Thomas Southwood Smith was born at Martock in Somersetshire in 1788, and was intended by his family to become a minister in the body of Calvinistic dissenters to which they belonged. He was educated with that view at the Baptist College in Bristol, where he went in 1802, being then fourteen years of age. A scholarship, entitled the "Broadmead Benefaction," was granted to him, and he held it for nearly five years.

But in the course of his earnest reading on religious subjects he was led to conclusions opposed in many ways to the doctrines he would be expected to teach; and when, in the autumn of 1807, from conscientious scruples, he felt bound to declare this to be the case, the benefaction was withdrawn. If we consider his youth and his limited means, it is clear that this avowal must have cost him no little anguish. He was at this time only eighteen. It was an early age at which to have been able to make up his mind on questions so momentous, to break away from early and dear traditions, and to face the displeasure of the Principal of the college, Dr Ryland, whom he ever revered. But honour demanded the sacrifice, and it was made.

In consequence his family cast him off at once and for ever.

During his college career, however, he had visited much at the house of Mr Read, a large manufacturer in Bristol, who was a man of noble character, and at that time one of the leading supporters of the college; and an attachment had sprung up between the young student and Mr Read's daughter Anne. This lady seems to have possessed both great personal beauty and much sweetness and strength of character; and though she in nowise changed her own religious opinions, she yet sympathised deeply with him in his earnest seeking after truth, and encouraged him to risk all—position, friends, everything—rather than act against his conscience.

Mr Read also upheld him through all his difficulties, and in the following year sanctioned their marriage, which brought with it some few very happy years. Two children were born—Caroline,^[1] my mother, and a year afterwards her sister Emily.^[2]

His happiness was to be but of short duration, for in 1812 the young wife died, and left him alone, at the age of only twenty-four, with two little children. With what deep grief he mourned her death his early writings show, but he met it with a noble courage and an undiminished faith.

The course he took was a strong one. Deprived of the profession to which he had looked forward, cut off from all intercourse with his family, and having lost the wife he so devotedly loved, he resolved—leaving his two children under the gentle care of their mother's relations—to apply himself to the study of medicine. Thus he entered as a student at the Edinburgh University in the year 1813.

At first he lived quite alone; but finding it more than he could bear, he returned to England to fetch his eldest child, then four years old.

The father and child (my mother) went from Bristol to Edinburgh in a small sailing vessel, and encountered a terrible storm, which lasted many days. She tells me that she still remembers that storm of eighty-five years ago, the thick darkness, the war of the winds, the toss of the waves, the flash of the lightning illuminating her father's face; but, most of all, she remembers the feeling of the strong arm round her, giving the sense of safety.

His interest in religious matters at this period was greater than ever; for the change in his opinions, in leading him to take a more loving view of the Divine nature, had increased his ardour for the truth, and his own personal sorrow had heightened his faith and made him wish to carry its comfort to others. As well, therefore, as pursuing his medical studies, he gathered round him in Edinburgh a little congregation for service every Sunday. The sermons preached by him then, seem to have an added depth of feeling when we know the circumstances in which they were given; and the following words, written by him at this time, give some insight into the calm sublime faith which upheld him, not only then, but throughout life.

"Can there be a more exalted pleasure," he writes, "than that which the mind experiences when, in moments of reflective solitude—in those moments when it becomes tranquil and disposed to appreciate the real value of objects—it dwells upon the thought that there is, seated on the throne of the universe, a Being whose eye never slumbers nor sleeps, and who is perfect in power, wisdom, and goodness? How little can the storms of life assail his soul who rests his happiness upon this Rock of Ages! How little can death itself appal his mind who feels that he is conducted to the tomb by the hand of the Sovereign of the universe! Yes! there is a reality in religion; and if that happiness, which is so often sought, and so often sought in vain—that happiness which is worthy of a rational being, and which at once satisfies and exalts him—be ever tasted upon earth, it is by him who thus, in the solitude of his heart, delights to contemplate the idea of a presiding Benignity, the extent of whose dominion is without limit, and the duration of whose kingdom is without end! It is a felicity which our Father sometimes sends down to the heart that is worthy of it, to give it a foretaste of its eternal portion."

Much interest was felt in the young pale student and his little girl. For all this time my mother, the little Caroline, lived with him, cheering his home-coming from the university to their rooms, and drinking in from him at a very early age—as I, her daughter, was destined to do many years after—lessons of self-devotion to great ends.

It was at this time of sorrow, and in the intervals of medical study, that he wrote his 'Illustrations of the Divine Government,' the object of which is to show how perfect is the Love that rules the world, in spite of that which seems to clash,—pain, and sorrow, and wrong—all that we call evil.

His medical studies only added to his impression of the great Whole as one perfect scheme, for he felt an intimate connection between the field of scientific research and those religious studies to which he had formerly devoted himself exclusively. This is shown in his own words in the preface to the fourth edition of the work, which was published in 1844.

"The contemplation," he writes, "of the wonderful processes which constitute life,—the exquisite mechanism (as far as that mechanism can be traced) by which they are performed—the surprising adjustments and harmonies by which, in a creature like man, such diverse and opposite actions are brought into relation with each other and made to work in subserviency and co-operation;—and the divine object of all—the communication of sensation and intelligence as the inlets and instruments of happiness—afforded the highest satisfaction to my mind. But this beautiful world, into whose workings my eye now searched, presented itself to my view as a demonstration that the Creative Power is infinite in goodness, and seemed to afford, as if from the essential elements and profoundest depths of nature, a proof of His love."

This book came to be a help to many of all classes and creeds, and passed through several editions.

He was often urged to reprint it in later life, but held it back, wishing to modify it slightly. Not that his opinion of its main principles had altered in the least degree, but that he thought he had passed too lightly over the sea of misery and crime that there is in the world; he thought there was rather too much of the bright hopefulness of youth about it. Sorrow he had known, certainly, in the loss of his wife; but the sorrow that comes from the loss of one who was noble and good, and who has been taken from us by death, is of quite a different kind from that which comes from a closer acquaintance with the mass of sin and misery which exists. He did not change his view that, even this, rightly understood, is consistent with the divine benevolence; but he wished to recognise more fully its existence, and to enter more largely into the subject.

Having completed his medical studies and obtained his degree, the young physician determined to take a practice in Yeovil. The following extract from a letter, dated August 5, 1816, addressed by him to a friend in Rome,^[3] shows with what views as to his future profession he quitted Scotland.

"I leave Edinburgh this week," he writes; "I leave it with much regret, for I have found friends here whom I shall ever remember with respect, affection, and gratitude. I go to Yeovil, a little town in the west of England, where it is my intention to take charge of a congregation and at the same time to practise medicine. This double capacity of physician to body and soul does not appear to me to be incompatible, but how the plan will succeed can be determined only by the test of experience.

"My expectations are not very sanguine, but neither are my desires ambitious."

"The test of experience" proved that he was admirably qualified for the double office he had taken upon himself, and for some years he pursued faithfully the plan he had made.

But this quiet country life was not to be his always. It was decreed that he should come up to London and enter into its teeming life, to think, and write, and labour, until he had done his part towards lessening its mass of misery.