Sydney Smith preferred the legal profession, and esteemed himself a
victim in entering the Church. His practical wisdom informed him, that,
from the beginning even until then, qualities like his had not found a
happy sphere of action in the pulpit, but, on the contrary, had rusted
or grown ugly in it. He had as much sentiment as Sterne, and perhaps as
much political sagacity as Swift, yet the finest instincts within him
recoiled from following in the path of either the one or the other.
With a subtile and exuberant wit,--he knew that wit touches not sacred
things. With great practical prudence and a brilliant speculative
capacity,--in a clergyman, prudence is less than faith, and brilliancy
of thought than the glow of the heart. In his rich composite character
he had, indeed, the qualities which make the clergyman; his disposition
was religious, his heart was tender and Christian, he could give the
best advice to the people; and though his appearance was not quite
saint-like, it was at least suggestive of a good man who was walking in
the way which he pointed out to others. But these qualities were not
those with which he was most highly endowed. Energy and sterling
common-sense, which he had inherited from his father, an elastic,
mercurial, and passionate nature, which had come to him from his
Huguenot mother,--these were the strong points in his character, and it
belongs to neither of them to take the lead in the Church. Sydney had
scanned the whole field. Having questioned well his desires, examined
well his blood, derived what wisdom he could from history and
observation, he deliberately chose the law. Why, then, did he take
to theology? We read that his father had incurred so much expense in
educating his eldest son for the legal profession, and in fitting out
two others for India, that he could not well furnish the means for
Sydney's education, and strongly recommended him to go into the Church;
and that the son sacrificed his own to his father's inclination.