"Just before his third journey, Mr. Waterton takes leave of Sir Joseph Banks,[138] and speaks of him with affectionate regret. "I saw" (says Mr. W.) "with sorrow, that death was going to rob us of him. We talked of stuffing quadrupeds; I agreed that the lips and nose ought to be cut off, and stuffed with wax." This is the way great naturalists take an eternal farewell of each other!
"Insects are the curse of tropical climates. The bete rouge lays the foundation of a tremendous ulcer. In a moment you are covered with ticks. Chigoes bury themselves in your flesh, and hatch a large colony of young chigoes in a few hours. They will not live together, but every chigoe sets up a separate ulcer, and has his own private portion of pus. Flies get entry into your mouth, into your eyes, into your nose; you eat flies, drink flies, and breathe flies. Lizards, c.o.c.kroaches, and snakes, got into the bed; ants eat up the books; scorpions sting you on the foot. Every thing bites, stings, or bruises; every second of your existence you are wounded by some piece of animal life that n.o.body has over seen before, except Swammerdam and Meriam. An insect with eleven legs is swimming in your teacup, a nondescript with nine wings is struggling in the small beer, or a caterpillar with several dozen eyes in his belly is hastening over the bread and b.u.t.ter! All nature is alive, and seems to be gathering all her entomological hosts to eat you up, as you are standing, out of your coat, waistcoat, and breeches. Such are the tropics. All this reconciles us to our dews, fogs, vapours, and drizzle--to our apothecaries rushing about with gargles and tinctures--to our old, British, const.i.tutional coughs, sore throats, and swelled faces."
s.p.a.ce should be found, in even the shortest book on Sydney Smith, for two pa.s.sages in which, perhaps more effectively than anywhere else, he clinched an argument with a masterpiece of fun. The first is the warning to the United States against the love of military glory. The second is the wonderful concatenation of fallacies in "Noodle"s Oration."[139] Both these pieces will he found in Appendix B.
In 1840 he wrote to a friend:--
"I printed my reviews to show, if I could, that I had not pa.s.sed my life merely in making jokes; but that I had made use of what little powers of pleasantry I might be endowed with, to discountenance bad, and to encourage liberal and wise principles."
The natural and becoming indolence of age was now beginning to show itself in Sydney Smith. He had worked harder than most men in his day, and now he wisely cultivated ease. In his comfortable house in Green Street, he received his friends with what he himself so excellently called "that honest joy which warms more than dinner or wine"; but he went less than of old into general society. Least of all was he inclined to that most melancholy of all exertions which consists in rushing about to entertainments which do not amuse. In 1840 he wrote, in answering an invitation to the Opera:--
"Thy servant is threescore-and-ten years old; can he hear the sound of singing men and singing women? A Canon at the Opera! Where have you lived? In what habitations of the heathen? I thank you, shuddering."
Although the Canon would not go to the Opera, his general faculty of enjoyment was unimpaired, and, as always, he loved a gibe at the clergy. On the 30th of November 1841, Samuel Wilberforce wrote to a friend about George Augustus Selwyn,[140] Missionary Bishop of New Zealand:--
"Selwyn is just setting out. Sydney Smith says it will make quite a revolution in the dinners of New Zealand. _Tete d"eveque_ will be the most _recherche_ dish, and the servant will add, "And there is _cold clergyman_ on the side-table.""
But this is Sydney"s own version of the joke:--
"The advice I sent to the Bishop of New Zealand, when he had to receive the cannibal chiefs there, was to say to them, "I deeply regret, sirs, to have nothing on my own table suited to your tastes, but you will find plenty of cold curate and roasted clergyman on the sideboard"; and if, in spite of this prudent provision, his visitors should end their repast by eating him likewise, why, I could only add, "I sincerely hoped he would disagree with them.""
In spite of increasing years and decreasing health--"I have," he said, "seven distinct diseases, but am otherwise pretty well"--the indefatigable pamphleteer had not yet done with controversy. In 1842 he published three Letters on the Mismanagement of Railways,[141] and in 1843 two on a tendency displayed by the "drab-coloured men of Pennsylvania" to repudiate the interest on their State"s bonds. On the 18th of December 1843 he wrote:--
"My bomb has fallen very successfully in America, and the list of killed and wounded is extensive. I have several quires of paper sent me every day, calling me monster, thief, atheist, deist, etc."
"I receive presents of cheese and apples from Americans who are advocates for paying debts, and very abusive letters in print and in ma.n.u.script from those who are not."
All this time, in spite of continual discomfort from gout and asthma, he kept up his merry interest in his friends" concerns, his enjoyment of good company, and his kindness to young people. Here is a charming letter, written in September 1843 to his special favourite, Miss Georgiana Harcourt,[142] daughter of the Archbishop of York:--
"I suppose you will soon be at Bishopthorpe, surrounded by the Sons of the Prophets. What a charming existence, to live in the midst of holy people; to know that nothing profane can approach you; to be certain that a Dissenter can no more be found in the Palace than a snake in Ireland, or ripe fruit in Scotland; to have your society strong, and undiluted by the laity; to bid adieu to human learning, to feast on the Canons, and revel in the x.x.xIX. Articles. Happy Georgiana!"
At the beginning of 1844 he wrote, "I am tolerably well, but intolerably old." He complained of "nothing but weakness, and loss of nervous energy."
"I look as strong as a cart-horse, but cannot get round the garden without resting once or twice," Soon he was back again at St. Paul"s, preaching a sermon on Peace, and rebuking the "excessive p.r.o.neness to War." "I shall try the same subject again--a subject utterly untouched by the clergy."[143] The summer pa.s.sed in its usual occupations, and on the 28th of July he preached for the last time in the pulpit of the Cathedral. His subject was the right use of Sunday; and the sermon was a strong protest against the increasing secularization of the holy day. The best ways of employing Sunday, he said, were Worship, Self-Examination, and Preparation for Death. The sermon ended with some words which indicate the sense of impending change:--
"I never take leave of any one, for any length of time, without a deep impression upon my mind of the uncertainty of human life, and the probability that we may meet no more in this world."[144]
He now left London for Combe Florey. "I dine with the rich in London, and physic the poor in the country; pa.s.sing from the sauces of Dives to the sores of Lazarus." His bodily discomforts increased, but his love of fun never diminished. He wrote as merrily as ever to Miss Harcourt:--
"Neither of us, dear Georgiana, would consent to survive the ruin of the Church. You would plunge a poisoned pin into your heart, and I should swallow the leaf of a sermon dipped in hydro-cyanic acid."
In October, after an alarming attack of breathlessness and giddiness, he returned to London. In Green Street he was happy in the proximity and skill of his son-in-law, Dr. Holland, and "a suite of rooms perfectly fitted up for illness and death." This phrase occurs in the last of his published letters, dated the 7th of November 1844. It was now p.r.o.nounced that his disease was water on the chest, caused by an unsuspected affection of the heart. He was entirely confined to his bed, perfectly aware of his condition, and keenly grateful for the kindness and sympathy of friends.
His daughter writes:--
"My father died at peace with himself and with all the world; anxious, to the last, to promote the comfort and happiness of others. He sent messages of kindness and forgiveness to the few he thought had injured him. Almost his last act was, bestowing a small living of 120 per annum on a poor, worthy, and friendless clergyman, who had lived a long life of struggle with poverty on 40 per annum. Full of happiness and grat.i.tude, the clergyman entreated he might be allowed to see my father; but the latter so dreaded any agitation that he most unwillingly consented, saying, "Then he must not thank me; I am too weak to bear it." He entered,--my father gave him a few words of advice,--the clergyman silently pressed his hand, and blessed his death-bed. Surely such blessings are not given in vain!"
Sydney Smith died on the 22nd of February 1845, and was buried by the side of his son Douglas in the Cemetery at Kensal Green.
[107] R.A. Kinglake, quoted by Mr. Stuart Reid.
[108] The Beer-house Act, 1830, allowed any one to retail beer, on merely taking out an excise-licence.
[109] Frances Talbot, wife of John, 1st Earl of Morley.
[110] As a matter of fact he lived at 33 Charles Street, and subsequently at 56 Green Street.
[111] This intention gave rise to the "Oxford Movement." Keble thought that the time had come when "scoundrels must be called scoundrels." His Sermon on "National Apostasy" was preached on the 14th of July 1833.
[112] Henry Hart Milman (1791-1868).
[113] Born Sarah Taylor (1793-1867).
[114] At that period there were no sermons under the Dome
[115] In 1825, after a visit to Lord Ess.e.x at Ca.s.siobury, he noted with disapproval--"No hot luncheons."
[116] (1798-1869), created Lord Taunton in 1859.
[117] This is interesting as being, so far as I know, Sydney Smith"s only reference to Lord Beaconsfield.
[118] Gladstone"s _Gleanings_, vol. vii. p. 220.
[119] Thomas Singleton (1783-1842), Canon of Worcester and Archdeacon of Northumberland.
[120] It is sometimes forgotten that a Prebend is a thing; a Prebendary a person.
[121] Compare his letter to Lady Holland, May 14, 1835;--"Liberals of the eleventh hour abound! and there are some of the first hour, of whose work in the toil and heat of the day I have no recollection!"
[122] John Wilson Croker (1780-1857), M.P. and Tory pamphleteer.
[123] Samuel Lee (1783-1852).
[124] Charles Richard Sumner (1790-1874).
[125] On the 13th of January 1838, he wrote to the Bishop of London--"I think the best reason for destroying the Cathedrals is the abominable trash and nonsense they have all published since the beginning of this dispute."
[126] Lord John Russell.
[127] Thomas Noon Talfourd (1795-1854), Judge and Dramatist.
[128] James Henry Monk (1784-1856).
[129] William FitzHardinge Berkeley (1786-1857) was created Lord Segrave of Berkeley Castle in 1831, and Earl FitzHardinge in 1841.