If there are “suppressed characters” in literary and scientific, as
well as in parliamentary history, the great apostle of political
economy is certainly not of the number. Indeed, the posthumous glory
he has derived from his most celebrated work, goes far to justify
Southey’s enthusiastic preference of the fame arising from authorship
over all others. After the lapse of a century, his name is still
familiar in the mouths of men, and still continues to gather fresh fame
as it flies along the stream of time. The maxims of policy which he
taught are now inseparably associated with the recollection of a long
controversy, a memorable struggle, and a triumph under extraordinary
circumstances. But without venturing to expatiate on the latter
somewhat exciting topics, it may be possible to furnish a sketch of the
learned Doctor’s earthly career, not altogether uninteresting to youths
accustomed to “mark, learn, and inwardly digest.”
The father of this famous professor of political science had originally
practiced in Edinburgh as a writer to the signet; for so an attorney is
there styled. He had afterward become private secretary to the Earl of
Loudon, who held the now abolished office of Secretary of State for
Scotland; and when his lordship’s career in that capacity terminated,
the elder Smith was appointed Comptroller of the Customs at Kirkaldy, a
small Fifeshire town, situated on the Firth of Forth. Removing thither
to fulfill the duties of the office, and perhaps finding himself more
solitary in his new sphere than he had been in the capital, he married
a very amiable and affectionate woman, bearing the “conquering name” of
Douglas. He was not, however, spared to see the son whose achievements
have saved his memory from oblivion, for, somewhere about the beginning
of 1723, he departed this life; and a few months later, on the 5th of
June, the birth of Adam Smith took place.
The future economist had not, in infancy, the advantage of such strong
health as enables children to frisk, and riot, and tumble about without
danger. It required all the care and attention which a widowed and
disconsolate mother generally bestows upon an only son, to sustain his
weakly and delicate constitution against the perils which beset beings
in that immature season of earthly existence; and she executed her task
with so much real tenderness and solicitude, as to have been charged
with the venial fault of too readily gratifying his whims and humors.
Unbounded indulgence toward a child is certainly highly imprudent; but
it does not appear that it either spoiled Smith, or produced in his
case any other evil consequences.
Another, and a more substantial kind of danger, he is related to have
been on one occasion exposed to. The tribes of gipsies, who then
infested the country, carried on a most indiscriminate system of
plunder. Nothing came amiss to them that was not too hot or too heavy;
and they not only anticipated the doctrine of buying in the cheapest
and selling in the dearest markets, but acted on it to an extent which
would make teachers of economy “stare and gasp” with surprise and
horror. They seem to have loved the trade of pillage, “not wisely,
but too well;” for, though it is not difficult to understand their
motive in appropriating the pigs, poultry, and game of the district,
periodically favored with their portentous presence, it is certainly
not so easy to imagine what advantage they found in carrying off, and
burdening themselves with, their neighbors’ children. But, whatever
their views in this predatory system, the little boy destined to
become the author of the “Wealth of Nations,” narrowly escaped their
clutches. When he was three years old, his fond mother carried him
on a visit to the family of her brother, who resided at Strathenry;
and one day, while there, he was playing noiselessly about the door
of the house, when up came a gang of gipsies. The sight of a child,
thus alone and helpless, was a temptation not to be resisted; and the
scene may readily be fancied. Some tall prophetess, whom Sir Roger de
Coverley would have called “a baggage,” dressed in a long, faded, red
cloak, would separate herself from the troop, and, after turning and
carefully glancing round on all sides to ascertain that she was safe
from the eyes of fair-haired Christians, insure the fatal silence of
her tiny victim, by placing in his hand a rosy-cheeked apple. Then,
stealthily lifting him up, she would with cunning caresses deposit his
slight form beneath her cloak, and hastily rejoin her comrades. And
now there was every probability of Smith being brought up to a life of
theft and vagrancy, passing his nights in plundering hen-roosts and
breaking game preserves, or seated by some watch-fire blazing within a
circle of stones, and uttering “uncouth gibberish” to damsels, whose
dusky brows seemed to tell of their Eastern origin, and whose “white
teeth and black eyes” might well, indeed, excite the admiration of
that susceptible old knight so finely portrayed by the pen of Addison.
Fortunately, however, he was soon missed; and the alarm that he had
been kidnapped was sounded in time to give his uncle the opportunity
of being, according to Dugald Stewart, the happy instrument of
preserving to the world a genius which was destined not only to extend
the boundaries of science, but to enlighten and reform the commercial
policy of Europe. The stout kinsman would, doubtless, run quickly to
the stable, saddle his mettled steed, and throw himself on its back.
Then, setting out in pursuit, he speedily came up to the migratory
band, who, feeling quite secure, had encamped in Leslie Wood. He
joyfully rescued the terrified child from their keeping, and hurrying
back, restored him in safety to his weeping and agitated parent.
At a proper age after this adventure, Master Adam, still the pride
and delight of his mother’s eye, was placed in the parish school of
Kirkaldy, which at the time was, luckily for him, taught by a man of
considerable ability and repute. The youth took kindly to his book.
His delicate health rendered him unfit, or, at all events, averse to
playing any active part in the games and pastimes of his class-fellows.
He avoided the field or the market-place, where his rough and hardy
compeers, caring not a jot for sun or dust, exercised their limbs
at golf, or urged the flying ball, sometimes to the destruction of
windows; and he engaged not in those puerile displays of strength and
skill, out of which the pugnacious and aspiring imps, not seldom,
came with livid faces and bloody snouts. Instead of boisterous mirth,
he loved quiet retirement; and while the others were taking part in
mischievous freaks and diversions he was reading, and laying the
foundation of the peculiar habits of self-communion which distinguished
his subsequent career. His memory was tenacious, and he rapidly stored
up information to be used when the proper time arrived. When in
company, he, even at this date, displayed those peculiarities which
afterward characterized him. He was generally absent and inattentive to
the conversation going on; the motion of his lips could be observed as
he muttered to himself; and his manners were artless and simple in the
extreme.
At the age of fifteen, Adam climbed to the top of a coach, and was sent
to be entered at the University of Glasgow. While there, he manifested
great partiality for mathematics, the chair of which was then filled by
the celebrated Professor Simson, the restorer of Euclid; his other bias
being toward natural philosophy. He remained in the city on the Clyde
for three years, and subsequently acknowledged infinite obligations
to the institution. Luckily for Smith, and several other eminent men
who have since flourished, a person of the name of Snell had, in the
year of the Revolution, bequeathed an estate in the county of Warwick
for the support, at Balliol College, Oxford, of Scottish youths,
who have, for a certain period, been students at Glasgow, in whose
professorial body the patronage is vested. Smith was selected as one of
the exhibitioners on this foundation, and repaired to Oxford, with the
prospect, as his relatives believed, of appearing ere long as a divine
of note and reputation. He did not in after life confess to having
owed much to the seat of learning to which――thanks to old Snell’s
laudable liberality――he had thus been admitted; but it must be taken
into account that Scotchmen of his generation, however reflecting,
were violently, and perhaps excusably, prejudiced in regard to much of
what they witnessed in a country so much wealthier than their own. In
any case, the philosophic Fifeshire lad luxuriated in his favorite
subjects and speculations in private; and was equally assiduous and
successful in his study of languages, both ancient and modern. He
became intimately acquainted with the poetry, and gained a knowledge of
and mastery over the language, of England, which more than counteracted
the effects of his Northern education. In his efforts to acquire the
art of composing with ease, freedom, and elegance, he translated much
from foreign models, particularly from the French; and this method he
ever recommended to those who aspired to accomplish themselves, or
to improve their style in the structure and formation of sentences.
During his residence at Oxford his secret studies unfortunately
provoked the suspicion of his academic superiors, who thought fit to
pay an inquisitorial visit to his chamber. They found him engaged in
an intellectual banquet on Hume’s “Treatise of Human Nature,” then
recently published, and considered somewhat dangerous fare. This they
seized, proving at the same time their respect for the principle of
“reciprocity” by bestowing upon him a severe reprimand in exchange.
Whatever his chances of ecclesiastical preferment, and however great
the anxiety of his friends that he should take orders, they were
wrecked and defeated by his opposition to the long-cherished scheme.
He, contrary to the wishes of his relatives, totally abandoned the idea
of a clerical career, left the classic precincts of Oxford University,
and resided with his mother for the next two years, without doing any
thing in particular or fixing upon any plan of life.
The intellectual faculties of Smith were at this season in almost as
great peril of being lost to the world as when he had been carried by
gipsies into the recesses of Leslie Wood. The crisis of his fate had
arrived, and while pondering in his solitary chamber, or subjected to
embarrassing questions at Kirkaldy tea-parties, he must often have
mused, with concern, over the magnitude of the sacrifice he had made
in relinquishing the course which had been chalked out for him. It
was really one of no trifling character, for the circumstances of his
native land, never very favorable, were then such as to render it in
the last degree difficult for youths, even of the most respectable
parentage, to discover a career worthy of being followed. A chivalrous
writer of this generation, in his zealous defense of a new school of
artists, apparently flushed with triumph, and under the impression,
not only that things are sadly out of joint, but that he was born to
set them right, travels out of his way to suggest a new school of
philanthropists, and recommends some half-dozen thorough-bred gentlemen
to take to the green-grocery trade or some other of the kind, just to
show that there is nothing dishonorable in such occupations, and thus
regenerate society. The sagacious Scots of another day seem to have,
to a considerable extent, anticipated that counsel, though without
pretending that they were thereby entitling themselves to the credit
of any very sublime or beneficent self-sacrifice. Smith’s friend, the
romantic author of “Douglas,” whom Nature seems to have designed for a
knight-errant, was somewhat unreasonable in his complaint――
“Sprung from the haughty nobles of the land,
Upon the ladder’s lowest round I stand;”
for hundreds of the younger sons of ancient and honorable families were
glad if they could, without having their gentility openly impeached,
gain a livelihood as merchants in the provinces, or even as tradesmen
in the Canongate. Nor was it on younger sons only that Fortune
bestowed such merciless kicks. Caledonian noblemen of long pedigrees,
high names, and sounding titles, were found in situations aught but
dignified. One peer kept a glove shop in Cornhill. Another, still less
fortunate, employed each day in contriving how he was to fall in with
a dinner. A third, on being arrested, was so dirty in his person,
and so shabby in his dress, that the officer of justice stubbornly
refused to credit the possibility of his being a man of rank. Even
“females of quality” were not exempt from the miseries of the period;
for one Scottish baroness was hostess of a tavern whose character was
not the highest, and pleaded the privilege of her order when sued for
keeping a disorderly house. What prospect was there in a state of
society thus overcast for a youth, whom his plebeian name would all but
disqualify for the position of a traveling tutor, and whom absorption
in intellectual contemplation rendered utterly unfit to figure as a
man of business? We shall soon see.
Among the cadets of patrician houses who in the Scottish capital had
sought a way of escape from the horrors which attend the union of
pride and poverty, none had struggled with greater perseverance and
success than that very distant kinsman, but close friend, of the great
philosophic historian of England, since known to fame as Lord Kames.
Having been educated by a tutor under the roof of his father, a Border
gentleman of Jacobite leanings, and studied law at the University of
Edinburgh, he was placed as apprentice in the office of a writer. But
feeling, like Lord Mansfield, a real calling for the bar, he deserted
the attorney’s desk before completing the term agreed on, and not only
distinguished himself in his professional exhibitions, but by his deep
learning and acute genius won a very extensive reputation as an author
on various subjects. Smith had the advantage of being appreciated by
this eminent jurist, philosopher, and agriculturist; and he prudently
availed himself of the circumstance. In 1748, the Economist came forth
under his patronage to lecture, in the Scottish metropolis, on rhetoric
and the belles lettres, the professorship for which had not then been
founded. This Smith continued to do for two years, at the end of which
he was sufficiently recognized as a man of talent and erudition to
be elected to the Logic Chair in the University of Glasgow, where he
discharged the duties with much ability. He departed widely from the
course that had been pursued by his predecessors, and directed the
minds of the students to subjects of a more useful and interesting
nature than they had been accustomed to.
Smith was now, indeed, in a position which was favorable to the proper
display of his extraordinary powers; and within twelve months of
his election he had the good fortune to be nominated and chosen as
Professor of Moral Philosophy. Such he continued for the next thirteen
years, which, when they had long passed, he was in the habit of looking
back on with a feeling somewhat resembling regret, as they had formed
the happiest and most agreeable period of his existence. His public
lectures, though delivered in a plain and unaffected manner, were
always distinguished and rendered interesting by a luminous division of
the subject, as well as by full, fresh and various illustration. They
soon began to excite interest, and were attended no less for pleasure
than instruction. The commercial community was agitated by a spirit of
inquiry; the learned professor’s name rapidly spread; and young men
from all parts of the country were attracted to the College with a
view of profiting by them. The science, from the novel method in which
it was treated, became popular; and Adam was so much admired in his
capacity of lecturer, that, as in the days of Hotspur,
“The speaking thick which Nature made his blemish
Became the accents of the valiant;”
so the students of moral philosophy admiringly exerted themselves to
imitate their professor’s peculiarities in pronunciation and manner of
address.
At this period the men of letters in the Scottish capital projected and
commenced the first “Edinburgh Review;” and Smith, besides contributing
an article on Dr. Johnson’s “Dictionary,” addressed a letter to the
editors, containing observations on the state of literature in the
different countries of Europe. This effort at the establishment of a
great Northern periodical proved premature, and it was reserved for
another generation of “modern Athenians” to realize such a scheme.
After two numbers the journal spread its wings no more, and the copies
are now remarkably rare.
Fortune smiled more bountifully on the scientific Professor when he
sallied forth into the literary field, single-handed, and under his
own pennon. In 1759 he boldly challenged criticism with his “Theory
of Moral Sentiments,” which soon attracted public attention, and won
no slight applause. His friends, David Hume and Wedderburn, afterward
Lord Chancellor Loughborough, lent their aid to spread the reputation
of the book in London; and the historian soon had the happiness of
transmitting to the author flattering accounts of its reception. Among
others who were captivated with the performance was Charles Townsend,
then regarded as “the cleverest fellow in England,” and subsequently
immortalized in one of Burke’s most marvelous parliamentary speeches
“as the delight and ornament of the House, and the charm of every
private society he honored with his presence.” He had already become
connected with Scotland by wedding a dowager of high rank, and
vindicated his claims to respect as her consort in a very amusing
way. On accompanying his titled bride to her residence in “the land
of mountain and of flood,” the relatives and dependants of the lady,
in their eagerness to do her full honor, seemed rather inclined to
forget that a welcome was due to the brilliant and ambitious husband.
“For God’s sake, gentlemen,” exclaimed the prodigy, who could hit the
House of Commons between wind and water, “remember that I am at least
Prince George of Denmark!” He now declared that he would exercise the
privilege of a step-father, and put the boy-Duke of Buccleuch under
Smith’s tuition. Hume wished to settle the matter at once by having the
noble cub sent to Glasgow, but a different course was adopted. Townsend
was somewhat uncertain in his resolutions, and four years were allowed
to elapse before the necessary arrangements were made. Then Smith
received a formal invitation to attend the young duke on his travels;
and setting out, they arrived at Paris in the beginning of 1764.
Hume, whose ancient blood would naturally boil at the recollection of
the indignities he had suffered while, for a brief period, enacting
the part of keeper to an insane marquis, had been clearly of opinion
that no terms offered by Townsend would induce Dr. Smith to renounce
his professorship. He was mistaken. The latter considered that his new
position afforded him an opportunity of observing the internal policy
of Continental states, and thus completing the system of political
economy which his brain was occupied in thinking out. On arriving in
Paris, he immediately addressed to the Rector of the University a
letter announcing his resignation. It was accepted by the professorial
body with regret; a meeting was convened; a fitting tribute was paid
to his genius, ability, and learning; and honorable testimony was
borne to the high probity and amiable qualities which had secured
their possessor lasting esteem among his colleagues. Meantime Smith
and his pupil, having remained a fortnight in Paris, proceeded to
Toulouse, and there fixed their residence for eighteen months, during
which the Doctor formed intimacies with several men of distinction,
and made himself acquainted with the internal policy of the kingdom.
They then visited several places in the South of France, resided for
a while at Geneva, and then retraced their steps to the borders of
the Seine. There Smith counted among his associates many of the chief
men of letters and science, among whom were several of the political
philosophers known as Economists. The accredited founder of that
sect was the celebrated Quesnai, though he had been preceded by the
profound and acute Galiani. Harris and Hume had likewise done much
to popularize the doctrines. But Smith, whose attention had already
been occupied with the subject for the space of ten years, was the
first to see the whole bearing of their principles, and to trace their
consequences with care, and face them with confidence.
When Smith set foot on his native soil, in the autumn of 1766, he did
not return to the scene of his former triumphs, but consigned himself
to studious and laborious retirement under the roof of his worthy
mother. Old friends urged him to come within their reach, and give them
the benefit of his company; but his strong ambition to produce a great
and influential work, “like Aaron’s rod swallowed up the rest,” and he
was content to pursue his object in obscurity. He was in comfortable
circumstances, as the Duke of Buccleuch had, in consideration of his
tuition, settled on him an income of three hundred pounds a year,
and in other respects he was not unprepared for the mighty task. His
long residence in a commercial town, his foreign experience, and his
intercourse with the French economists and statesmen, had trained his
philosophic mind for the investigation of the subjects on which he
aspired to throw a new and enduring light. When employed in preparing
for the press, he generally walked up and down the room dictating to an
amanuensis, and he is said to have composed with as much slowness and
difficulty in his later years as in youth. The “Inquiry into the Nature
and Causes of the Wealth of Nations” did not make its appearance in
public till the spring of 1766. It was found to consist of five books.
The two first contain the scientific portion. The third is a historical
sketch of the progress of opulence. The fourth, the longest, treats of
the legislative interference by which governments have attempted to
make their subjects rich, and endeavors to show that all such schemes
retard instead of promoting the object in view. The fifth, which points
out the means by which the duties of sovereigns may be best performed,
and how a public revenue may be most judiciously provided, is in
reality a treatise on the art of government. This work, so important
in its results, saw the light just six months before David Hume was
laid in his lonesome grave, and he immediately wrote――“It has depth,
and solidity, and acuteness, and is so much illustrated by curious
facts that it must, at last, take the public attention.... If you
were here, at my fireside, I should dispute some of your principles;
but these, and a hundred other points, are fit only to be discussed
in conversation.” Gibbon, likewise, mentioned it with praise in his
immortal History; and Fox lent his aid to increase its fame by saying
in that House, where the author’s name has since been familiar as
a household word, and unquestionably too often used by others than
parliamentary giants――“The way, as my learned friend Dr. Adam Smith
states, for a nation, as well as an individual, to be rich, is for
both to live within their income.” It is admitted, however, that the
doctrines enunciated made less impression on the minds of Fox and his
allies, than on that of the young and disdainful minister who, toward
the close of the century, had to stand the brunt of their impassioned
eloquence. Johnson, whose love for Smith was not excessive, interposed
his ponderous influence to shield him from Sir John Pringle’s diverting
allegation――that Smith, not being practically conversant with trade,
could not be qualified to write on matters relating to it. “That is
quite a mistake,” said the sage, indignantly: “a man who has never
been in trade may write well on trade; and there is nothing which
requires more to be illustrated by philosophy than trade does. As to
mere wealth, that is to say money, it is clear that one nation, or one
individual, can not increase its store but by making another poorer;
but trade procures what is more valuable, the reciprocation of the
peculiar advantages of different countries. A merchant seldom thinks of
any but his own trade. To write a good book upon it, a man must have
extensive views. It is not necessary to have practiced, to write well
upon, a subject.”
During the two years following his greatest publication Dr. Smith
resided in London, and spent much of his time in that “bright
constellation of British stars,” forming the club without a name, which
Sir Joshua Reynolds had founded. But in 1778 he was appointed one of
the Commissioners of Customs in Scotland, and removed to Edinburgh
to attend to the duties attached to the office, which, though they
required little exertion, were sufficient to divert his attention
from literary undertakings. His mother, now an extremely aged woman,
came to live with him; as did also Miss Douglas, an elderly cousin,
who had formerly superintended his domestic arrangements at Glasgow.
He had collected a valuable library, and being apparently of Horace’s
way of thinking, in regard to there being no splendor in money unless
it shines in a temperate expenditure, he was generous in his gifts
and hospitable in his manner of living. He soon began to feel some of
the infirmities of age, but his health and strength did not give way
till the death of his female relatives, when he was left in a position
somewhat more solitary than he relished, and he became still more
engrossed with his meditations.
Kay’s series of portraits and caricature etchings enable the curious
inquirer not only to have before him the style of dress and appearance
of the author of the “Wealth of Nations” at this period, but even
to form a tolerably accurate conception of what a day with him must
have ordinarily been. One seems to see him, as he is prepared after
breakfast to set out for the Custom House, standing before the table,
with his cane in one hand, and the other on some page of his latest
work, which lies open before him. He descends the stair, and issues
slowly into the street, muttering to himself, and indulging in a laugh,
which must be very favorable to the digestion of his morning meal.
And what can it be that excites his risibility? Is he chuckling over
the solution of some knotty problem in political science, or does the
manly and dignified figure of his acquaintance, Lord Rockville, in
the distance, recall to his memory the never-ending joke about the
Grassmarket pavement, having one evening most suddenly risen up and
struck that urbane and polished legal sage in the face? These two
fishwomen, whom he meets, look as if they had some notion; but no, by
St. Bride! the weather-beaten jades really mistake the philosopher
for a lunatic, and express their surprise that he is not in custody.
He neither sees nor hears them, however, but continues to laugh and
soliloquize.
“Heigh, sirs! isn’t that waesome?” ejaculates one, as she shakes her
head and becomes mute from very pity.
“And he’s so well put on, too!” observed the other, with a sigh, as
she marked his careful attire, from the cocked hat and flowing wig to
the ruffles at his wrists and the buckles on his shoes. Our venerable
hero now approaches the Custom House, and as he reaches the door,
the gigantic porter, who keeps guard, salutes him with ceremonious
formality. But what is the Economist about now? Exercising his muscles,
or teaching the big janitor sword exercise? Not at all. He is only,
with the most complete unconsciousness of doing any thing of the kind,
imitating with his gold-headed cane every flourish that the man has
made, before entering the building where the Board is sitting for the
transaction of business connected with the collection of the revenue.
He exchanges courteous salutations with his colleagues, among whom are
a tall, stately scion of the noble house of Cochrane, and Capt. Edgar,
a gentleman of eccentric habits, but a thorough man of the world, and
valued by the Doctor, because, being rather out of place at a Customs’
Board, and luckily an excellent classical scholar, he is quite ready
to devote the official hours to the task of amusing the philosopher.
Accordingly, this personage, celebrated in verse as the _beau dîneur_,
and Dr. Smith, renowned for having taught the world how nations are
bound together by the reciprocal benefits of commerce, occupy their
time with the recitation of passages from the Greek authors. Then a
paper bearing the signature of one of the Commissioners is handed to
the Economist, but instead of appending his own name, he copies that of
the person who has already signed it. He now rises and sallies forth
to indulge in a quiet walk about the Meadows, a fashionable place of
resort; and after dining, he repairs to the “Poker Club,” to spend the
remainder of his waking hours in the company of Black, and Hutton, and
John Home.
Now and then Dr. Smith paid a visit to London. On the last occasion of
his being in the metropolis he had been engaged to dine with tall Harry
Dundas, afterward Lord Melville, then the real “Cock of the North.”
He happened to arrive too late, and the guests, among whom were Pitt,
Grenville, and Addington, had taken their places at table; but on
his entrance, they, with one accord, rose to receive him. The Doctor
offered an apology for being so late, and begged them to resume their
seats; but they said, “No, we’ll stand till you are seated, for we are
all your scholars.”
In the year 1787 the veteran philosopher was elected Rector of Glasgow
University. He was touched by the compliment, and in acknowledging
it, stated that no preferment could have given him so much real
satisfaction, because the term of years, during which he had been a
member of the Society, had formed by far the most useful, and therefore
the happiest and most honorable, period of the life whose closing
scene was now gradually drawing nigh. His last illness was painful
and lingering, but in the summer of 1790 the angel of death gave no
uncertain signals of approach. In accordance with an old Scottish
custom, certainly more honored in the breach than the observance, Dr.
Smith had been in the habit of inviting his intimate associates to
supper on Sundays. This, it should be mentioned, was, at that date,
practiced by men whose character for Christian piety was beyond all
reproach or question; and the Economist’s adherence to it can not,
with any show of reason, be cited in support of the tendency to
infidelity, which has been, rightly or wrongly, imputed to him. It
was a July evening when they last assembled, and the gathering was, as
usual, pretty numerous; but the host found himself incapable of taking
that part which he had so often done; and feeling himself unable to
entertain them, he requested their permission to withdraw. On taking
his leave, he said, “Indeed, gentlemen, I believe we must adjourn
this meeting to some other place.” A few days brought release from
his sufferings. He had just given orders for the destruction of all
his manuscripts, with the exception of some detached essays, which,
being left to the care of his executors, were afterward published;
when he breathed his last in a state of complete mental resignation.
He was most tenderly sympathized with in his pangs by a circle of
sorrowing friends, who had learned fully to appreciate the powers of
his intellect, the comprehensiveness of his views, the extent of his
attainments, and the benignity of his disposition.