“My lectures are just now at such an absurd pitch of celebrity, that I must lose a good deal of reputation before the public settles into a just equilibrium respecting them.  I am most heartily ashamed of my own fame, because I am conscious I do not deserve it, and that the moment men of sense are provoked by the clamour to look into my claims, it will be at an end.”

Notwithstanding this premonition, the lecturer adventured on a third course, which was delivered at the same place in the spring of 1806.  “Galleries were erected, which had never before been required, and the success was complete.”  The general subject of this third course was “The Active Powers of the Mind,” and it dealt with “The Evil Affections,” “The Benevolent Affections,” “The Passions,” “The Desires,” “Surprise, Novelty, and Variety,” and “Habit.”

As soon as the lectures were delivered, the lecturer threw the manuscripts into the fire; and it is satisfactory to find that he did not take his performance very seriously, or set a very high value on his philosophical attainments.  In 1843 he wrote, in reply to Dr. Whewell’s inquiry:—­

“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 L200 to furnish my house.  The success, however, was prodigious; all Albemarle Street blocked up with carriages, and such an uproar as I never remember to have seen excited by any other literary imposture.  Every week I had a new theory about Conception and Perception, and supported it by a natural manner, a torrent of words, and an impudence scarcely credible in this prudent age.  Still, in justice to myself, I must say there were some good things in them.  But good and bad are all gone.”

As a matter of fact, however, they were not “all gone.”  Mrs. Smith had rescued the manuscripts, a good deal damaged, from the flames, and after her husband’s death she published the three courses in one volume under the title, Elementary Sketches of Moral Philosophy.

Was it worth while to publish them?  The answer must depend on the object of publication.  If the book was meant to be considered as a serious contribution to mental science, the manuscripts might as well have remained where their author threw them.  If, on the other hand, it was intended only to show the versatility, adroitness, and plausibility of a young man in need of money, nothing could have better illustrated those aspects of Sydney Smith’s character and career.  He is thirty-three years old, married, with an increasing family, and no means of subsistence beyond periodical journalism and odd jobs of clerical duty.  “Two or three random sermons,” he says, “I have discharged, and thought I perceived that the greater part of the congregation thought me mad.  The clerk was as pale as death in helping me off with my gown, for fear I should bite him.”  He wants money to furnish his house.  A benevolent