Copy 1, Volume 2

The miscellaneous works of Tobias Smollett, M.D. with memoirs of his life and writings / by R. Anderson.

  • Tobias Smollett
Date:
1806
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The miscellaneous works of Tobias Smollett, M.D. with memoirs of his life and writings / by R. Anderson. Source: Wellcome Collection.

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    world, to some place where he might at leisure deplore his misfortunes, and by frugality secure himself from want and the apprehensions of a jail, with which his imagination was incessantly haunted. He was often heard to express his fears of coming upon the parish, and to bless God, that, on ac¬ count of his having been so long a housekeeper, he w as enti¬ tled to that provision. In short, his talents w ere not naturally active, and there was a sort of inconsistency in his charac¬ ter ; for, with all the desire of amassing wliich any citizen could possibly entertain, he was encumbered by a certain indolence and sluggishness that prevailed over every inter¬ ested consideration, and even hindered him from profiting by the singleness of apprehension and moderation of appe¬ tites, which have so frequently conduced to the acquisition of immense fortunes,—qualities which he possessed in a very remarkable degree. Nature, in all probability, had mixed little or nothing inflammable in his composition ; or, what¬ ever seeds of excess she might have sown within him, were effectually stifled and destroyed by the austerity of his edu¬ cation. The sallies of his youth, far from being inordinate or cri¬ minal, never exceeded the bounds of that decent jollity, which an extraordinary pot, on extraordinary occasions, may be supposed to have produced in a club of sedate book-keepers, whose imaginations were neither very warm nor luxuriant. Little subject to refined sensations, he was scarce ever disturbed with violent emotions of any kind. The passion of love never interrupted his tranquillity; and if, as Mr. Creech says after Horace, Not to admire is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so, Mr. Pickle was undoubtedly possessed of that invaluable secret; at least he was never known to betray the faintest symptom of transport, except one evening at the club, w here he observed, with some demonstrations of vivacity, that he had dined upon a delicate loin of veal. Notwithstanding this appearance of phlegm, he could not help feeling his disappointments in trade; and, upon the fail¬ ure of a certain underwriter, by which he lost five hundred
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