172 Singular Smith. AuG. 



muttonly look : the lambs were like hosiers' signs ; as for the Corydons 

 who tended them, they only wanted the usual badge with ' No. 29' on 

 the arm to give one the beau ideal of Smithfield Arcadians. He next 

 essayed the historical : his Marc Antony had no " mark or likelihood :" 

 his Caesar looked like the Czar of Muscovy ; his Brutus a thorough 

 brute ; his Dollabella like Dollalolla ; and his Pompey the Great like 

 Pompey the Little. Fuseli was no longer thought extravagant ; and 

 Blake's monstrous illustrations of Blair provoked wonder no more. 

 Tired of the pallet, he then tried experimental chemistry ; but having 

 over-charged a retort, it retorted upon him, and discharged into thin air 

 a tragic poet and a light comedian occupying the attics, with " all their 

 imperfections" and half a ton of tiles " on their heads." Mr. Smith 

 is now engaged in a strict search after the philosophers' stone ; and as 

 he has already discovered Whittington's, it is not impossible that he 

 may be equally successful in his present scientific researches. 



This inconstancy of pursuit is, however, an error of the head, which 

 has been observable in men equally eminent with Mr. Smith. An inge- 

 nious man may, in this liberal age, be allowed to drive his hobby, or 

 hobbies, single, or six abreast like Mr. Ducrow, if he keeps on his own 

 side of the road, and refrains from riding over the hobbies of others. 

 In more stable qualities Mr. Smith is of a more stable nature: here, 

 indeed, his true singularity lies. But I pass this part of his character, 

 and come, lastly, to his waggery, which is perhaps the best portion of 

 it. His genius is nothing to his jokes. His friend Simpson, in allusion, 

 no doubt, to the jelly-like tremulousness of his outward man when in 

 motion, says " he is all wag." I know not whether he who contributes 

 to the good humour of his fellow-men, without sacrificing his own, is 

 not as great a philanthropist in his way as Howard himself. This little 

 world is but a large theatre, producing more successful tragedies than 

 comedies : what there is of humour you can hardly laugh at, and what is 

 serious in its scenes somehow contracts the heart and darkens the coun- 

 tenance. He, then, who can dilate the one with laughter, and brighten 

 the other with smiles, is a friend before all friends, and a philosopher 

 before all philosophers. 



Mr. Smith is very deservedly the delight of a pretty wide circle of 

 admirers, and keeps all in good humour about him. Where he enters, 

 let the company be never so grave, a preparatory smile spreads round 

 the room ; every ear, to use a Lord Castlereagh figure of speech, stands 

 on the tiptoe of expectation ; and his first remark, though it be but 

 " How do you do, Jones ?" or, " Hah ! Simpson, glad to see you !" is 

 received with roars of laughter. When he hangs his hat up, something 

 more than putting his beaver by is perceived in the action : his umbrella 

 is equally unctuous and irresistible ; and his introductory " hem !" to 

 clear his throat for conversation, is listened to with most deferential 

 silence. All eyes follow his hand when it moves toward the candle 

 with a cigar ; and even the first fumes of the fragrant weed are watched 

 like the smoke of the old sacrificial altars, as if something divine and 

 oracular breathed with every whiff. Silence sits pleased j mouths, city 

 mouths ! gape wide with a sort of greedy avidity to swallow, at a gulp, 

 any mental morsel he may, in his condescension, throw down for the 

 entertainment of his friends. If strangers are present, elbows on either 

 side nudge the unconscious Perkinses into a proper attitude of atten- 

 tion: if they have never before heard of Mr. Smith, much wonder 



