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Towards the close of October he followed us to London, alone, and was sadly fatigued and exhausted by his journey. He went at once to his chambers; which he never, with one exception, quitted till his death; lying stretched in his dressing-gown upon the sofa, a large table near him being covered with briefs, cases, and pleadings, which he attended to almost as regularly as if he had been in perfect health. Yet he found it difficult to sit up, his hand trembled when holding even a small book, and his cough was fearfully increased in frequency and violence, and he could get little or no sleep at nights. The reader may imagine the concern and astonishment with which I heard, that about a fortnight after his return, he had actually gone to dine at the Garrick Club! Sitting at his table there, as a friend who saw him told me, "more like a corpse than a living being; in short, I almost thought it must be his ghost!" He left his rooms, however, no more; having his dinner sent in, till within the last few days of his life, from a neighbouring tavern. He had several consultations held at his chambers, in cases where new trials were to be moved for; his leaders, (one of whom was Mr. Sergeant Talfourd,) considerately waving etiquette, and coming to their dying junior's chambers. They were, as may be supposed, most reluctant to transact business with one in his state, but he insisted upon it. He earnestly requested me not to mention at Westminster, or elsewhere, how ill I thought him; "for if you do, my clients will send me no business, and then I shall have nothing to amuse my mind with." Towards the end of the term, he observed to me one morning,—"See how very kind my clients are to me! I suspect they have heard that I cannot go to court, so they send me a great number of pleas, demurrers, and motion papers, which I have merely to sign, and get half a guinea: I think it so considerate!" About the last day of the term, I happened myself to be his opponent, in one of those minor matters of form, a motion for judgment as in case of a nonsuit, on account of my client's not having gone to trial at the preceding assizes. Mr. Smith was lying in a state of great exhaustion on the sofa; but mentioned the "rule." I told him that I had brought my brief with me,—"A peremptory undertaking, I suppose," said he, languidly, "to try at the next assizes?"—"Yes, and I will sign my own papers, and yours too, to save you the trouble,—or your clerk shall?"—"No, thank you," said he, and with difficulty raised himself. "Will you oblige me by giving me a pen?" I did so, and with a trembling hand he wrote his name on the briefs, saying, in a melancholy tone as he wrote, "It is the last time I shall sign my name with yours. Even if you perform your undertaking, I shall not be at the trial." About a week afterwards I found him finishing the last sheet of a huge mass of short-hand writer's notes of an important case in which he was concerned, and he was grievously exhausted. It was in vain to remonstrate with him! An early and devoted friend of his, and I, called upon him daily two or three times, and sat with him as long as our engagements would permit us. We found his mind always vigorous; and though he could converse little, from weakness, and its irritating his cough, his language was as exact and significant as ever, and he liked to hear others talk, especially about what was going on at Westminster. I was sitting silently beside him one afternoon, only a fortnight before his death, when a friend came in, and, after we had sat some time together, asked me a question which had just arisen in his practice. "Don't you think," said he, "that, under these circumstances, we may read the word 'forthwith,' in this act of parliament, to mean, 'as soon as reasonably may be?'" Our poor friend, who had not spoken before, and lay apparently asleep, instantly raised his head, and with some quickness observed, "Ah! if you could only read an act of parliament in any way you liked, what fine things you could do!" The reader is not, however, to suppose that Mr. Smith's mind was exclusively occupied with business, and legal topics. On the contrary, I am certain that he both read and thought much, and anxiously, on religious subjects. I saw the Bible constantly open, and also one or two religious books; in particular, Mr. Wilberforce's "Practical Christianity" lay on his table and on his sofa. He seemed, however, to feel no disposition to converse on such topics, with any one. If any one attempted to lead conversation in that direction, he would either be silent, or in a significant manner change the subject. He had a favourite copy of Dante lying often near him, and it may be interesting to state, that he has left, underscored in pencil, the two following verses in the third canto, (Del Purgatorio,) expressive of faith in the great mysteries of Christianity,—

 
"Matto è chi spera che nostra ragione,
Possa trascorrer la 'nfinita via,
Che tiene una sustanzia in tre persone.
 
 
State contente, umana gente, al quia:
Che si potuto aveste veder tutto,
Mestier non era partorir Maria."
 

It may not be necessary to say it, but I am persuaded that he was a firm believer in the truths of Christianity, and a conscientious member of the Church of England. One day, within about a fortnight of his death, he said, "There is a work which I have often heard you speak of, and which, it does so happen, I never read, though I have often wished to do so; I mean Paley's Horæ Paulinæ. I may say almost that I know his Evidences off by heart. Now, will you do me the favour of procuring me a copy of the other book, in as large type as you can, and as soon as you can, for," he added with a slight sigh, after a pause, "I have not much time to lose?" I immediately procured him the book in question; and about three days afterwards he said to me, "I have read the Horæ Paulinæ; it is a book of extraordinary merit; I very much wonder that I never read it before." I asked him if he had read "Butler's Analogy." "Oh yes, of course, several times, and know it well," he replied, rather quickly. Life was visibly ebbing fast away during the first week in December. He grew weaker and weaker almost hourly, and scarcely ever rose from his sofa, where he always lay in his dressing-gown, except to go to his bed-room, which adjoined and opened into his sitting-room. He would even then allow no one to be in his chamber with him during the might! not even his attentive and attached laundress, or his clerk! I once very strongly urged upon him to allow the former to sleep in the chambers. "Either she leaves my chambers at her usual hour," said he, peremptorily, "or I do." We felt it, however, impossible to allow this; and, without his being aware of it, his clerk and laundress by turns continued to spend the night in one of the adjoining rooms. It was well that such was the case, for he began to get delirious during the nights. About ten days before his death, a great and marked change came very suddenly over him: his eyes assumed a strange glazed appearance, and his voice was altogether altered. His mind, however, continued calm and collected as ever. He moaned continually, though gently, assuring us, however, repeatedly that he felt no pain, "but an exhaustion that is quite inconceivable by you." Not many days before his end, he gave us a signal proof of the integrity of his reasoning faculties. Two of his friends, I and another, were sitting with him, and he told us, as he often latterly had, that he heard strange voices in the room. He asked the one who sat next him if there were not strangers at that moment in the room speaking? When assured that there were not, he said very earnestly, "Will you, however, oblige me by looking immediately under the sofa, and tell me whether there is really no one there?" His friend looked, and solemnly assured him that there was no one there. "Now," said he, with some difficulty, after a pause, and suddenly looking at us, "how extraordinary this is! Of course, after what you say, I am bound to believe you, and the voices I hear are consequently imaginary: yet I hear them uttering articulate sounds; they are human voices; they speak to me intelligibly. What can make that impression upon the organ of hearing—upon the tympanum? How is it done? There must be some strange disorder in the organs. I can't understand it, nor the state of my own faculties!" Then he relapsed into the state of drowsy, moaning, half-unconsciousness, in which he spent the last fortnight of his life. For a few days previously, no more briefs or papers were taken in by the clerk: but one, a case for an opinion, which had been brought about a week before, Mr. Smith immediately read over with a view of answering it. In consequence of a communication from the physician, we at once summoned Mr. Smith's two brothers, the one from Dublin Castle, and the other (an officer on board the Devastation Steam Frigate) from Portsmouth. Both of them came as quickly as possible, and remained to the last in affectionate attendance upon their afflicted brother. About three days before his death, he was asked if he wished to receive the sacrament. "Yes," he immediately replied, "I was about to ask for it, but feared I was too ill to go through with it. I request it may now be administered to me as soon as can be, for I am sensible that I have no time to lose; and I beg that the rubric may be strictly complied with in all respects." This he said specially with reference to the prescribed number ("three, or two at the least") of communicants beside himself. The Rev. Mr. Harding, father of one of his intimate friends, being near at hand, immediately attended, and administered that sacred and awful rite: Lieutenant Smith, I, and another, partaking of the sacrament with our dying friend. He was in full possession of his faculties. He could not rise from the sofa, but made a great effort to incline towards the clergyman, lying with his hands clasped upon his breast. When the name of our Saviour was mentioned, he inclined his head with profound reverence of manner. It was, indeed, a very solemn and affecting scene, such as will never be effaced from my memory. When it was over, Mr. Smith gently grasped the hand of Mr. Harding, and faintly thanked him for his kindness in so promptly attending. He was unable, at night, to walk to his bed; to which he was assisted by his brother and a friend. The dark curtain was now rapidly descending between him and this life. He never rose again from bed; but lay therein the same moaning yet comparatively tranquil state in which he had been during the week. On the morning of the day of his death, I went early to sit beside him, alone; gazing at his poor emaciated countenance, with inexpressible feelings. Shortly after I left, his oldest friend took my place; and, after a while, to his great surprise, Mr. Smith, on recognising him, asked if a particular "case,"—"Exparte ——" was not still in chambers? On being answered in the affirmative, he requested his friend to get pen, ink, and paper, and he would dictate the opinion! His friend, though conceiving him to be wandering and delirious, complied with his request; on which Mr. Smith slightly elevated himself in bed, and, to the amazement of his friend, in a perfectly calm and collected manner, but with great difficulty of utterance, dictated not only an appropriate, but a correct and able opinion on a case of considerable difficulty! When he had concluded, with the words, "the case is practically remediless," he requested that what had been written might be read over. It was done, and he said, on its being concluded, "There is only one alteration necessary—strike out the words 'on the case,' leaving it 'action,' simpliciter;" thereby showing an exact appreciation of a point in the case, with reference to the suggested form of action, of much difficulty! After this effort he rallied no more, but lay in a dozing state all day; his friend, his brother, and myself, by turns, sitting at his bedside. He appeared to suffer no pain. I sate with him till about six o'clock, gazing at him with mournful intensity, perceiving that the struggle was rapidly drawing to a close. Being compelled to leave, I intended to have returned at eight o'clock; but, alas! a little before that hour, tidings were brought me that at shortly after seven o'clock our poor friend had been released from his sufferings. A few minutes before he expired, none being present but his brother and the laundress, he gently placed his left hand under his left cheek, and, after a few soft breathings, each longer than the preceding one, without apparent pain, ceased to exist upon earth. I immediately repaired to his chambers, and joined his brother and his oldest friend. They were sitting in mournful silence in his sitting room. Around us were all the evidences of our departed friend's very recent occupancy—his spectacles lay on the table;—many briefs, some of which I had seen his own feeble hands open only a few days before, so remained, as well as various books; among which were two large interleaved copies of his "Mercantile Law" and "Leading Cases," with considerable MS. additions and corrections in his own handwriting. When I looked at all these, and reflected that the prematurely wasted remains of one of my earliest and most faithful friends lay, scarce yet cold, in the adjoining room, I own that I felt it difficult to suppress my emotions.

 
        Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus
Tam cari capitis?
 

He died on the 17th December, 1845. On looking among his papers, there was found a will which he had executed so long before as the year 1837, for a reason assigned in that document, viz., that on the 3d of July in that year, was passed the important Act of 7 Will. IV., and 1 Vict. c. 26, which rendered it necessary for all wills to be signed by the testator in the presence of two or more attesting witnesses, none having till then been necessary in the case of wills of personal estate, which alone Mr. Smith left behind him. This document contains some characteristic touches. It begins in this old fashioned and formal style:—

"In the name of God, Amen!

"I, John William Smith, of the Inner Temple, barrister-at-law, being minded to make my last will and testament before the act passed in the first year of the reign of Her present Majesty, (whom God long preserve,) entitled 'An Act for the Amendment of the Law with respect to Wills,' shall have come into operation, do make this my last will and testament; that is to say," &c. &c.: and he proceeded, after giving some trifling mementoes to his friends, to bequeath all his property to his two executors, in trust for his sisters. He directed that his coffin should not be closed till after decay should have visibly commenced in his body; a precaution against the possibility of premature interment: which he always regarded with peculiar apprehension. He proceeded to direct that he should be buried in the burying-ground around the Temple church, a right which he always contended was possessed by every member of the Inn. With this request, however, it was impossible for the Benchers to comply, though anxious, by every means in their power, to do honour to his memory. He was, therefore, buried, on the 24th December, 1845, at Kensal Green. Had it been deemed desirable by his brothers and executors, a great number of the members of the bar would have attended his funeral. As it was, however, sixteen only of those most intimate with him followed his remains to their last resting-place. A small stone, placed at the head of his grave, merely mentions his name, age, and profession, and the day of his death; and adds, that a tablet to his memory is erected in the Temple church. On the ensuing Sunday, the Benchers of the Inner Temple caused the staff, or pole, surmounted with the arms of the Inn, carved in silver, and which is always borne before the Benchers into church, and placed at the corner of their pew, to be covered with crape, and the vergers to wear scarves; a tribute of respect which had never before then, I believe, been paid to any but deceased Benchers. They expressed anxiety to pay every honour to the memory of so distinguished a member of the Inn, and cordially assented to the request that a tablet should be placed in the Triforium, where one of white marble now stands, bearing the following fitting inscription, written by his friend, Mr. Phillimore, of the Oxford circuit:—

JOH: GVL: SMITH

IN. STVDIIS. HVMANITATIS. AC. LITTERARVM

A. PVERITIA. SUMMA. LAVDE. VERSATO

LEGVM. ET. CONSVETVDINIS. ANGLIÆ

TVM. JVRIS. NEGOTIANTIBVS PROPRII

PERITISSIMO. VT. SCRIPTA. QVÆ. MAGNAM

ETIAM. TRANSMARINAS. APVD. GENTES

AUCTORITATEM. CONSECVTA. SUNT. TESTANTVR

MEMORIA. DILIGENTIA. ACVMINE. DOCTRINA

NECNON. FIDE. ET. BENEVOLENTIA. SINGVLARI

A. FORO. VBI. QVOAD. VIXIT. INGENII. LAVDE

CREVIT

IMMATVRA. MORTE. ABREPTO

H: L: S: E

NATVS. A.D. MDCCCIX. OBIT. IDIBVS. DEC. A.D

MDCCCXLV

Thus died, and thus was honoured in his, alas! premature death, John William Smith: leaving behind him a name of unsullied purity, and a permanent reputation, among a body of men noted for their severe discrimination in estimating character. He practised his profession in the spirit of a Gentleman, disdaining all those vulgar and degrading expedients now too often resorted to, for the purpose of securing success at the bar. He waited, and prepared for, his opportunity with modest patience, and fortitude, and indomitable industry and energy. He possessed an intellect of uncommon power, consummately disciplined, and capable of easily mastering any thing to which its energies were directed. Having devoted himself to jurisprudence, he obtained a marvellously rapid mastery, both theoretically and practically, over its greatest difficulties, leaving behind him writings which have contributed equally to facilitate the study and the practice of the law, in an enlightened spirit. Had Providence been pleased to prolong his life, the voice of the profession would, within a very few years, have called for his elevation to the judicial bench, and he would have proved one of its brightest ornaments. Nor did he sink the scholar in the lawyer, but cherished to the last those varied, elegant, refined, and refining tastes and pursuits, which, having acquired him early academical distinction, rendered in after life his intercourse always delightful to the most accomplished and gifted of his friends and acquaintance, and supplied him with a never-failing source of intellectual recreation. Above all, his conduct was uniformly characterised by truth and honour, by generosity and munificence, hid from nearly all but the objects of it; and by a profound reverence for religion, and a sincere faith in that Christianity whose consolations he experienced in the trying time of sickness and death, and which could alone afford him a well-founded hope of eternal peace and happiness.

Inner Temple, 8th January, 1847.

MODERN ITALIAN HISTORY. ¹²

Upon the fifth day of February, 1783, the province of Calabria was visited with a terrific earthquake. "The sway of earth shook like a thing unfirm," thousands of houses crumbled to their base, tens of thousands of human beings were buried beneath ruins, or engulfed by the gaping ground. In the small and ancient town of Squillace, the devastation was frightful; amongst others, the spacious mansion of the noble family of Pépé was overthrown and utterly destroyed. At the time of this calamity, Irene Assanti, the wife of Gregorio Pépé, was in daily expectation of being brought to bed. In vain was it attempted to find a fitting refuge for the suffering and feeble woman. The ruin that had overtaken her dwelling extended for leagues around; not a roof-tree stood in the doomed district; misery and desolation reigned throughout the land. A tent was hastily erected; and, under its scanty shelter, in a season of extreme rigour, the lady gave birth to a son, who was baptised by the name of William.

Soothsayers would have augured a stormy existence to the child who thus first saw light when "the frame and huge foundation of the earth shak'd like a coward." Such omens might have attended the birth of an Alexander, a Cæsar, or a Napoleon, marking the advent of one of those human meteors sent at long intervals to astonish and dazzle the world. In this instance, if the man born during Nature's most terrible convulsion, was not destined to exercise a material or lasting influence on the fate of nations, at least his lot was cast in troublous and agitated times; he took share in great events, came in contact with extraordinary men, passed through perils and adventures such as few encounter, and fewer still survive. The last sixty years, comprising the most interesting and important chapter in the history of Europe, perhaps of the world, have been prolific in sudden transformations and startling reverses of fortune. During that period of revolution and restless activity, we have seen peasants become princes, private soldiers occupying the thrones of great and civilized countries, obscure individuals in every walk of life raised by opportunity, genius, and the caprice of fate, to the most exalted positions. Some of these have maintained themselves on the giddy pinnacle on which fortune placed them. They are the few. Reverses, even more sudden and extraordinary than their upward progress, have cast down the majority from their high estate. The transitions have been rapid, from the palace to the prison, from the sway of kingdoms to the sufferings of emigration, from the command of mighty armies to the weariness and obscurity of a forced inactivity. Fortunes built up in a year, have been knocked down in a month; again reconstructed, they have been yet more rapidly destroyed. Such changes have been as numerous, often as strikingly contrasted, as the shifting visions of a magic lantern, or the fitful corruscations of a firework. Within a short half century, how often has the regal purple been bartered for the fugitive's disguise, the dictator's robe for a prison garb, the fortunate soldier's baton of command for the pilgrim's staff and the bitter bread of exile. Notable instances of such disastrous fluctuations are to be found in the memoirs of the Neapolitan general Guglielmo Pépé.

One of the youngest of a family of two-and-twenty children, born of wealthy and highly descended parents, young Pépé was placed, before he was seven years old, in the royal college of Catanzaro. There, his father, anxious that his education should be complete and excellent, intended him to remain until the age of eighteen. The peculiar disposition of the boy proved a grave obstacle to the accomplishment of the paternal wish. Nature had destined him for a military career, and his tendency to a soldier's life was early manifest. To the studies that would have qualified him for a learned profession, he showed an insurmountable aversion; Latin he detested; on the other hand, geography, history, and mathematics, were cultivated by him with a zeal and eagerness that astonished his professors. He had just attained his fourteenth year, when two of his brothers, but a little older than himself, left the military college at Naples, and received commissions in the army. This redoubled the military ardour of their junior, who had already caught the warlike feeling with which the Neapolitan government strove at that time to inspire the nation. He urged his father to purchase him a commission; his father refused, and the wilful boy absconded from college. Brought back again, he a second time escaped, and enlisted in a regiment of riflemen. Again he was captured, and the poor Sergeant who had accepted the juvenile recruit, was thrown into prison for enticing away a pupil of the royal college. But this time Gregorio Pépé thought it advisable to yield to the wishes of his headstrong son, and allowed him to enter the military school. He remained there two years, and left it to join, as drill sergeant, a company of the newly raised national guard. This was in 1799. Towards the close of the previous year, the ill-disciplined and inefficient Neapolitan army, composed for the most part of raw and uninstructed levies, had marched into the Papal States; and, the French having evacuated it, had entered Rome without opposition. The triumph was very brief. Neither the Neapolitan troops, nor their leader, General Mack, were capable of contending successfully against the skilful officers and well-trained soldiers opposed to them. On the first alarm, the pusillanimous Ferdinand of Naples fled from Rome in disguise, and soon afterwards embarked for Sicily with his wife and court, carrying away "the wealth and jewels of the crown, the most valuable antiquities, the most precious works of art, and what remained from the pillage of the banks and churches, which had been lying in the mint either in bullion or specie." The amount of the rich treasure was estimated at twenty millions of ducats. The French still advanced, feebly opposed by the disheartened Neapolitans and their inefficient foreign leaders. Gaeta, the Gibraltar of Italy, was surrendered after a few hours' siege, by an old general so ignorant of his profession that we are told he was accustomed to seek counsel from the bishop of the town. Capua, the bulwark of the capital, was given up by Ferdinand's vicar-general, Prince Pignatelli, in consideration of a two months' truce, which lasted, however, but as many days. A condition of this disgraceful armistice was a payment of two and a half millions of ducats. The money was not forthcoming; and the French commander, General Championnet, marched upon Naples. After three days' obstinate combat, maintained around and in the city by the lazzaroni, victory remained with the assailants. They were aided by the republican or patriot party, who delivered up to them the fort of St. Elmo. By this party, then a very small minority in Naples—much the greater part of whose population, ignorant, fanatical, and worked upon by wily priests, were frantic in their hatred of the French, and of the Jacobins, as they called the liberal section of their own countrymen—the triumph of the invaders was looked upon as a temporary evil, trifling when compared with the advantages that would result from it. Amongst the most enthusiastic liberals was young Pépé, who had already conceived that ardent love of liberty, which, throughout life, has been his mainspring of action. He hailed with delight the publication of the edict by which Naples was erected into the Parthenopean Republic. He was eager to enter the new army, whose organisation had been decreed, but his tender age made his brothers oppose his wish, and he was fain to content himself with a post in the national guard.

The new republic was destined to a very short existence. The provisional government, consisting, in imitation of the French system, of six committees, displayed little activity and still less judgment. It neglected to conciliate and win over the popular party, which remained stanch to the Bourbons and absolutism; it took little pains to convince the bigoted multitude of the advantages and blessings of a free constitution. The treasury was bare, the harvest had been bad, the coast was blockaded, and their difficulties were aggravated by the heavy taxes imposed, and rigorously levied by Championnet for the support of his army. These impositions, and a decree for the disarming of the people, produced discontent even amongst the friends of the new institutions. Nevertheless, Championnet, by showing an interest in the rising Republic, had gained a certain degree of popularity, when he was recalled to Paris to be tried by a court-martial, for his opposition to the exactions of a French civil commissary, "one of those voracious blood-suckers, whom the French government was wont to fasten upon the newly formed republics which it created, and upon which it bestowed the derisive title of independent." General Macdonald succeeded Championnet; the commissary, maintained in his functions, had full scope for extortion, and the Republican government, unable, for want of money, to organise an army that might have given permanence to its existence, became daily more unpopular, and visibly tottered to its downfal. Meanwhile, on the opposite coast of Sicily, Ferdinand, his adherents and allies, were any thing but idle. They issued proclamations, lavished money, spared no means to excite the people to revolt against the French and their favourers. Every support and encouragement was given to the disaffected, and at last Cardinal Ruffo landed in Calabria, and by proclamations issued in his name, and in that of Ferdinand, promised the property and estates of the patriots to those who should take up arms for the holy cause of the king. Apulia was overrun by four Corsican adventurers; the other provinces were infested by bands of ruffians, mostly the outpourings of the prisons and galleys, which had been thrown open by the furious populace when preparing to defend the city against the French. A miller, by name Mammone, was one of the most ferocious and dreaded leaders of these banditti. His cruelties, as related by General Pépé, almost exceed belief. "He butchered in the most dreadful manner all who fell into his power, and with his own hands murdered nearly four hundred of them, chiefly Frenchmen and Neapolitans. Blood-thirsty by nature, he seemed to revel in shedding blood, and carried his cruelty to such a pitch, that when seated at his meals, he delighted in having constantly before him a human head newly divided from the trunk and streaming with blood. This monster, the perpetrator of so many horrors, was, nevertheless, greeted by King Ferdinand and his Queen Caroline, in the most affectionate manner by the title of 'dear general,' and of 'faithful supporter of the throne.'"