VII.

THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH.

WHEN Lady Holland, the wife of the eminent physician and natural philosopher, undertook the biography of her father, she applied to me and others for any reminiscences we might happen to have retained of his familiar life and conversation. The greater part of the material I supplied to her is incorporated in her admirable and accessible volumes, and I am unwilling to repeat it here. But something remains which I do not think has been given to the public, and there are aspects of the character of my old friend and social companion which have not been made as prominent as they deserve.

As a Yorkshireman I had heard much of the inspiring effects of his wit and gaiety in provincial life, and his residences among the breezy wolds of the East Riding are still pointed out with respectful interest. In that country, which still retains its pastoral character, and where the simple

habits of a sparse and scattered population offer a striking contrast to the fume and tumult of their Western neighbours, there had been erected during the last and former centuries, by a strange accident of aristocratic possession, and at a cost which the difficulties of transport and the facility of labour at the time of their construction must have rendered enormous, some of the noblest and most decorated of English mansions. The inhabitants of these isolated palaces, of which Castle Howard is the most notable, welcomed with delight the unexpected vicinage of a mighty Edinburgh Reviewer in the disguise of a village parson, and competed for his society with the not distant city of York, over the church of which Archbishop Harcourt, the last of the Cardinal Prelates of our Establishment, so long presided.

This intercourse not only relieved what would have been a sad change from the genial hospitalities and frequent festivities of his former city life, but increased that familiar and friendly association with the representatives of a higher station in society which alone made it agreeable, or even tolerable, to his independent nature. He demanded equality, at least, in every company he entered, and generally got something more.

I have heard that it took some time for his professional brethren to accommodate themselves to what would have been indeed a startling apparition in their retired and monotonous existence, but that his active interest in parochial matters, however insignificant, his entire simplicity of demeanour, his cheerful endurance and ingenious remedies in all the little discomforts of his position, quite won their hearts, and that he became as popular with them as ever he was among his cognate wits and intellectual fellows. He willingly assisted his neighbours in their clerical duties, and an anecdote of one of these occasions is still current in the district, for the authenticity of which I will not vouch, but which seems to me good enough to be true. He dined with the incumbent on the preceding Saturday, and the evening passed in great hilarity, the squire, by name Kershaw, being conspicuous for his loud enjoyment of the stranger's jokes. I am very glad that I have amused you,' said Mr. Sydney Smith at parting, ‘but you must not laugh at my sermon to-morrow.' 'I should hope I know the difference between being here or at church,' remarked the gentleman with some sharpness. I am not so sure of that,' replied the visitor; 'I'll bet you a guinea on it,' said the squire. 'Take you,' replied

the divine. The preacher ascended the steps of the pulpit apparently suffering from a severe cold, with his handkerchief to his face, and at once sneezed out the name 'Ker-shaw' several times in various intonations. This ingenious assumption of the readiness with which a man would recognise his own name in sounds imperceptible to the ears of others, proved accurate. The poor gentleman burst into a guffaw, to the scandal of the congregation; and the minister, after looking at him with stern reproach, proceeded with his discourse and won the bet.

Though in appearance less brilliant and important, I suspect that this must have been the happiest period of Mr. Sydney Smith's career. He had full health, talents employed, domestic comforts, great hopes of eminence in his profession, and abundant amusement without the inevitable frivolities that wait on large companies of men, or the moral and intellectual condescensions which great popularity in the social, as well as in the political, world demands.

The luxurious Somersetshire rectory to which he was soon transferred had many superior attractions to his rough Yorkshire home, but he never ceased to regret the fresh atmosphere and shrewd energy of the North. What with the long torpor of the cider, and the heated air of the