Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Volume 61, No. 376, February, 1847

Various

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Volume 61, No. 376, February, 1847

MEMOIR OF THE LATE JOHN WILLIAM SMITH, OF THE INNER TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW

BY SAMUEL WARREN, OF THE INNER TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. Milton.—Lycidas.

The name of John William Smith, barrister-at-law, of the Inner Temple, now appears, possibly for the first time, before nineteen-twentieths of the readers of Blackwood's Magazine. It is that, however, of a remarkable and eminent man, just cut off in his prime, before he had completed his thirty-seventh year: having as yet lain little more than a twelvemonth in his grave, to which he had been borne by a few of his sorrowful and admiring friends, on the 24th of December, 1845. Another eminent member of the English bar, Sir William Follett, belonging to the same Inn of Court, and also cut off in the prime of life, while glittering in the zenith of his celebrity and success, had been buried only five months previously. I1 endeavoured to give the readers of this Magazine, in January 1846, some account of the character of that distinguished person; and Mr. Smith, learning that I was engaged upon the task, with morbid anxiety repeatedly begged me to show him what I was writing, up to within a few weeks of his own decease: a request with which, for reasons which will become obvious to the reader of this sketch, I declined to comply. With Sir William Follett's name all the world is acquainted: yet I venture to think that the name of John William Smith has greater claims upon the attention of readers of biography. His character and career will, it is believed, be found permanently and intrinsically interesting,—at once affecting, inspiriting, and admonitory. He fell a martyr to intense study, just as that competent and severe body of judges, the English bench and bar, had recognised his eminent talents and acquirements, and the shining and substantial rewards of unremitting exertion were beginning to be showered upon him. He came to the bar almost totally unknown, and was destitute of any advantages of person, voice, or manner. His soul, however, was noble, his feelings were refined and exalted; and, when he departed from the scene of intense excitement and rivalry into which his lot had been cast, those who had enjoyed the best opportunities for forming a true judgment of him, knew not whether more to admire his moral excellence or his intellectual eminence, which shone the more brightly for the sensitive modesty which enshrouded them. Many have expressed surprise and regret that so interesting a character should fade from the public eye, without any attempt having been made by his friends to give a full account of his character and career. I was one of his very earliest friends; witnessed the whole of his professional career, shared his hopes and fears, and, with two or three others, attended upon him affectionately to the very last. During the year which has since elapsed, I have reflected much upon his character, and had many opportunities for ascertaining the respect with which his memory is cherished in the highest quarters. I shall endeavour, therefore, though with great misgivings as to my competency for the task, to present to the reader an impartial account of my gifted friend: no one else, with one exception,2 having, up to this time, undertaken the task.

John William Smith, the eldest of eight children, was of a highly respectable family: his father having died in 1835, Vice-treasurer and Paymaster-general of the Forces in Ireland. Both his parents were Irish—his mother having been a Miss Connor, the sister of a late Master in Chancery, in Ireland. They lived, however, in London, where the subject of this memoir was born, in Chapel Street, Belgrave Square, on the 23d January, 1809. From the earliest period at which note could be taken of their manifestation, he evinced the possession of superior mental endowments. No one is less disposed than the writer of this memoir, to set a high value upon precocious intellectual development. Observatum fere est, says Quinctilian, in his passionate lamentation for the death of his gifted son, celerius occidere festinatam maturitatem.3 The maturity, however, of John William Smith, far more than realised his early promise, and renders doubly interesting any well-authenticated account, and such I have succeeded in obtaining, of his early childhood. When advanced not far from infancy, he appears to have been characterised by a kind of quaint thoughtfulness, quick observation, and a predilection for intellectual amusements. He was always eager to have poetry read to him, and soon exhibited proofs of that prodigious memory, by which he was all his life pre-eminently distinguished, and which has often made the ablest of his friends imagine that with him, forgetting was a thing impossible. Before he knew a single letter of the alphabet, which he learnt far earlier, moreover, than most children, he would take into his hand his little pictured story-book, which had been perhaps only once, or possibly twice, read over to him, and pretend to read aloud out of it: those overlooking him scarcely crediting the fact of his really being unable to tell one letter from the other; for he repeated the letterpress verbatim, from beginning to end. This feat has been repeatedly witnessed before he had reached his third year. To all the friends of Mr. Smith in after-life, this circumstance is easily credible: for the quickness of his memory was equalled by its tenacity, and both appeared to us almost unequalled. When three years old, he read with the greatest facility all such books as are usually put into the hands of children; and his delight was to act, in the evening, the fable which he had read in the morning—and a reader insatiate he even then appeared to be. Between his third and sixth year, he had read, effectually, many books of history, especially those of Greece, Rome, England, and France; acquiring with facility what he retained with the utmost fidelity. He seems to have been, at this time, conscious of possessing a strong memory, and pleased at testing it. When not five years old, he one day put the parts of a dissected map, consisting of a hundred pieces, into his father's pocket, and then called for them again one by one, without having made a single mistake, till he had finished putting them together on the carpet. At this early period, also, he displayed another first-rate mental quality, namely, the power of abstraction—one by which he was eminently distinguished throughout his subsequent life. When a very young child, he was frequently observed exercising this rare power—lost to all around him, and evidently intent upon some one object, to the exclusion of all others. Thus, for instance, he would often be occupied with a play of Shakspeare, while sitting in the corner of the drawing-room, in which were many persons engaged in conversation, or otherwise doing what would have effectually interrupted one who was not similarly endowed with himself. One of his brothers often played at chess with him, with closed folding doors between them, the former moving the chess-men for both, and the latter calling out the moves, without ever making an erroneous one, and frequently winning the game. His partiality to poetry, from almost his infancy, has been already noticed: and it is to be added, that he was equally fond of reading and writing verses. One of his relatives has at this moment in her possession a "Poem" from his pen, in pencilled printed characters, before he had learned, though he learned very early, to write, entitled, "The Mariner's Return." Till very recently, also, the same lady possessed another curious relic of this precocious child,—namely, a prose story; the hero of which was a peasant boy, whom he took through almost all the countries of Europe, and through many vicissitudes, finally exalting him to the post of Prime Minister to Henry VIII. The knowledge of geography and history displayed in this performance, is declared by those who have read it, to be truly wonderful. Shortly after he had reached his eighth year, he was sent to a school at Isleworth, kept by a Dr. Greenlaw, and remained there four years. I have heard him frequently describe his first arrival at the school, and several incidents attending it, in such a manner as showed him then to have had great shrewdness and keenness of observation. One, in particular, struck me at the time as illustrative of his stern sense of right, and habits of reflection, at that very early period. "I remember," said he, "that soon after I had got to school, a big boy called me aside, and told me very seriously that I must prepare for a terrible flogging on Saturday morning, and that however well I behaved, it would signify nothing, for it was an old custom at the school to flog a little boy on his first Saturday, before the whole school, by way of example, and to make him behave well. I was horribly frightened at this; but the first thing that struck me, and kept me awake a good while thinking of it, was, how very unjust a thing it was to do this; and I thought so much of this, that I do believe I was at length far more angry than frightened. Of course, when Saturday came, I found it had been all a joke only; but I always thought it a very disagreeable and improper joke." I have several times heard Mr. Smith mention this little circumstance, and I have above given many of his own expressions. He used to proceed to describe the reasonings which he had held in his own mind upon this subject, all which, he said, he vividly recollected; and it was certainly both curious and interesting to hear how he puzzled himself in trying to find out "reasons why it might be right to flog him under these circumstances." Dr. Greenlaw was not slow in discovering the extraordinary abilities of the little new-comer, and used to describe them in glowing terms to his father; but would add that, much as he admired the child's talent and diligence, he entertained a still higher opinion of the little fellow's perfect modesty, his seeming unconsciousness of his mental superiority over his companions, his honesty and simplicity of character, and, above all, his unwavering and inflexible adherence to truth on even the most trifling occasions. Every living friend of his will testify that he was thus distinguished throughout life, exhibiting that

Compositum jus, fasque animi, sanctosque recessus Mentis, et incoctum generoso pectus honesto,

which the stern moralist4 declared to afford the noblest qualification for approaching the presence of the gods.

Hæc cedo ut admoveam templis, et farre litabo.

During this period, namely, from his eighth to his twelfth year, he became passionately fond of writing verses: and I have now before me, kindly forwarded by one of his relatives in Ireland, two small quarto MS. volumes, containing exclusively what he wrote during this period, extending to upwards of seventy or eighty pieces, some of considerable length, and in every kind of English verse. Their genuineness is unquestionable; and I shall quote from them in the state in which they were originally collected at the time, without the alteration of a single letter. Having completely satisfied myself on this point, and I hope the reader also, what will he think of the following evidence of the creative perception of humour professed by a child scarce thirteen years of age? I have transcribed it verbatim. It is prefixed to a satirical poem of some length, entitled "Practical Morality."

Preface loquitur—

"Though it may appear to thee, courteous reader, that I have in all ages been considered as a vehicle of fumbling apologies and trivial excuses, a sort of go-between employed by the writer to deprecate the anger of the peruser, in short, the literary servant of all-work, whether my duty be to expatiate on the merits, or apologise for the defects of my master, or (as it often is) to claim the pity and forbearance of the mobile, and set forth in humble terms the degradations he has submitted, and is still ready to submit to,—I say, reader, though a part so servile has been assigned to me, yet, should my natural claims and intrinsic merits be duly considered, different, far different would be my station. What! am I thus exalted in situation above my [sic] situated, (as I may say,) in the very van, exposed to the sneer of every satirical reader and sententious critic? Am I placed in a post so dangerous, and are contempt and humiliation my only reward? O, mankind, where is your gratitude? Think, generous reader, on the services I have so often rendered you: think how often, when you were about to enter upon the stupendous folio, or the dull and massy quarto, four inches at least in thickness, think, O think, how often my timely, though unpromising appearance, has warned you not to encumber your brain with the incalculable load of lumber! With me, then, let the glorious work of reformation commence, restore me to the honour and esteem I so justly deserve. I, for my part, shall still continue to be a spy upon stupidity, and oft shall you receive the reward of your benevolence from my friendly and seasonable admonitions."

"Hezekiah Shortcut, O tempora! O mores!"

The poem is in two cantos: the first of which thus opens,—

Long have I viewed the folly and the sin That fill this wicked globe of ours, call'd earth, And once a secret impulse felt within My bosom, to convert it into mirth; But then the voice of pity, softly sighing, Hinted the subject was more fit for crying. Democritus was once a Grecian sage— A famous man, as every one must know— But rather fond of sneering at the age, And turning into laughter human wo; Another sage, Heraclitus to wit, Considered it more wise to weep for it. I can't determine which of them was right, Nor can I their respective merits see; The subject, disputation may invite, But that belongs to wiser men than me. It has already been discuss'd by one, A better judge by far (see Fenelon.)

Verse the twelfth touches upon a topic with which its writer was destined afterwards, for a short time, to be practically familiar.

How sweet a fee unto the youthful lawyer Never before presented with a brief, To whose distressing case some kind employer Steps in, and brings his generous relief; Thus giving him a chance to show that merit So long kept down by the world's envious spirit.

Here is the little practical moralist's advice to the ladies!—

Ye ladies, list! and to my words attend, They're for your good, as you shall quickly see. Sit down by the fireside, your stockings mend, And never mingle spirits with your tea. When you retire at night, put out the candle, Discard your lap-dogs, leave off talking scandal. When card-tables are set, you must not play For ought beyond the value of one shilling: This is my firm decree, although you may, As ladies mostly are, be very willing. I bid you cease, for into debt 't will run ye, Do you no good, but spend your husband's money. Husbands are fools who let their wives do so,— I scarce can pity when I see them ruin'd. For when they squander all, they ought to know, Destruction is a consequence pursuant. When each has turn'd his home into a sad-house, He then finds out that he deserves a mad-house. I do denounce, in all the songs you sing, The words, sweet, lovely, dear angelic charmer, Flames, darts, sighs, wishes, hopes,—they only bring Thoughts to a lady which perchance may harm her. You therefore must consider as ironic Every expression which is not Platonic.

The whole poem is written in a droll, satirical strain, and shows a great familiarity with the topics of ancient and modern literature. The rest of the volume consists of translations from Anacreon, Horace, and other Greek and Latin poets, and many original pieces; one of which latter, entitled "The Prodigal Son," thus gravely and impressively opens,—

Far from his kindred, from his country's soil, By want enfeebled, and oppress'd by toil, Compelled with slow reluctance to demand The niggard pity of a stranger's hand, And forced, in silent anguish, to abide The sneer of malice, the rebuke of pride: A wretch opprest by sorrow's galling weight, Deplored his ruined peace, his hapless fate. His was such anguish as the guilty know, For self-reproach was mingled with his wo. He dared not fortune's cruelty bemoan— The error, the offence, was all his own.

There are also scattered over the volume several epigrams, one of which is headed thus: "On a Lady who married her Brother-in-law."

After so many tedious winters past, The lovely S—— has caught a swain at last— A swain who twice has tried the marriage life, And now resolves again to take a wife. Behold! behold the new-made mother runs, With ardour to embrace—her nephew-sons!

The second volume commences with a poem of considerable length, entitled, "Salamis," with a notice that "The foregoing poem was presented to his father, by John William Smith, January 23d, 1821, the day on which he completed his twelfth year." The following is "The Argument of Canto I:—

"Themistocles lying awake in the night, is surprised by the entrance of Aristides, who informs him that the Persian fleet had completely surrounded them. Themistocles tells him that this was effected by a device of his own, to prevent the Greeks from deserting the Straits, and sends him to Eurybiades, calls a council in the morning, in which it is resolved to attack the enemy, and the whole fleet move forward in order of battle.—Scene, the Grecian camp on the sea-shore of Salamis."

The first Canto thus opens—

Now darkness over all her veil had spread, Save where the moon her feeble lustre shed, When from the clouds emerging, her dim ray Mock'd the effulgence of the lucid day. Stretch'd on their beds, the Greeks in soft repose Awhile forgot their harass'd country's woes. Themistocles alone awake remain'd, By his anxiety from sleep restrain'd; Although the chief with labour was opprest, His care for Greece withheld his wonted rest. For three long hours, all had been still around, At length he hears (or thinks he hears) a sound; He starts, and sees a stately form advance, Clad in bright arms, and with a shining lance, And by the moon's faint beams, the chief descried A Persian sabre glittering at his side.

Here follows the "Argument of Canto II—

"Mardonius is surprised by the noise of the Greeks advancing, and the hostile fleet appearing, the ships move forward to meet them.—Lycomedes takes the first galley, and consecrates the spoils to Apollo.—The acts of Eurybiades, Mardonius, and Themistocles.—Aristides and Lycomedes landing in the Isle of Psyttalia, destroy a number of Persians stationed there, at sight of which, part of the Persian fleet gives way.—Ariamenes endeavouring to rally them, is slain.—At his death the rest of the Persians fly. The Greeks pursue them to the Attic shore, and obtain a complete victory, which concludes the Poem."

The whole poem shows a mind thoroughly imbued with Grecian history, and the action is conceived and described with considerable spirit. There are a few lame verses, here and there, but scarcely a single puerile conceit; while a perusal of the entire contents of these records of a gifted child, is calculated to surprise, by the great extent of reading displayed by its writer, and the ease and precision with which he brings it to bear upon his subject.

In the spring of 1821 he entered Westminster School, taking his place on the fourth form, which secured him all exemption from fagging. Here, again, his progress was that of a boy of first-rate abilities, great diligence, and unvarying good conduct. Two years afterwards, viz. in the spring of 1823, he gained a king's scholarship, without the assistance of a "help," a thing which it is believed was unprecedented. In the College, however, he could not escape fagging; but such was his independent spirit, that he refused to submit to it, and immediately resigned his hard-won scholarship, with all its prospects. His father was somewhat nonplussed by this occurrence; and presently sent him to a school at Blackheath, kept by the present rector of Woolwich, the Rev. Willain Greenlaw, a son of his former master, Dr. Greenlaw. The Blackheath school contained no fewer than seventy-two boys, many of them on the eve of quitting for the universities; but as soon as John William Smith made his appearance, he was not only recognised as being far superior to them all, but equally well read with the ushers; and he consequently read with Mr. Greenlaw himself, alone! being then, it will be recollected, little move than fourteen years of age! He wrote every species of Latin verse with the utmost facility—of which he gave, on one occasion, a proof not yet forgotten by his schoolfellows: for, one evening, shortly after going there, he wrote all the Latin verses for the entire school, from the highest to the lowest—in all metres, and on every variety of subject. This feat was lately communicated to me by one of his then schoolfellows; and I also recollect him once mentioning the subject to me himself; adding, if I recollect correctly, that there was not a blunder found in any of the verses which he had written. During his vacations he visited France, and mastered the French and Italian languages, with both of which, up to the period of his death, he continued perfectly familiar, and very partial to the writers of both. About this time he began to cast about for a profession; and entertained the notion of either going out to India, in a military capacity, or entering Woolwich academy as a cadet. His father persuaded him to relinquish the former step, but assented to his adopting the latter; and he paid close attention to engineering. He has often expressed to me the delight he took in studying fortification; adding, that he had sometimes regretted having abandoned that line of life, for that he fancied he should have been successful in it. His father would have procured him an appointment in conformity with his wishes, had not his views concerning him been changed by his friend, the Right Honourable Sir George Fitzgerald Hill, then Vice-treasurer of Ireland, who gave his son an appointment in the Vice-treasurer's office at Dublin Castle. Sir George quickly detected the superior talents and acquirements of young Smith, and became much attached to him; evincing peculiar satisfaction in conversing with him, and listening to his quaint, exact, pithy answers to questions proposed to him. About this time he was smitten with the love of Lord Byron's poetry, which he devoured with avidity, and his own love of verse-writing revived. He became, indeed, very anxious to excel in poetry. He was soon tired of his official duties, and resigned his situation in favour of his brother, who at this moment fills a responsible office in the same department in Dublin Castle.