No More Learning

Though he was an academick the greatest part of his life, yet he
contracted no sourness of temper, no spice of pedantry, no itch of
disputation, or obstinate contention for the old or new philosophy, no
assuming way of dictating to others, which are faults (though excusable)
which some are insensibly led into, who are constrained to dwell long
within the walls of a private college. His conversation was pleasant and
instructive, and what Horace said of Plotius, Varius, and Virgil, might
justly be applied to him:

Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico. Sat. v. l. 1.

As correct a writer as he was in his most elaborate pieces, he read the
works of others with candour, and reserved his greatest severity for his
own compositions; being readier to cherish and advance, than damp or
depress a rising genius, and as patient of being excelled himself (if any
could excel him) as industrious to excel others.

'Twere to be wished he had confined himself to a particular profession,
who was capable of surpassing in any; but, in this, his want of
application was, in a great measure, owing to his want of due
encouragement.

He passed through the exercises of the college and university with
unusual applause; and though he often suffered his friends to call him
off from his retirements, and to lengthen out those jovial avocations,
yet his return to his studies was so much the more passionate, and
his intention upon those refined pleasures of reading and thinking
so vehement, (to which his facetious and unbended intervals bore no
proportion,) that the habit grew upon him; and the series of meditation
and reflection being kept up whole weeks together, he could better sort
his ideas, and take 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, extolled him
altogether on the account of the first of these titles; but others, who
knew him better, could not forbear doing him justice as a prodigy in both
kinds. He had signalized himself, in the schools, as a philosopher and
polemick of extensive knowledge 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,
when Dr. Jane worthily presided in the chair; whose condescending and
disinterested commendation of him gave him such a reputation, as
silenced the envious malice of his enemies, who durst not contradict
the approbation of so profound a master in theology. None of those
self-sufficient creatures, who have either trifled with philosophy, by
attempting to ridicule it, or have encumbered it with novel terms and
burdensome explanations, understood its real weight and purity half so
well as Mr. Smith. He was too discerning to allow of the character of
unprofitable, 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 well-wrought armour, which might at once adorn and
defend the christian hero, and equip him for the combat.

Mr. Smith had a long and perfect intimacy with all the Greek and Latin
classicks; with whom 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
diligently examined, from Aristotle down to Hedelin and Bossu; so that,
having each rule constantly before him, he could carry the art through
every poem, and at once point out the graces and deformities. 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 or detraction. If he did not always commend the compositions of
others, it was not ill-nature, (which was not in his temper,) but strict
justice, that would not let him call a few flowers set in ranks, a glib
measure, and so many couplets, by the name of poetry: he was of Ben
Jonson's opinion, who could not admire

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

And, therefore, though his want of complaisance for some men's
overbearing vanity made him enemies, yet the better part of mankind were
obliged by the freedom of his reflections.

His Bodleian Speech, though taken from a remote and imperfect copy, hath
shown the 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.

Since Temple and Roscommon, no man understood Horace better, especially
as to his happy diction, rolling numbers, beautiful imagery, and
alternate mixture of the soft and the sublime. This endeared Dr. Hannes's
odes to him, the finest genius for Latin lyrick since the Augustan age.
His friend Mr. Philips's ode to Mr. St. John, (late lord Bolingbroke,)
after the manner of Horace's Lusory or Amatorian Odes, is certainly a
masterpiece; but Mr. Smith's Pocockius is of the sublimer kind, though,
like Waller's writings upon Oliver Cromwell, it wants not the most
delicate and surprising turns peculiar to the person praised. I do not
remember to have seen any thing like it in Dr. Bathurst[125], who had
made some attempts this way with applause. He was an excellent judge of
humanity; and so good an historian, that in familiar discourse he would
talk 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, so he was able to copy
after him; and his talent in this kind was so well known and allowed,
that he had been singled out, by some great men, to write a history,
which it was for their interest to have done with the utmost art and
dexterity. I shall not mention for what reasons this design was dropped,
though they are very much to Mr. Smith's honour. The truth is, and I
speak it before living witnesses, whilst an agreeable company could
fix him upon a subject of useful literature, nobody shone to greater
advantage; he seemed to be that Memmius whom Lucretius speaks of:

Quem tu, dea, tempore in omni
Omnibus ornatum voluisti excellere rebus.

His works are not many, and those scattered up and down in miscellanies
and collections, being wrested from him by his friends with great
difficulty and reluctance. All of them together make but a small part of
that much greater body which lies dispersed in the possession of numerous
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. Philips is full of the noblest beauties, and hath done
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.

Every subject that passed under his pen had all the life, proportion,
and embellishments bestowed on it, which an exquisite skill, a warm
imagination, and a cool judgment, possibly could bestow on it. The epick,
lyrick, elegiack, every sort of poetry he touched upon, (and he had
touched upon a great variety,) was raised to its proper height, and the
differences between each of them observed with a judicious accuracy. We
saw the old rules and new beauties placed in admirable order by each
other; and there was a predominant fancy and spirit of his own infused,
superiour to what some draw off from the ancients, or from poesies here
and there culled out of the moderns, by a painful industry and servile
imitation. His contrivances were adroit and magnificent; his images
lively and adequate; his sentiments charming and majestick; his
expressions natural and bold; his numbers various and sounding; and
that enamelled mixture of classical wit, which, without redundance and
affectation, sparkled through his writings, and was no less pertinent and
agreeable.

His Phaedra 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 remarkable on this occasion; and it must not be forgotten
how zealously Mr. Addison espoused his interest, with all the elegant
judgment and diffusive good-nature for which that accomplished gentleman
and author is so justly valued by mankind. But as to Phaedra, 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 Phaedra, I need not say she surpasses the French one, though
embellished with whatever regular beauties and moving softness Racine
himself could give her.

No man had a juster notion of the difficulty of composing than Mr. Smith;
and he sometimes would create greater difficulties than he had reason
to apprehend. Writing with ease, what (as Mr. Wycherley speaks) may
be easily written, moved his indignation. When he was writing 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 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 and vanity, or a fulness of himself, (a frailty
which has been imputed to no less men than Shakespeare and Jonson,) is
clear from hence; because he left his works to the entire disposal of
his friends, whose most rigorous censures he even courted and solicited,
submitting to their animadversions, and the freedom they took with them,
with an unreserved and prudent resignation.

I have seen sketches and rough draughts of some poems he designed, set
out analytically; wherein the fable, structure, and connexion, the
images, incidents, moral episodes, and a great variety of ornaments, were
so finely laid out, so well fitted to the rules of art, and squared so
exactly to the precedents of the ancients, that I have often looked on
these poetical elements with the same concern with which curious men are
affected at the sight of the most entertaining remains and ruins of an
antique figure or building. Those fragments of the learned, which
some men have been so proud of their pains in collecting, are useless
rarities, without form and without life, when compared with these
embryos, which wanted not spirit enough to preserve them; so that I
cannot help thinking, that, if some of them were to come abroad, they
would be as highly valued by the poets, as the sketches of Julio and
Titian are by the painters; though there is nothing in them but a few
outlines, as to the design and proportion.

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.

A man, who under poverty, calamities, and disappointments, could make so
many friends, and those so truly valuable, must have just and noble ideas
of the passion of friendship, in the success of which consisted the
greatest, if not 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 the price of a more durable reputation. He took care to have no
dealings with mankind in which he could not be just; and he desired to
be at no other expense in his pretensions than that of intrinsick merit,
which was the only burden and reproach he ever brought upon his friends.
He could say, as Horace did of himself, what I never yet saw translated:

Meo sum pauper in aere.

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, fashionable equipments, and external recommendations,
which are thought necessary introductions into the _grand monde_, this
gentleman was so happy as still to please; and whilst the rich, the gay,
the noble, and honourable, saw how much he excelled in wit and learning,
they easily forgave him all other differences. Hence it was that both his
acquaintance and retirements were his own free choice. What Mr. Prior
observes upon a very great character was true of him, "that most of his
faults brought their excuse with them. "

Those who blamed him most, understood him least, it being the custom of
the vulgar to charge an excess upon the most complaisant, and to form a
character by the morals of a few, who have sometimes spoiled an hour or
two in good company. Where only fortune is wanting to make a great name,
that single exception can never pass upon the best judges and most
equitable observers of mankind; and when the time comes for the world to
spare their pity, we may justly enlarge our demands upon them for their
admiration.

Some few years before his death, he had engaged himself in several
considerable undertakings; in all which he had prepared the world to
expect mighty things from him. I have seen about ten sheets of his
English Pindar, which exceeded any thing of that kind I could ever hope
for in our own language. He had drawn out the plan of a tragedy of the
Lady Jane Grey, and had gone through several scenes of it. But he could
not well have bequeathed that work to better hands than where, I hear, it
is at present lodged; and the bare mention of two such names may justify
the largest expectations, and is sufficient to make the town an agreeable
invitation.

His greatest and noblest undertaking was Longinus. He had finished an
entire translation of the Sublime, which he sent to the reverend Mr.
Richard Parker, a friend of his, late of Merton college, an exact critick
in the Greek tongue, from whom it came to my hands. The French version of
monsieur Boileau, though truly valuable, was far short of it. He proposed
a large addition to this work, of notes and observations of his own, with
an entire system of the art of poetry, in three books, under the titles
of Thought, Diction, and Figure. I saw the last of these perfect, and
in a fair copy, in which he showed prodigious judgment and reading; and
particularly had reformed the art of rhetorick, by reducing that vast
and confused heap of terms, with which a long succession of pedants had
encumbered the world, to a very narrow compass, comprehending all that
was useful and ornamental in poetry. Under each head and chapter, he
intended to make remarks upon all the ancients and moderns, the Greek,
Latin, English, French, Spanish, and Italian poets, and to note their
several beauties and defects.

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 supposed 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.

Such is the declamation of Oldisworth, written while his admiration was
yet fresh, and his kindness warm; and, therefore, such as, without any
criminal purpose of deceiving, shows a strong desire to make the most of
all favourable truth. I cannot much commend the performance. The praise
is often indistinct, and the sentences are loaded with words of more pomp
than use. There is little, however, that can be contradicted, even when a
plainer tale comes to be told.

Edmund Neale, known by the name of Smith, was born at Handley, the
seat of the Lechmeres, in Worcestershire. The year of his birth is
uncertain[126].

He was educated at Westminster. It is known to have been the practice of
Dr. Busby to detain those youths long at school, of whom he had formed
the highest expectations. Smith took his master's degree on the 8th of
July, 1696; he, therefore, was probably admitted into the university in
1689[127], when we may suppose him twenty years old.

His reputation for literature in his college was such as has been told;
but the indecency and licentiousness of his behaviour drew upon him, Dec.
24, 1694, while he was yet only bachelor, a publick admonition, entered
upon record, in order to his expulsion. Of this reproof the effect is not
known. He was probably less notorious. At Oxford, as we all know,
much will be forgiven to literary merit; and of that he had exhibited
sufficient evidence by his excellent ode on the death of the great
orientalist, Dr. Pocock, who died in 1691, and whose praise must
have been written by Smith when he had been yet but two years in the
university.

This ode, which closed the second volume of the Musse Anglicanae, though,
perhaps, some objections may be made to its Latinity, is by far the best
lyrick composition in that collection; nor do I know where to find it
equalled among the modern writers. It expresses, with great felicity,
images not classical in classical diction: its digressions and returns
have been deservedly recommended by Trapp, as models for imitation.

He has several imitations of Cowley:

Vestitur hinc tot sermo coloribus
Quot tu, Pococki, dissimilis tui
Orator effers, quot vicissim
Te memores celebrare gaudent.

I will not commend the figure which makes the orator _pronounce colours_,
or give to _colours memory_ and _delight_. I quote it, however, as an
imitation of these lines:

So many languages he had in store,
That only fame shall speak of him in more[128].

The simile, by which an old man, retaining the fire of his youth, is
compared to Aetna flaming through the snow, which Smith has used with
great pomp, is stolen from Cowley, however little worth the labour of
conveyance.

He proceeded to take his degree of master of arts, July 8, 1696. Of
the exercises which he performed on that occasion, I have not heard
any thing memorable.

As his years advanced, he advanced in reputation; for he continued to
cultivate his mind, 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 misbehaviour 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 in execution. "

Thus tenderly was he treated: the governours 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 staid 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 violent conflict of parties, had a prologue and epilogue
from the first wits on either side.

But learning and nature will now and then take different courses. His
play pleased the criticks, and the criticks 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 naked 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 further 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 Phaedra; but was convinced that the action was too
mythological.

In 1709, a year after the exhibition of Phaedra, died John Philips, the
friend and fellow-collegian 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 sublime from the works of Blackmore.

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 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.

A subject will not easily occur that can give more opportunities
of informing the understanding, for which Smith was unquestionably
qualified, or for moving the passions, in which I suspect him to have had
less power.

Having formed his plan, and collected materials, 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 plethorick; 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.

This story was published triumphantly by Oldmixon, and may be supposed
to have been eagerly received; but its progress was soon checked; for,
finding its way into the Journal of Trevoux, it fell under the eye of
Atterbury, then an exile in France, who immediately denied the charge,
with this remarkable particular, that he never, in his whole life, had
once spoken to Smith[129]; his company being, as must be inferred, not
accepted by those who attended to their characters.

The charge was afterwards very diligently refuted, 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.

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, therefore, always knew what the present question required; and, when
his friends expressed their wonder at his acquisitions, made 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 and conjectures.

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 Howe, 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 gaiety of a man of pleasure;
but his dress was always deficient; scholastick 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 estimated 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.

He had a high opinion of his own merit, and was something contemptuous in
his treatment of those whom he considered as not qualified to oppose or
contradict him. He had many frailties; yet it cannot but be supposed that
he had great merit, who could obtain to the same play a prologue from
Addison, and an epilogue from Prior; and who could have at once the
patronage of Halifax, and the praise of Oldisworth.

For the power of communicating these minute memorials, I am indebted
to my conversation with Gilbert Walmsley[130], 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 exemption from its vices or
its follies, but had never neglected the cultivation of his mind; his
belief of revelation was unshaken; his learning preserved his principles;
he grew first regular, and then pious.

His studies had been so various, that I am not able to name a man of
equal knowledge.
His acquaintance with books was great: and what he did
not immediately know, he could, at least, tell where to find. Such was
his amplitude of learning, and such his copiousness of communication,
that it may be doubted whether a day now passes in which I have not some
advantage from his friendship.

At this man's table I enjoyed many cheerful and instructive hours, with
companions such as are not often found; with one who has lengthened, and
one who has gladdened life; with Dr. James, whose skill in physick
will be long remembered; and with David Garrick, whom I hoped to have
gratified with this character of our common friend; but what are the
hopes of man! I am disappointed by that stroke of death, which has
eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the publick stock of
harmless pleasure.

In the library at Oxford is the following ludicrous analysis of
Pocockius:


EX AUTOGRAPHO.

[Sent by the author to Mr. Urry. ]

Opusculum hoc, Halberdarie amplissime, in lucem proferre hactenus
distuli, judicii tui acumen subveritus magis quam bipennis. Tandem
aliquando oden hanc ad te mitto sublimem, teneram, flebilem, suavem,
qualem demum divinus (si musis vacaret) scripsisset Gastrellus: adeo
scilicet sublimem ut inter legendum dormire, adeo flebilem ut ridere
velis. Cujus elegantiam ut melius inspicias, versuum ordinem et materiam
breviter referam. 1mus versus de duobus praeliis decantatis. 2dus et 3us
de Lotharingio, cuniculis subterraneis, saxis, ponto, hostibus, et
Asia. 4tus et 5tus de catenis, sudibus, uncis, draconibus, tigribus et
crocodilis. 6us, 7us, 8us, 9us de Gomorrha, de Babylone, Babele, et
quodam domi suae peregrine. 10us, aliquid de quodam Pocockio. 11us, 12us,
de Syria, Solyma. 13us, 14us, de Hosea, et quercu, et de juvene quodam
valde sene. 15us, 16us, de Aetna, et quomodo Aetna Pocockio sit valde
similis. 17us, 18us, de tuba, astro, umbra, flammis, rotis, Pocockio non
neglecto. Caetera, de Christianis, Ottomanis, Babyloniis, Arabibus, et
gravissima agrorum melancholia; de Caesare, _Flacco_[131], Nestore,
et miserando juvenis cujusdam florentissimi fato, anno aetatis suae
centesimo praemature abrepti. Quae omnia cum accurate expenderis, necesse
est ut oden hanc meam admiranda plane varietate constare fatearis.
Subito ad Batavos proficiscor, lauro ab illis donandus. Prius vero
Pembrochienses voco ad certamen poeticum. Vale.

Illustrissima tua deosculor crura.

E. SMITH.

[Footnote 125: Dr. Ralph Bathurst, whose Life and Literary Remains were
published in 1761, by Mr. Thomas Warton. C. ]

[Footnote 126: By his epitaph he appears to have been forty-two years old
when he died. He was, consequently, born in the year 1668. R.

He was born in 1662, as appears from the register of matriculations among
the archives of the university of Oxford. ]

[Footnote 127: He was elected to Cambridge, 1688; but, as has been before
stated, went to Oxford. J. B. ]

[Footnote 128: Cowley on sir R. Wotton. L. B. ]

[Footnote 129: See bishop Atterbury's Epistolary Correspondence, 1799,
vol. iii. pp. 126, 133. In the same work, vol. i. p. 325, it appears that
Smith was at one time suspected, by Atterbury, to have been the author of
the Tale of a Tub. N. See Idler, No. 65. ]

[Footnote 130: See prefatory remarks to Irene, vol. i. p. 25. ]

[Footnote 131: Pro _Flacco_, animo paulo attentiore, scripsissem
_Marone_. ]




DUKE

Of Mr. Richard Duke I can find few memorials. He was bred at
Westminster[132] and Cambridge; and Jacob relates, that he was some time
tutor to the duke of Richmond.

He appears, from his writings, to have been not ill qualified for
poetical compositions; and being conscious of his powers, when he left
the university, he enlisted himself among the wits[133]. He was the
familiar friend of Otway; and was engaged, among other popular names, in
the translations of Ovid and Juvenal. In his Review, though unfinished,
are some vigorous lines. His poems are not below mediocrity; nor have I
found much in them to be praised[134].

With the wit he seems to have shared the dissoluteness of the times;
for some of his compositions are such as he must have reviewed with
detestation in his later days, when he published those sermons which
Felton has commended.

Perhaps, like some other foolish young men, he rather talked than lived
vitiously, in an age when he that would be thought a wit was afraid to
say his prayers; and whatever might have been bad in the first part of
his life, was surely condemned and reformed by his better judgment.

In 1683, being then master of arts and fellow of Trinity college in
Cambridge, he wrote a poem, on the marriage of the lady Anne with George,
prince of Denmark. He took orders[135]; and, being made prebendary of
Gloucester, became a proctor in convocation for that church, and chaplain
to queen Anne.

In 1710, he was presented, by the bishop of Winchester, to the wealthy
living of Witney, in Oxfordshire, which he enjoyed but a few months. On
February 10, 1710-11, having returned from an entertainment, he was found
dead the next morning. His death is mentioned in Swift's Journal.

[Footnote 132: He was admitted there in 1670; was elected to Trinity
college, Cambridge, in 1675; and took his master's degree in 1682. N. ]

[Footnote 133: Floriana, a pastoral, on the death of the dutchess of
Southampton, published anonymously in folio, May 17, 1681, was written by
Richard Duke. M. ]

[Footnote 134: They make a part of a volume published by Tonson in 8vo.
1717, containing the poems of the earl of Roscommon, and the duke of
Buckingham's Essay on Poetry; but were first published in Dryden's
Miscellany, as were most, if not all, of the poems in that collection.
H. ]

[Footnote 135: He was presented to the rectory of Blaby, in
Leicestershire, in 1687-8; and obtained a prebend at Gloucester in 1688.
N. ]




KING

William King was born in London in 1663; the son of Ezekiel King, a
gentleman. He was allied to the family of Clarendon.

From Westminster school, where he was a scholar on the foundation, under
the care of Dr. Busby, he was, at eighteen, elected to Christ church,
in 1681; where he is said to have prosecuted his studies with so much
intenseness and activity, that before he was eight years standing he had
read over, and made remarks upon, twenty-two thousand odd hundred books
and manuscripts[136]. The books were certainly not very long, the
manuscripts not very difficult, nor the remarks very large; for the
calculator will find that he despatched seven a day for every day of his
eight years, with a remnant that more than satisfies most other students.
He took his degree in the most expensive manner, as a grand compounder;
whence it is inferred that he inherited a considerable fortune.

In 1688, the same year in which he was made master of arts, he published
a confutation of Varillas's account of Wickliffe; and, engaging in the
study of the civil law, became doctor in 1692, and was admitted advocate
at Doctors' Commons.

He had already made some translations from the French, and written some
humorous and satirical pieces; when, in 1694, Molesworth published his
Account of Denmark, in which he treats the Danes and their monarch with
great contempt; and takes the opportunity of insinuating those wild
principles, by which he supposes liberty to be established, and by
which his adversaries suspect that all subordination and government is
endangered.

This book offended prince George; and the Danish minister presented a
memorial against it. The principles of its author did not please Dr.
King; and, therefore, he undertook to confute part, and laugh at the
rest. The controversy is now forgotten; and books of this kind seldom
live long, when interest and resentment have ceased.

In 1697, he mingled in the controversy between Boyle and Bentley; and was
one of those who tried what wit could perform in opposition to learning;
on a question which learning only could decide.

In 1699, was published by him, a Journey to London, after the method of
Dr. Martin Lister, who had published a Journey to Paris. And, in 1700, he
satirized the Royal Society, at least sir Hans Sloane, their president,
in two dialogues, entitled The Transactioneer.

Though he was a regular advocate in the courts of civil and canon law,
he did not love his profession, nor, indeed, any kind of business which
interrupted his voluptuary dreams, or forced him to rouse from that
indulgence in which only he could find delight. His reputation, as a
civilian, was yet maintained by his judgments in the courts of delegates,
and raised very high by the address and knowledge which he discovered in
1700, when he defended the earl of Anglesea against his lady, afterwards
dutchess of Buckinghamshire, who sued for a divorce, and obtained it.

The expense of his pleasures, and neglect of business, had now lessened
his revenues; and he was willing to accept of a settlement in Ireland,
where, about 1702, he was made judge of the admiralty, commissioner
of the prizes, keeper of the records in Birmingham's tower, and
vicar-general to Dr. Marsh, the primate.

But it is vain to put wealth within the reach of him who will not
stretch out his hand to take it. King soon found a friend, as idle and
thoughtless as himself, in Upton, one of the judges, who had a pleasant
house called Mountown, near Dublin, to which King frequently retired;
delighting to neglect his interest, forget his cares, and desert his
duty.

Here he wrote Mully of Mountown, a poem; by which, though fanciful
readers, in the pride of sagacity, have given it a political
interpretation, was meant originally no more than it expressed, as it was
dictated only by the author's delight in the quiet of Mountown.

In 1708, when lord Wharton was sent to govern Ireland, King returned to
London, with his poverty, his idleness, and his wit; and published some
essays, called Useful Transactions. His Voyage to the Island of Cajamai
is particularly commended. He then wrote the Art of Love, a poem
remarkable, notwithstanding its title, for purity of sentiment; and, in
1709, imitated Horace in an Art of Cookery, which he published, with some
letters to Dr. Lister.

In 1710, he appeared as a lover of the church, on the side of
Sacheverell; and was supposed to have concurred, at least, in the
projection of The Examiner. His eyes were open to all the operations of
whiggism; and he bestowed some strictures upon Dr. Kennett's adulatory
sermon at the funeral of the duke of Devonshire.

The History of the Heathen Gods, a book composed for schools, was written
by him in 1710. The work is useful; but might have been produced without
the powers of King. The same year he published Rufinus, an historical
essay; and a poem, intended to dispose the nation to think as he thought
of the duke of Marlborough and his adherents.

In 1711, competence, if not plenty, was again put into his power. He was,
without the trouble of attendance, or the mortification of a request,
made gazetteer. Swift, Freind, Prior, and other men of the same party,
brought him the key of the gazetteer's office. He was now again placed
in a profitable employment, and again threw the benefit away. An act of
insolvency made his business, at that time, particularly troublesome;
and he would not wait till hurry should be at an end, but impatiently
resigned it, and returned to his wonted indigence and amusements.

One of his amusements at Lambeth, where he resided, was to mortify Dr.
Tenison, the archbishop, by a publick festivity, on the surrender of
Dunkirk to Hill; an event with which Tenison's political bigotry did
not suffer him to be delighted. King was resolved to counteract his
sullenness, and, at the expense of a few barrels of ale, filled the
neighbourhood with honest merriment.

In the autumn of 1712, his health declined; he grew weaker by degrees,
and died on Christmas day. Though his life had not been without
irregularity, his principles were pure and orthodox, and his death was
pious.

After this relation it will be naturally supposed that his poems were
rather the amusements of idleness than efforts of study; that he
endeavoured rather to divert than astonish; that his thoughts seldom
aspired to sublimity; and that, if his verse was easy and his images
familiar, he attained what he desired. His purpose is to be merry; but,
perhaps, to enjoy his mirth, it may be sometimes necessary to think well
of his opinions[137].

[Footnote 137: Dr. Johnson appears to have made but little use of the
life of Dr. King, prefixed to his works, in three vols. 1776; to which it
may not be impertinent to refer the reader. His talent for humour ought
to be praised in the highest terms. In that, at least, he yielded to none
of his contemporaries. ]




SPRAT

Thomas Sprat was born in 1636, at Tallaton in Devonshire, the son of
a clergyman; and having been educated, as he tells of himself, not at
Westminster or Eton, but at a little school by the church-yard side,
became a commoner of Wadham college, in Oxford, in 1651; and, being
chosen scholar next year, proceeded through the usual academical course,
and, in 1657, became master of arts. He obtained a fellowship, and
commenced poet.

In 1659, his poem on the death of Oliver was published, with those of
Dryden and Waller. In his dedication to Dr. Wilkins, he appears a very
willing and liberal encomiast, both of the living and the dead. He
implores his patron's excuse of his verses, both as falling "so
infinitely below the full and sublime genius of that excellent poet who
made this way of writing free of our nation," and being "so little equal
and proportioned to the renown of the prince on whom they were written;
such great actions and lives deserving to be the subject of the noblest
pens and most divine phansies. " He proceeds: "Having so long experienced
your care and indulgence, and been formed, as it were, by your own hands,
not to entitle you to any thing which my meanness produces, would be not
only injustice, but sacrilege. "

He published, the same year, a poem on the Plague of Athens; a subject of
which it is not easy to say what could recommend it. To these he added,
afterwards, a poem on Mr. Cowley's death.

After the restoration he took orders, and by Cowley's recommendation was
made chaplain to the duke of Buckingham, whom he is said to have helped
in writing the Rehearsal. He was likewise chaplain to the king.

As he was the favourite of Wilkins, at whose house began those
philosophical conferences and inquiries, which in time produced the Royal
Society, he was consequently engaged in the same studies, and became one
of the fellows; and when, after their incorporation, something seemed
necessary to reconcile the publick to the new institution, he undertook
to write its history, which he published in 1667. This is one of the few
books which selection of sentiment and elegance of diction have been
able to preserve, though written upon a subject flux and transitory. The
History of the Royal Society is now read, not with the wish to know what
they were then doing, but how their transactions are exhibited by Sprat.

In the next year he published Observations on Sorbiere's Voyage into
England, in a letter to Mr. Wren. This is a work not ill-performed; but,
perhaps, rewarded with at least its full proportion of praise.

In 1668, he published Cowley's Latin poems, and prefixed, in Latin, the
life of the author; which he afterwards amplified, and placed before
Cowley's English works, which were by will committed to his care.

Ecclesiastical benefices now fell fast upon him. In 1668, he became a
prebendary of Westminster, and had afterwards the church of St. Margaret,
adjoining to the abbey. He was, in 1680, made canon of Windsor; in 1683,
dean of Westminster; and, in 1684, bishop of Rochester.

The court having thus a claim to his diligence and gratitude, he was
required to write the History of the Rye-house Plot; and, in 1685,
published a true Account and Declaration of the horrid Conspiracy against
the late King, his present Majesty, and the present Government; a
performance which he thought convenient, after the revolution, to
extenuate and excuse.

The same year, being clerk of the closet to the king, he was made dean of
the chapel royal; and, the year afterwards, received the last proof of
his master's confidence, by being appointed one of the commissioners
for ecclesiastical affairs. On the critical day, when the declaration
distinguished the true sons of the church of England, he stood neuter,
and permitted it to be read at Westminster; but pressed none to violate
his conscience; and, when the bishop of London was brought before them,
gave his voice in his favour.

Thus far he suffered interest or obedience to carry him; but further
he refused to go. When he found that the powers of the ecclesiastical
commission were to be exercised against those who had refused the
declaration, he wrote to the lords, and other commissioners, a formal
profession of his unwillingness to exercise that authority any longer,
and withdrew himself from them. After they had read his letter, they
adjourned for six months, and scarcely ever met afterwards.

When king James was frighted away, and a new government was to be
settled, Sprat was one of those who considered, in a conference, the
great question, Whether the crown was vacant, and manfully spoke in
favour of his old master.

He complied, however, with the new establishment, and was left
unmolested; but, in 1692, a strange attack was made upon him by one
Robert Young and Stephen Blackhead, both men convicted of infamous
crimes, and both, when the scheme was laid, prisoners in Newgate. These
men drew up an association, in which they whose names were subscribed,
declared their resolution to restore king James, to seize the princess of
Orange, dead or alive, and to be ready with thirty thousand men to meet
king James when he should land. To this they put the names of Sancroft,
Sprat, Marlborough, Salisbury, and others. The copy of Dr. Sprat's name
was obtained by a fictitious request, to which an answer in his own hand
was desired. His hand was copied so well, that he confessed it might have
deceived himself. Blackhead, who had carried the letter, being sent
again with a plausible message, was very curious to see the house, and
particularly importunate to be let into the study; where, as is supposed,
he designed to leave the association. This, however, was denied him;
and he dropped it in a flower-pot in the parlour. Young now laid an
information before the privy council; and May 7, 1692, the bishop was
arrested, and kept at a messenger's, under a strict guard, eleven days.
His house was searched, and directions were given that the flower-pots
should be inspected. The messengers, however, missed the room in which
the paper was left. Blackhead went, therefore, a third time; and finding
his paper where he had left it, brought it away.

The bishop having been enlarged, was, on June the 10th and 13th, examined
again before the privy council, and confronted with his accusers. Young
persisted, with the most obdurate impudence, against the strongest
evidence; but the resolution of Blackhead, by degrees, gave way. There
remained at last no doubt of the bishop's innocence, who, with great
prudence and diligence, traced the progress, and detected the characters
of the two informers, and published an account of his own examination and
deliverance; which made such an impression upon him, that he commemorated
it through life by a yearly day of thanksgiving.

With what hope or what interest, the villains had contrived an accusation
which they must know themselves utterly unable to prove, was never
discovered.

After this he passed his days in the quiet exercise of his function.
When the cause of Sacheverell put the publick in commotion, he honestly
appeared among the friends of the church. He lived to his seventy-ninth
year, and died May 20, 1713.

Burnet is not very favourable to his memory; but he and Burnet were old
rivals. On some publick occasion they both preached before the house of
commons. There prevailed, in those days, an indecent custom: when the
preacher touched any favourite topick, in a manner that delighted his
audience, their approbation was expressed by a loud _hum_, continued in
proportion to their zeal or pleasure. When Burnet preached, part of his
congregation _hummed_ so loudly and so long, that he, sat down to enjoy
it, and rubbed his face with his handkerchief. When Sprat preached, he
likewise was honoured with the like animating _hum_; but he stretched
out his hand to the congregation, and cried, "Peace, peace, I pray you,
peace. "

This I was told in my youth by my father, an old man, who had been no
careless observer of the passages of those times.

Burnet's sermon, says Salmon, was remarkable for sedition, and Sprat's
for loyalty. Burnet had the thanks of the house; Sprat had no thanks, but
a good living from the king, which, he said, was of as much value as the
thanks of the commons.

The works of Sprat, besides his few poems, are, the History of the Royal
Society, the Life of Cowley, the Answer to Sorbiere, the History of the
Rye-house Plot, the Relation of his own Examination, and a volume of
sermons. I have heard it observed, with great justness, that every
book is of a different kind, and that each has its distinct and
characteristical excellence[138].

My business is only with his poems. He considered Cowley as a model; and
supposed that, as he was imitated, perfection was approached. Nothing,
therefore, but Pindarick liberty was to be expected. There is in his few
productions no want of such conceits as he thought excellent; and of
those our judgment may be settled by the first that appears in his praise
of Cromwell, where he says, that Cromwell's "fame, like man, will grow
white as it grows old. "

[Footnote 138: This observation was made to Dr. Johnson by the right hon.
Wm. Gerard Hamilton, as he told me, at Tunbridge, August, 1792. M.