Happy philosophy, that could permit him calmly to contemplate the vicissitudes to which his bones might be subjected, even to the legitimate possibility of the sanctuary chosen for their resting-place being actually invaded by the blows of the workmen’s pickaxe, as veritably did occur some few years since, when the curious of the present generation were thus accidentally afforded an opportunity of cultivating a personal acquaintance with the anatomical outlines and phrenological developments of one whose intellectual offspring had been canonized, and enshrined among the household gods of the learned and the great for more than a century.
The very slight sketches of eminent characters that are suitable for so light and general a book as
this, may perhaps be legitimately introduced in the course of a tour among the churches, their parochial headships affording the best facilities for arrangement; but it seems almost sacrilege to hash up into abridgements or synopses, biographies so fraught with national and European interest, as are many of those whose birth-place has been the Old City of Norwich, yet more is impossible within the compass of the Rambler’s pen; and to adopt the alternative of omitting all mention of such names, would be to blot out some of the brightest pages from the annals of its history.
Among them, and perhaps the highest upon the pinnacle of fame, is that of Sir James Edward Smith, the Linnæus of our country, the concentration of whose “life and Correspondence” into two bulky volumes, evinces wondrous powers of discriminating selection, and condensation, in the biographer who has undertaken the important and onerous task. What, then, can be effected in the hasty notices of a mere rambler’s gleanings? Little more, if so much, as a bare outline of the leading features in the life of this brilliant ornament of our city and country, but enough, we trust, to lead any who have not already acquired a more intimate knowledge of his personal history, to feel earnest to repair the omission. He was a native of the parish of St. Peter’s Mancroft; and of his education, it is worthy
of note, that he never left the parental roof to enter either a public or private boarding-school: he is one of the many favourable testimonies to the advantages of a strictly domestic education, conducted by aid of the most efficient masters, under the immediate superintendence of parental care. About the age of eighteen, he devoted himself to the study of botany as a science, and says himself, “the only book he could then procure was ‘Berkenhout,’ Hudson’s ‘Flora’ having become extremely scarce.” He received “Berkenhout” on the 9th of January, 1778, and on the 11th began to examine the Ule curopæus (common furze), and then first comprehended the nature of systematic arrangement, little aware that, at that instant, the world was losing the great genius who was to be to him so important a future guide, and whose vacant place in the world of science he was destined so ably to fill. Linnæus died that night, January 11th, 1778.
In 1780 Mr. Smith went to Edinburgh, and from thence to London, with a view to study for the medical profession. During his stay there, he became intimate with Sir Joseph Banks, an eminent patron of natural science, through whom he heard that the library and museum of Linnæus were for sale, and immediately he entered into negotiations with Dr. Acrel, of Upsal, concerning it, which ended in his becoming the purchaser of the whole collection at
the price of nine hundred guineas. From London he went to Leyden, and graduated as a physician at the university there. From thence he proceeded on a tour, visiting most of the classical spots and celebrated places in Italy and France, and upon his return to London devoted himself almost exclusively to pursuits connected with his favourite science, botany. By the assistance of his personal friend, the Bishop of Carlisle, one among the many great minds with whom he held constant communion, he set about establishing the Linnæan Society. Its first meeting was held in April, 1788, when an introductory address, “On the Rise and Progress of Natural History,” was read by Sir James, then Dr. Smith, which paper formed the first article in the “Transactions of the Linnæan Society,” a work which has since extended itself to twenty quarto volumes. In 1792 Dr. Smith was invited to give instructions in botany to the queen and princesses at Frogmore; and in 1814, received the honour of knighthood from the Prince Regent.
Ill health caused Sir James to return to his native county to recruit his strength, and there he continued to pursue his literary avocations in comparative privacy. His “English Botany” is a work consisting of thirty-six octavo volumes, and contains 2592 figures of British plants. It is a curious and melancholy coincidence, that the fourth volume of
his “English Flora” reached him on the very last day he ever entered his library; and he thus had the gratification of seeing the completion of a work which, in his own estimation, was calculated, beyond all the other labours of his pen, to establish his reputation as a botanist, and confirm his erudition as an author.
St. Giles, the next in order of the saintships, in addition to its architectural beauties, with which we pretend not to “meddle,” presents a few legendary claims to our notice. The effigy of St. Christopher, of a monstrous size, with his staff sprouting by his side, was originally painted over the north door, as the patron saint of children presented for baptism, who generally were brought in at that door. In most churches where a north door existed, this image or painting of St. Christopher was wont to appear, depicted on as large a scale as the wall would permit, in conformity with the legend that he was a saint of noble and large stature. In the aisle once stood a chapel, altar, and image of St. Catherine, with a light burning before it, and against one of the pillars stood a famous rood, called the Brown Rood.