objurgations, the moment my back was turned." I cannot
resist quoting, _apropos des bottes_, the following story. The reigning
bore at Edinburgh was X, his favourite subject the North Pole. Sydney
met X, indignant at Jeffrey having darted past him exclaiming, "Damn the
North Pole." Sydney tried to console him: "Why, you will scarcely
believe it, but it is not more than a week ago that I heard him speak
disrespectfully of the Equator."

In 1799 or 1800 he was married to Miss Pybus, and in 1802, when a child
was about to be born, Sydney hoped it would be a girl, and that she might
have but one eye so that she might never marry. Part of the wish was
fulfilled; the baby was a girl, but, unfortunately, quite normal in every
way. Saba, for so she was called (a name {178a} invented by her father),
ultimately became the wife of Sir Henry Holland, the well-known
physician.

About this time Sydney suggested to Jeffrey and Brougham the foundation
of a Liberal Quarterly--in those days a contradiction in terms--which was
named the _Edinburgh Review_ after the town of its birth. Sydney
proposed as a motto, "_Tenui Musam meditamur avena_," _i.e._, "We
cultivate literature on a little oatmeal," but this was too near the
truth to be admitted. {178b}

Throughout his life literature was combined with vigorous activity as a
clergyman. Speaking of two or three "random sermons" which he
"discharged" in London, he says he believed that the congregation thought
him mad. "The clerk was as pale as death in helping me off with my gown,
for fear I should bite him."

He made many friends in London. Among these he specially valued Lord and
Lady Holland, with whom he often stayed. They agreed in gaiety, humour,
and political opinions. And it must be remembered that a Liberal parson
was a rare bird in those days. Dugald Stewart (i., p. 127) said of
Sydney Smith's preaching, "Those original and unexpected ideas gave me a
thrilling sensation of sublimity never before awakened by any other
oratory." But his most celebrated triumph was a charity sermon which
actually moved old Lady C. (Cork?) to borrow a sovereign to put in the
plate.

Sydney lectured on Moral Philosophy at the Royal Institution. Many years
afterwards, in 1843, he wrote to Whewell: "My lectures are gone to the
dogs, and are utterly forgotten. I knew nothing of moral philosophy, but
I was thoroughly aware that I wanted 200 pounds to furnish my house. The
success, ho