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—

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,

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.

THE END.