It was the boast of Sydney Smith in old age that he had very little to change in the opinions which he had at various times advanced,—­that he had seen every important measure which he had advocated passed and become recognized as beneficent.  The variety of the review suited the versatility of his talent; the problem, What worthy thing shall I employ myself in doing? was solved; and an ample public career was opened to him.  When, after five years, he passes from Edinburgh to London, he is not only a poor clergyman, but a famous Edinburgh reviewer.  He becomes popular in society and as a preacher, and delivers pictures on Moral Philosophy to crowded houses of the elite of the metropolis.

When he is again exiled as a curate, his solitude is not unbroken, but he receives and returns the visits of the most eminent people.  His neighbors ran to him one day, shortly after his arrival, exclaiming, —­“Please your honor, a coach! a coach! a coach!” Sydney saw in the distance the equipage of Lord Holland, and challenged the admiration of his parishioners by boldly answering,—­“Well, my good friends, stand firm; never mind, even if there should be a coach; it will do us no harm;—­let us see.”  A simple pastor and an eminent man, with flashing energy he approves himself a good man.  Sunday he preached, Monday he doctored the sick, Tuesday Sir James Mackintosh visited him for a week, Wednesday he read Ariosto, Thursday he began an article, Friday he reviewed his patients, Saturday he repaired his barn.  Now he is laying down a rule that no day shall pass in which he will not make somebody happy; now he is fixing a bar whereon it shall be convenient for his cows to scrape their backs; now he is watching by the side of his sleeping baby, with a rattle in hand to wake the young spirit into joyousness the moment its sleep breaks.  He goes through the parish as doctor, wit, and priest, guide, philosopher, and friend, studying the temper and needs of the simple congregation to which he preaches on Sunday, while his brain is racking with great thoughts.  With these higher thoughts he has to do as he sits at his desk and writes an article for the larger parish of the United Kingdom.  With a wild play of wit and fancy and laughter he graces the sturdy column of his virtue and fidelity.  He lived in what was said to be the ugliest and most comfortable house in England, admired by every visitor for his independence, manliness, refinement, and liveliness.  When he visited London, as he often did, and when in later years he lived there and was lionne, his simplicity of character remained.  To the last he was one of the sincerest and most active of clergymen and of men.