Memmius whom Lucretius
speaks of:

Mr. Smith had a long and perfect intimacy with all the Greek and Latin classics; with which he had carefully compared whatever was worth perusing in the French, Spanish, and Italian, (to which languages he was no stranger,) and in all the celebrated writers of his own country. But then, according to the curious observation of the late Earl of Shaftesbury, he kept the poet in awe by regular criticism; and, as it were, married the two arts for their mutual support and improvement. There was not a tract of credit upon that subject which he had not diliOmnibus ornatum voluisti excellere rebus. gently examined, from Aristotle down to Hedelin and Bossu; so that, having each rule constantly His works are not many, and those scattered before him, he could carry the art through every up and down in miscellanies and collections, bepoem, and at once point out the graces and defor-ing wrested from him by his friends with great mities. By this means he seemed to read with a design to correct as well as imitate.

Being thus prepared, he could not but taste every little delicacy that was set before him; though it was impossible for him at the same time to be fed and nourished with any thing but what was substantial and lasting. He considered the ancients and moderns not as parties or rivals for fame, but as architects upon one and the same plan, the Art of Poetry; according to which he judged, approved, and blamed without flattery

-Quem tu, Dea, tempore in omni

difficulty and reluctance. All of them together make but a small part of that much greater body which lies dispersed in the possession of nunerous acquaintance; and cannot perhaps be made entire, without great injustice to him, because few of them had his last hand, and the transcriber was often obliged to take the liberties of a friend. His condolence for the death of Mr.

Dr. Ralph Bathurst, whose Life and Literary Remains were published in 1761, by Mr. Thomas Warton.—C.

sures he even courted and solicited, submitting to their animadversions and the freedom they took with them with an unreserved and prudent resignation.

Philips is full of the noblest beauties, and hath | disposal of his friends, whose most rigorous cendone justice to the ashes of that second Milton, whose writings will last as long as the English language, generosity, and valour. For him Mr. Smith had contracted a perfect friendship; a passion he was most susceptible of, and whose laws he looked upon as sacred and inviolable.

I have seen sketches and rough draughts of some poems to be designed set out analytically; Every subject that passed under his pen had wherein the fable, structure, and connexion, the all the life, proportion, and embellishments, be- images, incidents, moral, episodes, and a great stowed on it, which an exquisite skill, a warm variety of ornaments, were so finely laid out, so imagination, and a cool judgment, possibly could well fitted to the rules of art, and squared so exbestow on it. The epic, lyric, elegiac, every sort actly to the precedents of the ancients, that I of poetry he touched upon, (and he touched upon have often looked on these poetical elements a great variety,) was raised to its proper height, with the same concern with which curious men and the differences between each of them ob- are affected at the sight of the most entertaining served with a judicious accuracy. We saw the remains and ruins of an antique figure or buildold rules and new beauties placed in admirable ing. Those fragments of the learned, which order by each other; and there was a predomi- some men have been so proud of their pains in nant fancy and spirit of his own infused, supe- collecting, are useless rarities, without form and rior to what some draw off from the ancients, or without life, when compared with these emfrom poesies here and there culled out of the bryos, which wanted not spirit enough to premoderns, by a painful industry and servile imita-serve them; so that I cannot help thinking that tion. His contrivances were adroit and magni- if some of them were to come abroad they would ficent; his images lively and adequate; his sen- be as highly valued by the poets as the sketches timents charming and majestic; his expressions of Julio and Titian are by the painters; though natural and bold; his numbers various and there is nothing in them but a few outlines, as to sounding; and that enamelled mixture of classi- the design and proportion. cal wit, which without redundance and affectation sparkled through his writings, and were no less pertinent and agreeable.

It must be confessed, that Mr. Smith had some defects in his conduct, which those are most apt to remember who could imitate him in nothing else. His freedom with himself drew severer acknowledgments from him than all the malice he ever provoked was capable of advancing, and he did not scruple to give even his misfortunes the hard name of faults; but, if the world had half his good-nature, all the shady parts would be entirely struck out of his character.

His "Phædra" is a consummate tragedy, and the success of it was as great as the most sanguine expectations of his friends could promise or foresee. The number of nights, and the common method of filling the house, are not always the surest marks of judging what encouragement a play meets with; but the generosity of all the persons of a refined taste about town was A man who, under poverty, calamities, and remarkable on this occasion: and it must not be disappointments, could make so many friends, forgotten how zealously Mr. Addison espoused and those so truly valuable, must have just and his interest, with all the elegant judgment and noble ideas of the passion of friendship, in the diffusive good nature for which that accomplish-success of which consisted the greatest, if not ed gentleman and author is so justly valued by mankind. But as to "Phædra," she has certainly made a finer figure under Mr. Smith's conduct upon the English stage, than either in Rome or Athens; and if she excels the Greek and Latin “Phædra,” I need not say she surpasses the French one, though embellished with whatever regular beauties and moving softness Racine himself could give her.

the only happiness of his life. He knew very well what was due to his birth, though fortune threw him short of it in every other circumstance of life. He avoided making any, though perhaps reasonable complaints of her dispensations, under which he had honour enough to be easy, without touching the favours she flung in his way when offered to him at a price of a more durable reputation. He took care to have no dealNo man had a juster notion of the difficulty ings with mankind in which he could not be just: of composing than Mr. Smith; and sometimes and he desired to be at no other expense in his he would create greater difficulties than he had pretensions than that of intrinsic merit, which was reason to apprehend. Writing with ease what the only burden and reproach he ever brought (as Mr. Wycherley speaks) may be easily writ-upon his friends. He could say, as Horace did ten, moved his indignation. When he was writ- of himself, what I never yet saw translated: ing upon a subject, he would seriously consider what Demosthenes, Homer, Virgil, or Horace, if alive, would say upon that occasion, which whetted him to exceed himself as well as others. Nevertheless, he could not or would not finish several subjects he undertook: which may be imputed either to the briskness of his fancy, still hunting after a new matter, or to an occasional indolence, which spleen and lassitude brought upon him, which, of all his foibles, the world was "least inclined to forgive. That this was not owing to conceit or vanity, or a fulness of himself, (a frailty which has been imputed to no less men than Shakspeare and Jonson,) is clear from hence; because he left his works to the entire

Meo sum pauper in ære.

At his coming to town, no man was more surrounded by all those who really had or pretended to wit, or more courted by the great men who had then a power and opportunity of encouraging arts and sciences, and gave proofs of their fondness for the name of patron in many instances, which will ever be remembered to their glory. Mr. Smith's character grew upon his friends by intimacy, and outwent the strongest prepossessions which had been conceived in his favour. Whatever quarrel a few sour creatures, whose obscurity is their happiness, may possibly have to the age, yet amidst a studied neglect and

total disuse of all those ceremonial attendances, Such is the declamation of Oldisworth, writfashionable equipments, and external recom- ten while his admiration was yet fresh, and his mendation, which are thought necessary intro- kindness warm; and therefore, such as, withductions into the grande monde, this gentleman out any criminal purpose of deceiving, shows a was so happy as still to please; and whilst the strong desire to make the most of all favourable rich, the gay, the noble, and honourable, saw truth. I cannot much commend the performhow much he excelled in wit and learning, they ance. The praise is often indistinct, and the easily forgave him all other differences. Hence sentences are loaded with words of more pomp it was that both his acquaintance and retire-than use. There is little, however, that can be ments were his own free choice. What Mr. contradicted, even when a plainer tale comes to Prior observes upon a very great character was be told. true of him, that most of his faults brought their excuse with them.

What remains of his works is left, as I am informed, in the hands of men of worth and judgment, who loved him. It cannot be sup-thing memorable. posed they would suppress any thing that was his, but out of respect to his memory, and for want of proper hands to finish what so great a genius had begun.

As his years advanced, he advanced in repu- | violent conflict of parties, had a prologue and tation: for he continued to cultivate his mind, epilogue from the first wits on either side. though he did not amend his irregularities: by which he gave so much offence, that, April 24, 1700, the Dean and Chapter declared "the place of Mr. Smith void, he having been convicted of riotous behaviour in the house of Mr. Cole, an apothecary; but it was referred to the Dean when and upon what occasion the sentence should be put into execution."

Thus tenderly was he treated: the governors of his college could hardly keep him, and yet wished that he would not force them to drive him away.

Some time afterwards he assumed an appearance of decency: in his own phrase, he whitened himself, having a desire to obtain the censorship, an office of honour and some profit in the college; but, when the election came, the preference was given to Mr. Foulkes his junior; the same, I suppose, that joined with Freind in an edition of part of Demosthenes. The censor is a tutor; and it was not thought proper to trust the superintendence of others to a man who took so little care of himself.

From this time Smith employed his malice and his wit against the dean, Dr. Aldrich, whom he considered as the opponent of his claim. Of his lampoon upon him, I once heard a single line too gross to be repeated.

But he was still a genius and a scholar, and Oxford was unwilling to lose him; he was endured, with all his pranks and his vices, two years longer; but, on Dec. 20, 1705, at the instance of all the canons, the sentence declared five years before was put in execution.

The execution was, I believe, silent and tender; for one of his friends, from whom I learned much of his life, appeared not to know it.

He was now driven to London, where he associated himself with the whigs, whether because they were in power, or because the tories had expelled him, or because he was a whig by principle, may perhaps be doubted. He was, however, caressed by men of great abilities, whatever were their party, and was supported by the liberality of those who delighted in his

conversation.

There was once a design, hinted at by Oldisworth, to have made him useful. One evening, as he was sitting with a friend at a tavern, he was called down by the waiter; and, having stayed some time below, came up thoughtful, After a pause, said he to his friend, "He that wanted me below was Addison, whose business was to tell me that a history of the Revolution was intended, and to propose that I should undertake it. I said, 'What shall I do with the character of Lord Sunderland?' and Addison immediately returned, When, Rag, were you drunk last?' and went away."

Captain Rag was a name which he got at Oxford by his negligence of dress.

This story I heard from the late Mr. Clark, of Lincoln's Inn, to whom it was told by the friend of Smith.

Such scruples might debar him from some profitable employments; but as they could not deprive him of any real esteem, they left him many friends; and no man was ever better introduced to the theatre than he, who, in that

But learning and nature will now and then take different courses. His play pleased the critics, and the critics only. It was, as Addison has recorded, hardly heard the third night. Smith had indeed trusted entirely to his merit, had ensured no band of applauders, nor used any artifice to force success, and found that native excellence was not sufficient for its own support.

The play, however, was bought by Lintot, who advanced the price from fifty guineas, the current rate, to sixty; and Halifax, the general patron, accepted the dedication. Smith's indolence kept him from writing the dedication, till Lintot, after fruitless importunity, gave notice that he would publish the play without it. Now, therefore, it was written; and Halifax expected the Author with his book, and had prepared to reward him with a place of three hundred pounds a-year. Smith, by pride, or caprice, or indolence, or bashfulness, neglected to attend him, though doubtless warned and pressed by his friends, and at last missed his reward by not going to solicit it.

Addison has, in the "Spectator," mentioned the neglect of Smith's tragedy as disgraceful to the nation, and imputes it to the fondness for operas then prevailing. The authority of Addison is great; yet the voice of the people, when to please the people is the purpose, deserves regard. In this question, I cannot but think the people in the right. The fable is mythological, a story which we are accustomed to reject as false; and the manners are so distant from our own, that we know them not from sympathy, but by study; the ignorant do not understand the action; the learned reject it as a schoolboy's tale; incredulus odi. What I cannot for a moment believe, I cannot for a moment behold with interest or anxiety. The sentiments thus remote from life are removed yet farther by the diction, which is too luxuriant and splendid for dialogue, and envelopes the thoughts rather than displays them. It is a scholar's play, such as may please the reader rather than the spectator; the work of a vigorous and elegant mind, accustomed to please itself with its own conceptions, but of little acquaintance with the course of life.

Dennis tells us, in one of his pieces, that he had once a design to have written the tragedy of "Phædra;" but was convinced that the action was too mythological.

In 1709, a year after the exhibition of "Phædra," died John Philips, the friend and fellowcollegian of Smith, who, on that occasion, wrote a poem, which justice must place among the best elegies which our language can show, an elegant mixture of fondness and admiration, of dignity and softness. There are some passages too ludicrous; but every human performance has its faults.

This elegy it was the mode among his friends to purchase for a guinea; and as his acquaintance was numerous, it was a very profitable poem.

Of his Pindar, mentioned by Oldisworth, I have never otherwise heard. His Longinus he intended to accompany with some illustrations, and had selected his instances of the false sub lime from the works of Blackmore.

He had great readiness and exactness of criticism, and by a cursory glance over a new composition would exactly tell all its faults and beauties.

He was remarkable for the power of reading with great rapidity, and of retaining, with great fidelity, what he so easily collected."

He resolved to try again the fortune of the ⚫ stage with the story of Lady Jane Grey. It is not unlikely that his experience of the inefficacy and incredibility of a mythological tale might determine him to choose an action from the English history, at no great distance from our own times, which was to end in a real event, produced by the operation of known characters. He therefore always knew what the present A subject will not easily occur that can give question required; and, when his friends exmore opportunities of informing the understand-pressed their wonder at his acquisitions, made ing, for which Smith was unquestionably quali fied, or for moving the passions, in which I suspect him to have had less power.

Having formed his plan and collected matenals, he declared that a few months would complete his design; and, that he might pursue his work with less frequent avocations, he was, in June, 1710, invited by Mr. George Ducket to his house at Gartham, in Wiltshire. Here he found such opportunities of indulgence as did not much forward his studies, and particularly some strong ale, too delicious to be resisted. He ate and drank till he found himself plethoric; and then, resolving to ease himself by evacuation, he wrote to an apothecary in the neighbourhood a prescription of a purge so forcible, that the apothecary thought it his duty to delay it till he had given notice of its danger. Smith, not pleased with the contradiction of a shopman, and boastful of his own knowledge, treated the notice with rude contempt, and swallowed his own medicine, which, in July, 1710, brought him to the grave. He was buried at Gartham.

Many years afterwards, Ducket communicated to Oldmixon, the historian, an account, pretended to have been received from Smith, that Clarendon's History was, in its publication, corrupted by Aldrich, Smalridge, and Atterbury; and that Smith was employed to forge and insert the alterations.

in a state of apparent negligence and drunkenness, he never discovered his hours of reading or method of study, but involved himself in affected silence, and fed his own vanity with their admiration.

One practice he had, which was easily observed: if any thought or image was presented to his mind that he could use or improve, he did not suffer it to be lost: but, amidst the jollity of a tavern, or in the warmth of conversation, very diligently committed it to paper.

Thus it was that he had gathered two quires of hints for his new tragedy; of which Rowe, when they were put into his hands, could make, as he says, very little use, but which the collector considered as a valuable stock of materials.

When he came to London, his way of life connected him with the licentious and dissolute; and he affected the airs and gayety of a man of pleasure: but his dress was always deficient ; scholastic cloudiness still hung about him; and his merriment was sure to produce the scorn of his companions.

With all his carelessness and all his vices, he was one of the murmurers at fortune; and wondered why he was suffered to be poor, when Addison was caressed and preferred; nor would a very little have contented him; for he esti mated his wants at six hundred pounds a-year.

In his course of reading, it was particular that he had diligently perused, and accurately remembered, the old romances of knight-errantry.

This story was published triumphantly by Oldmixon, and may be supposed to have been eagerly received; but its progress was soon He had a high opinion of his own merit, and checked: for, finding its way into the Journal of was something contemptuous in his treatment Trevoux, it fell under the eye of Atterbury, then of those whom he considered as not qualified to an exile in France, who immediately denied the oppose or contradict him. He had many frailcharge, with this remarkable particular, that he ties; yet it cannot but be supposed that he had never in his whole life had once spoken to Smith;* great merit, who could obtain to the same play a his company being, as must be inferred, not ac- prologue from Addison and an epilogue from cepted by those who attended to their characters. Prior; and who could have at once the patronThe charge was afterwards very diligently re-age of Halifax and the praise of Oldisworth. futed by Dr. Burton of Eton, a man eminent for literature; and, though not of the same party with Aldrich and Atterbury, too studious of truth to leave them burdened with a false charge. The testimonies which he has collected have convinced mankind that either Smith or Ducket was guilty of wilful and malicious falsehood.

This controversy brought into view those parts of Smith's life, which, with more honour to his name, might have been concealed.

Of Smith I can yet say a little more. He was a man of such estimation among his companions, that the casual censures or praises which he dropped in conversation were considered, like those of Scaliger, as worthy of preservation.

* See Bishop Atterbury's "Epistolary Correspondence," 1799, vol. III. p. 126. 133. In the same work, vol. Lp. 325, it appears that Smith was at one time suspected to have been author of the "Tale of a Tub."-N.

For the power of communicating these minute memorials, I am indebted to my conversation with Gilbert Walmsley, late registrar of the ecclesiastical court of Lichfield, who was acquainted both with Smith and Ducket; and declared, that, if the tale concerning Clarendon were forged, he should suspect Ducket of the falsehood; for Rag was a man of great veracity.

Of Gilbert Walmsley, thus presented to my mind, let me indulge myself in the remembrance. I knew him very early; he was one of the first friends that literature procured me, and I hope that at least my gratitude made me worthy of his notice.

He was of an advanced age, and I was only not a boy; yet he never received my notions with contempt. He was a whig, with all the virulence and malevolence of his party; yet difference of opinion did not keep us apart. I honoured him, and he endured me.

He had mingled with the gay world, without