James Smith wanted the cordial spirit of his brother; there was, we fancied, little warmth of heart about him. He seemed to mingle somewhat of his professional character in social intercourse. On this account we surmise that James will be much sooner forgotten by his friends than Horace. The duration of the living remembrance in these cases is proportionate to the previous reciprocity of action. Both brothers were delightful companions. Many an hour of mental depression have we felt relieved by their society. The humor and gladiatorial displays of wit that occurred in their company were always gentlemanly, generous in temper, unimpeachably moral, and never the splenetic outpouring of ill-natured feeling. a full sense of the merit of his own compositions. "I must unaffectedly declare," said Horace Smith, "that no one has an humbler opinion of my attempts than myself." We fully credit his sincerity, notwithstanding we are well aware that authors may sometimes play off a little hypocrisy as well as other men. His modesty in this regard was a beautiful trait in a character rarely met with in the world, for such his undoubtedly was. The "Rejected Addresses" was a happy publication, exceedingly well-timed. Unfortunately, several of the characters whose styles are imitated there have passed into obscurity, and the keenness of the satire cannot now always be understood. The stolidity of Fitzgerald, for example, rendered so much more amusing by his own unconsciousness of it, both as to his voice and recitations at the Literary Fund dinners, cannot be comprehended by the present generation; yet Fitzgerald's was among the most happy of the imitations, and if we recollect aright, was Horace Smith's. The diminution of interest upon this ground must increase as time fleets away; a result inseparable from writing upon subjects of a temporary character. Horace, or Horatio, as he always subscribed himself, was not only the most accomplished, but the most genial spirit of the two. He was as much attached to the society of literary men who made no pretension to be wits, and to solid and serious reading, as to the gay and light. His range of acquirement was considerable, and at one time he dabbled a little in metaphysics, but fortunately escaped from their maze without bewilderment. He began his literary career at the desk of a merchant; and became, as is pretty well known, a favorite of Richard Horace Smith realized a sufficient sum to Cumberland, and his coadjutor in a work that satisfy his own moderate wishes, and deturned out a failure, at the early age of termined, in despite of the reproaches of his twenty-three. In after life, his literary labor city friends, to seize the moment for retiring and his city business went hand-in-hand. while independence was within his grasp. Before he relinquished business, we met him "The hope of future gain," he observed, posting westward one day, about three P. M."might lead him to risk what he had secur"Where are you going so fast, Smith?" "Who would not go fast to Paradise (Paradise-row, Fulham)? I am going to sin, like our first parents.' "How? there are no apples to pluck at Fulham, yet?" "No; but there is ink to spill, thougha worse sin, perhaps. I have promised Lsomething, I cannot tell what. Who the deuce can hit upon anything new, when half the world is racking its brains to do the same ?" This is thirty years ago, and now the utterer of that remark is within the precincts of the tomb; while the intervening time saw no diminution of his regard for intellectual pleasures, nor, with much to flatter his talents in the way of his literary labors, any decrease of that modest feeling in regard to his own writings, which is one of the strongest attestations of merit. In this respect he differed from his brother, who had, or always impressed the minds of others that he had, ed." We think this occurred about 1820, or a year later. When the crash of 1825 happened, he was able to turn the tables upon those who had thus reproached him. "Where are those now who called me a fool for retiring, when I had the independence that suited my wishes? Who was right?— I pity them." This contentedness, and regard of money as the means rather than the end, was a distinguishing trait in his character. Shelley and Horace Smith were intimate friends. He always spoke with high regard both of that lofty poet and his writings. He did not, however, applaud the mistaken theories of that enthusiastic genius in his youth; theories which Shelley himself subsequently modified. "Though Shelley is my particular friend," said Smith, "I regret the imprudence of his publications on more points than one; but as I know him to possess the most exalted virtues, and find in others, who also promulgate the most startling These are certainly the doctrines of one accustomed to think, and to place the result of every contest between truth and falsehood | upon an incontrovertible basis. The foregoing remark originated in the way of reply, after Smith had been charged in a monthly periodical, at that time remarkable for its illiberality, with being a contemplated contributor to the publication of the "Liberal," then about to be commenced by Byron and others. Smith had visited Italy, we believe, just before, and was then resident at Versailles. He knew nothing whatever of that joint undertaking. On telling him of this, he replied, "I should never contribute a line were I asked, which I assure you I never have been." theories, the most amiable traits, I learn to | true sense of what was due to the rule of be tolerant towards abstract speculations, conscience, and it guided him unerringly. which, not exercising any baneful influence He performed the kindest and most disinteron their authors' lives, are still less likely to ested acts without the slightest ostentation. corrupt others. Truth is great, and will He was ever ready and zealous to perform prevail; that is my motto: and I would good offices for any; and sometimes ran therefore leave everything unshackled, for counter to his own impressions, and wrestled what is true stands, and what is false ought with his own judgment, when the question to fall, whatever the consequences." bore the aspect alone of benevolence and kindness. Before, as he used to phrase it, he gave up "worshipping mammon," and had no more than a moderate run of business, he volunteered, in conjunction with a friend, to pay off the debts of a literary man who had been disgracefully prosecuted by the ministry of that day; and accordingly paid down the moiety of £1000 for the purpose. He was, notwithstanding, a careful manager in monetary affairs, of inexpensive habits, great evenness of temper, cheerful, never boisterous, and with such a stock of useful philosophy as reconciled him in the order of his ideas to the good and evil of humanity in his existing position, as we feel certain it would have done equally in any position that might have been a trial to his nature. In this respect there seemed a great difference between the two brothers. James ever appeared to have his sympathies nearest home, and to share far less in the pleasures or pains of others. Not that he wanted good-nature, but that a certain disregard overcame him about all out of his beaten track. There was little of that heart-display about him, which so spontaneously appeared on all occasions when accident called it forth on the part of his brother.. Horace Smith had a great dislike to that brainless ostentation, which rules in England now in a degree perhaps greater than when he was struck by the difference of foreign countries in this respect. Abroad, a man required you to regard himself, not his servants or liveries. "A man here," said he, "with £400 a year keeps a horse and a cabriolet, which in England would be sneered at; but he keeps them to answer a purpose-the purpose of conveying him to his friends, and giving him air, pleasure, and variety; all which an Englishman forgoes if he cannot do it in an expensive style and manner, mounting a lackey behind bedaubed with gold lace. Pride, pursepride, is the besetting sin of England; and, like most other sins, brings its own punishment, by converting existence into a struggle, and environing it with gloom and despondency." The mode of thinking of most individuals, upon the commonest topics, is perhaps best judged by insultated opinions. We believe Horace Smith to have been one of the truest and honestest thinkers of his day, though he was not always inclined to be communicative of his ideas-not that he was a deeper thinker than some others whose names are upon record, but, what is of much more importance, he thought justly. In rectitude of intention we do not believe he was surpassed by any contemporary. He had a The early success of Horace Smith's literary labors attached him to them for their own sake-a thing become rarer in the present day than in the past. It was by no means the same with James. While resident in France, Horace, in conjunction with one or two friends, projected the establishment of an English newspaper in Paris. The French government, self-denominated constitutional, according to its invariable practice of ruling by professions that its acts belied, could not openly deny the right to publish. As was the practice from Louis XVIII. to Louis Philippe, always arbitrary, it shuffled out of the dilemma in which it was sometimes placed between counter-inclination and what the law sanctioned. Neither a negative nor an affirmative answer could Smith ever obtain. In this mode the application lay over, until his patience was fairly worn out. 66 'They will not give a direct negative, and decline an affirmative; and in this way they trifled with us for months," he observed. On returning home, as well as while he was abroad, he was a contributor to the New Monthly Magazine of no small value; but he gave up contributing at the end of 1825 or 1826, while his brother James contributed to that periodical down to the end of 1830. The reason was, that he became a novel writer, and commenced his career by the publication of "Brambletye House," his first and best work of that class. This line of authorship was then lucrative indeed compared to the present worthlessness of the pursuit, good or bad as the product may happen to be in a literary sense; showing but too plainly that the public taste is as capricious and illgrounded as that of fashion in other things. To this line of authorship Horace Smith applied himself, and produced several works in succession, of varying degrees of merit. Previously, in 1821, he had published a volume entitled "The Nympholept," from the name of the principal poem. We know not what the circulation was, but being a pastoral drama, it was not likely to have been considerable. To the longer poem was attached a pretty story called "Lucy Milford," and several sonnets. His name was not affixed to the title-page. The term " Nympholepsy," it is probable, was "caviare to the general." We can remember, however, that we perused the copy presented to us with great pleasure; the simple images of the past and purer taste in poetry not having then lost their zest, or been superseded by metropolitan street-dialogues, or pictures of St. Giles's in verse. If amusing literature does not elevate or amend the mind, it is comparatively useless. But in Smith's writings there was always the sentiment of good. He worked ever in the right direction, whether touching good-naturedly upon trivial follies, or assailing vulgar errors. Playful or serious, he never dragged our humanity downwards to aid the common order of mind in banqueting upon social corruption. We have remarked that it was about 1826 that he published his first novel. He had some time before taken up his abode at Tunbridge Wells, quitting London and his lodgings at 142 Regent street, of which he declared himself heartily sick. Even at this distance of time, we remember a dinner he gave there before he started-the last, it is probable, he ever gave in London-and the hilarity of the guests, among whom were some of the celebrated wits of the time, most of whom are now no more. At Tunbridge Wells we soon paid him a visit, while residing in Mount Edgecumbe Cottage. He was, as usual, kind, entertaining, and hospitable. We think of that time with melancholy pleasure. His qualities were the most amiable, the most gentle, in those days, that can be conceived. Surely, if integrity, sincerity, and real friendliness deserve happiness, they must be his. There we met an old friend of his, whom we have not seen for years-a clever and ingenious man; the author of a novel not enough known. Prior to his arrival, the weather being very warm, we were puzzled how to employ ourselves. We walked to the rocks; one of which Smith called the " Titanic toad," from its resemblance to that reptile. We returned; it was too hot to talk, it was anti-social to sleep; motion was declared to be best after all. "Let us get a vehicle, and perform a pilgrimage to Penshurst." It was no sooner said than done. Horace was in one of his best moods for conversation; and those who knew him in those moods can alone appreciate the pleasure of his companionship, especially when third parties were not present. The subjects touched upon have faded from memory, but not so the impression left of that pleasant morning. We only remember that the larger part of our discourse was serious, and touched upon the destiny of man-upon his nothingness, even when invested with the virtues of a Philip Sidney. As we passed through the venerable rooms, and examined the motheaten hangings, the pictures mildewed by time, and while standing before the portrait of "Sidney's sister-Pembroke's mother," a conversation ensued upon the pleasures derived from visiting places of that character. We were conjecturing how the same rooms once looked when the gay and gallant, the "fair, and wise, and good," thronged them. Smith remarked that such buildings were the best foundation-scenes for novels; and it was no wonder they had been so often chosen. This visit was the origin of "Brambletye House," on which he was soon busily at work. We cannot recollect whether it was while he was about this or a subsequent novel, that some one recommended the female appellation of Zillah to him, as a peculiarly pleasing name for a similar work. To me," said Horace, "it must, of course, be doubly interesting. She was a lady of the very earliest descent; the mother of Tubal Cain, the first of the Smiths, and, of course, the founder of my family." His attachment to Tunbridge Wells originated, perhaps, in early associations. It was once the residence of Cumberland and Bland Burges, who had encouraged his early efforts in literature. He showed us Cumberland's residence; and, walking one day up to Frant Church, he spoke of the superiority of Tunbridge as a residence to any place he knew. Years after, at Brighton, where he took up his abode at first as far from the sea as possible, he repeated his regard for Tunbridge, and boasted of its superiority over Brighton. It seemed to us as if he was kept in suspense between the beauty of nature at Tunbridge and the advantage of superior society in Brighton. He was a true lover of nature. One of his favorite haunts had been Knole, in the vicinity of Sevenoaks, where the trees are remarkably fine, and the antique of our rough forefathers attaches the mind to the relics of perished generations. "Knole is mine as much as the Duke of Dorset's. He can only walk in his grounds; I do the same, and enjoy them equally, without the trouble and expense of keeping them." Hook began a set of papers in the New Monthly, which were called the "Thompson Papers." Both the Smiths were to contribute to them, and Horace was to arrange them as they came in from different sources. Hook broke down after the first article; and Smith beginning "Brambletye House," found his novel occupied all the time he could afford to give up to literature. The idea seems to have been a good one. The communications were to be in the shape of letters, and to include all subjects of the hour; but two of them only appeared. Horace Smith always declared that he found novel-writing a task much less arduous than writing constantly for a magazine, owing to the necessity of finding new subjects, and then having to handle them oftentimes with an injurious brevity. About ten years ago he was on the point of giving up writing altogether. His views regarding the literature of the hour were exceedingly just. He was of opinion that the continual straining after novelty would have the effect of leading writers further and further from that nature and simplicity upon which alone an enduring literature is based. He feared that we were returning to the childhood of literature again. He was on the point, as he phrased it, of not "troubling the world any more with his scribblings," after 1840. He felt, he said, "that he was getting old." Yet he did not adhere to this resolution, though in periodical literature he had done nothing for a good while, so that he began to express his fear lest his "hand had lost its cunning," for he had "lain too long fallow." He had an objection, also, to that degrading fashion of placarding authors' names on the walls, with police bills of rewards for catching felons, and with quack doctors' bills. He said one day, "Marryat has been telling me that he had agreed to write for a new paper called the, edited by Frank Mills; but that he objected vehemently to see the walls plastered with his name, feeling it to be somewhat infra dig.: and in this I fully agree with him." His sense of growing old-or the feeling of it-eight or nine years before his death, was often repeated to us. The last time he alluded to it, he said he felt it in various ways, and continually in the change of his children from childhood to maturity. He would remark upon it, and then add, "Thank God, we are well, in good health and spirits, disposed to make the best of everything, and to enjoy the world as well and as long as we This was his happy frame of mind— placid, contented, and resigned. It was the temperament of a choice few in the world, and those among the wisest and best. can. His old acquaintance, Thomas Hill, was ever the aim of a good-natured joke on the part of Smith. Hill was a very singular character, well known to all his contemporaries who were literary men, and died in 1840. Those who had known him, like Smith, from their own youth upwards, even his most intimate acquaintance, had no knowledge of his age, which Hill studiously concealed. His appearance was in his favor, and aided him in making himself seem much younger than he really was. Meeting Smith just after Hill's decease, he said, "So poor Hill has gone at last. It appears to have surprised everybody, the world seeming to think that he couldn't die. I see the papers state him to have been eighty-one." Hill was often called "the immortal" by his friends; and, in truth, the greenness of his age was sufficiently remarkable. Horace Smith had a great regard for his own productions in verse, which were collected and published in two volumes two or three years since. Some of them had been exceedingly popular. We know no parallel instance of two brothers being so successful in their literary labors as James and Horace Smith. It is useless to enumerate the works of the latter; those of James were all published by his brother in a couple of volumes. The work of Horace are numerous, and several remain | the sake of those who held them, so far as to this hour anonymous. In the loss of such individuals as Horace Smith, it is not merely the literary world that seems to lose a part of a long-accustomed association; the friendly circle, the vicinity of his residence, every local undertaking to aid which he was a contributor, suffers also. He was eminently useful in private life, wherever he could so render himself. Then there was a warmth of heart in his hospitality-a strength of friendship, which seemed rather a part of the natural man than any acquirement. He could not, it appeared, be otherwise if he would. His social qualities were very visible and attaching. On those who met him for the first time, they always left an indelible impression. He had at one time-perhaps he never gave it up an idea of human perfectibility, or the possibility of a near approach to it at some future period. These hopes of human advancement were strong. He contended that, as nothing stood still, and a far greater portion of the mass of mankind was largely in advance of what it was in ancient times, when there were a few individuals of a higher order of mind than in later days, so he believed the benefit then confined to a few was now diffusing around a wider circle, and thus bringing by slow gradations the advancement of general happiness. He would not believe that the Supreme Being was a being of vengeance, who devoted the larger part of mankind to destruction hereafter. Thinking that such a doctrine derogated not only from the benevolence but the omniscience of the Creator, who must have foreknown all things, he thought that the end of his creation was concealed from man, Providence not being accountable to the creature of a moment; and that in the words of Mülner— Hence the foundation of that evenness of mind and temper-that beneficence which was stamped upon his character; and hence, too, much of that simplicity, and disregard of the "low ambition" of many who had not half the claims to superiority which he had. He overlooked this in the philosophical contemplation of ultimate results. Equally agreeable in the lively or serious mood, he ever exhibited principles based upon what he considered an immoveable foundation. He showed no wavering. He complied often with the fancies and prejudices of others for not to disturb them. He loved peace before all things; and though the delight of any assembled circle, either of wits or of society at its common level, they never knew half his mental worth and excellence, who in his best days had not enjoyed his society in an insulated state. Many of his ideas were novel and striking. While he endeavored to reconcile the condition of humanity with his own views of the justice and goodness of Heaven, he had a great dislike of that too prevalent sin, the preaching up one doctrine and practicing its opposite. Homines ignari opera, philosophi sententia, raised his abhorrence. But enough. We might proceed to a great length on a matter in which the truth might be supposed to be violated through the partiality of friendship, by those who take superficial views of things. We therefore leave the subject, with the assertion that we might have better spared a better man; and with regret a regret, alas! not uncommon, to witness the ravage death makes around us of those who were once the ornament, delight, and honor of society; exclaiming in the words of another, not without the full impress of the feeling their sense induces, "Good Heaven! how often are we to die before we go off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part. God keep those we have left! Few are worth praying for, and ourselves the least of all!" Accidental circumstances prevented the appearance of the following tale by one of the "Rejected," during the lifetime of its gifted and lamented author, but the proofs were corrected by him. Taken in connection with the melancholy event which so speedily and unexpectedly followed its composition, the article presents a singular coincidence of title, and becomes invested with deep and peculiar interest. POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR OF MYSELF. BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ. CHAPTER I. |
