Beyond a brief few weeks up at Pembroke College around Christmas 1784—where he undoubtedly saw much of William Thomson, who was now teaching anatomy and preparing the university's first course on mineralogy (and where Smithson also seems to have thrown a huge party, as the buttery books show his expenditures to be vastly higher during the last week of the year than anyone else's at Pembroke)—Smithson was, as he wrote to James Hutton, "since my return from Scotland … very little at Oxford."15 He opened his own bank account at Hoare's at the sign of the Golden Bottle on Fleet Street, in the thrum of the city near Temple Bar. The bank, which had strong ties to Wiltshire, was where his mother—and also his father, the Duke of Northumberland—transacted her business. Although it is difficult to gain a full understanding of Smithson's finances, his income at this early stage appears to have derived primarily from three sources: investments (he had purchased a sizeable amount of the Bank of England's consolidated 3 percents and 5 percents, stocks that operated like today's bonds), regular income from various properties, and unidentified cash deposits.16 Smithson was already playing the lottery, which in the unstable financial climate of the end of the eighteenth century was practically as remunerative as investing in the Bank stocks (twice in 1788 alone he won prizes).17
He moved into the city from Surrey and settled into apartments in one of the grandest new developments in London, at No. 18 Portland Place.18 The tradition of renting in town was very strong, as most were in residence primarily for the frenetic season defined by the rituals of Parliament; the recesses were passed in the country and on visits to spa towns and the resorts of the Continent. Smithson remained a renter his whole life, having—as one nineteenth-century biographical dictionary noted—"the taste for travel, to the point of not wanting to settle anywhere."19 Portland Place, his first home in London, was considered one of the finest avenues in all Europe.
The choice of a residence was all-important. Each square conferred its own reputation, and each street stood a measurable degree from the epicenter of fashion. As one visitor explained, "The line of demarcation, north and south, runs through Soho Square. Every minute of longitude east is equal to as many degrees of gentility minus, or towards west, plus."20 Addresses were codes of status, easily readable by contemporaries. They were more than an indicator of wealth, though they were that, of course, first of all. They implied connections and interests; they reflected the reputations of one's neighbors. One's address was an integral part of one's identity, a piece of information one could be expected to yield up for scrutiny. Set down in the rules and regulations of one of the first societies to which Smithson gained entry was the directive: "The proposer must give an account of the social, as well as the philosophical character of the candidate, together with the candidate's place of abode. A neglect of this last requisite renders the proposal void."21
Such concern was typical of the changing profile of clubs in London. By the 1780s clubs and societies were increasingly professional. They adopted official rules, followed a strict order of business, kept minutes and passed around printed by-laws.22 Entry into the London club world—and for Smithson this would have applied especially for the Royal Society with its many aristocratic members—was also an initiation into philanthropy. Most societies drew their members from the upper and middling classes. These organizations were devoted to fostering a tradition of patronage from privilege.23 Smithson was eager to assume his role as a patron. He engaged with his very first society, the Society for Promoting Natural History, by becoming a life member.24 By bolstering the fledgling club with a more substantial financial commitment than that obligated by simple annual dues, Smithson asserted his support for the ideals of championing scientific discourse and disseminating knowledge. In so doing he also reinforced his position as a wealthy gentleman and gratified his sense of superiority. From the beginning of his public life, James Smithson identified himself as a benefactor.
At his very first attendance of the Society for Promoting Natural History, accompanied by Thomson who had come down from Oxford, Smithson was one of five members selected to head a mineralogy committee. He brought as show-and-tell a specimen of the highly prized "Terra Ponderosa combined with Gas (or Fix'd Air)," which he had learned about from Joseph Black in Edinburgh. Naturalists were at the time obsessed with this lustrous, milky-colored mineral, known also as heavy spar or barite (barium carbonate); the physician William Withering had only recently presented his findings on its composition to the Royal Society (it was later named witherite in his honor), and a few years later the doctor Adair Crawford developed a solution of terra ponderosa he believed could be used as a remedy for "cancerous & scrophulous diseases." Thomson must have been quite envious of Smithson's specimen; just a few weeks earlier he had written to Joseph Black, begging for some examples, saying, "I take the freedom of a pupil in requesting specimens of this curious mineral in its various forms—as I know nowhere else that it can be obtained. ., "25
The Society for Promoting Natural History's gatherings at the Black Bear immediately enlarged Smithson's community in London. Among his new friends was Johann Gottlieb Groschke, a German physician and professor visiting London. Groschke brought to one meeting his collection of volcanic productions from Weissenstein near Kassel in Hesse (a place where Smithson would spend a number of years during the Napoleonic Wars). He also gave Smithson a copy of his translation of Martin Klaproth's Observations relative to the mineralogical and chemical history of the fossils of Cornwall, printed by the radical bookseller Joseph Johnson.26 David Pitcairn, the SPNH member who had nominated Groschke, became another of Smithson's acquaintances. Pitcairn was a doctor at St. Bartholomew's and served as physician extraordinary to the Prince of Wales. His father had been killed at Bunker Hill and his brother was the midshipman who had first spotted what became known as Pitcairn Island, later famous for hosting the lost colony of mutineers from the Bounty. Most importantly, Pitcairn was a Fellow of the Royal Society and would eventually become one of Smithson's sponsors.
Smithson's new life in London was dedicated to building his networks. He was already—at the tender age of twenty—corresponding with some of the most important scientific figures in Britain, such as the luminaries he'd met in Edinburgh: James Hutton, who had given him a commission, and Joseph Black. He shrewdly solidified this web of correspondents by offering himself up as a reporter, a reliable source on the news from London. At a time when travel was still difficult and time-consuming, the exchange of information via letters remained vital, and the role of correspondent was accordingly an invaluable one. Joseph Black told Smithson, "We have no chemical news. … Indistinct reports of new metals have reached us, but no particulars. Some further account of these things from you will, therefore, be very agreeable. Dr. Hutton joins me in compliments, and wishing you all good things."27 Smithson also cultivated alliances by helping along friends who wanted to advance in the scientific world. In May 1785 he proposed his Oxford companion Christopher Pegge, now in London at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, for membership in the Society for Promoting Natural History.
Smithson was up at Oxford for all of the summer of 1785 through to early October, the only gentleman-commoner in residence at Pembroke during this period.28 It was an eventful summer at the university, filled with James Sadler's balloon launches as well as a momentous visit by the King and Queen. On September 13 all the bells in Oxford rang and the city was illuminated at night to celebrate the first visit of the royal family to the university since Queen Anne at the beginning of the century.29
When Smithson returned to London he moved to rented quarters in John Street, Golden Square, in Soho. It was an area that had lost much of its cachet following the development of more fashionable squares to the west. Occupied now more by solicitors, doctors, chemists, and apothecaries, it would nevertheless have placed him right in the center of London's scientific bustle—a short walk from myriad places where Smithson could have carried on his program of chemical self-education. Bryan Higgins ran a pricey
private chemical school out of his house on Greek Street, William Nicholson operated a "Scientific Establishment for Pupils" at No. 10 Soho Square, and, most importantly, Sir Joseph Banks hosted a stimulating extension of the Royal Society meetings in the open breakfasts and Sunday gatherings at his Soho Square house.30 William Thomson was also back in London for the winter of 1785-6, writing up lectures for his next course at Oxford. In the spring of 1785 Thomson had been appointed Reader in Anatomy. He was charged now with giving two courses each year and, more problematically, with obtaining at least one human body to dissect for each course. Cadavers were hard to come by; until the passing of the Anatomy Act in 1832, hanged criminals were the only legitimate source of bodies for dissection. Under Thomson the school began paying an annual subscription to the Association for Prosecuting Felons.31
As Smithson's circle expanded in London he made two acquaintances critical to his future. One was the brilliant and reclusive Henry Cavendish, one of the most respected men of science in any country by the 1780s. Cavendish was cousin to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and both his parents were children of dukes. His wealth and family connections offered avenues to a very different kind of existence. But Cavendish never married, dedicating his life to practical investigations of nearly all the physical sciences of his time: magnetism, electricity, chemistry, mathematics, mechanics, optics, and geology. Cavendish had few close friends and spoke rarely—though when he did talk, his words, as Humphry Davy later noted, were "luminous and profound."32 Intensely discomfited in social situations, he went so far as to communicate with his servants by letter. In the world of science he found a small family-like community and some comfort; he almost never missed a Royal Society Club dinner, attending even up to the weeks before his death. The relish with which Smithson pursued knowledge and the exactitude of his chemical work probably appealed to Cavendish. Both were refugees from the traditional path of the gentleman, men of wealth who chose science above all else. Cavendish took Smithson to the Royal Society Club early on in their acquaintance, evidence that he would support him for membership.33
The other figure to whom Smithson was introduced was the gregarious Irish chemist Richard Kirwan. Kirwan had come to science relatively late—having embarked first, after college on the Continent at the University of Poitiers, on life as a Jesuit novice and latterly being called to the Irish bar. In London Kirwan energetically cultivated many correspondents; he knew most of the prominent European savants and literati and even received a portrait from Catherine the Great as a token of her esteem. He was elected F.R.S. in 1780 and around the same time helped to found the Coffee House Philosophical Society, a natural extension of the Wednesday evening scientific salons he held at his house off Oxford Street.34
These two highly regarded men—one a reclusive genius who offered a world of riches within his private library and laboratory, the other a networker who provided entrée to all of scientific Europe—provided Smithson with outstanding prospects. A week after Cavendish took Smithson to his first Royal Society Club dinner in March 1786, Kirwan nominated Smithson for membership in the Coffee House Philosophical Society.35
The Coffee House Philosophical Society epitomized the late eighteenth-century Enlightenment ideals of public science. Members came from different ranks of society, but they espoused an egalitarian approach to the society of knowledge. They believed fervently in creating a democratic participatory sphere in which to practice and communicate discovery. In true republican spirit they refused to give the group a proper name (it has come to be known by the coffeehouse in which it first met), insisted upon a rotating presidency for the group, and declined to stand when a newcomer appeared in the room. No specialist topics were permitted in their discussions, as it was imperative that conversation be open to all. Medical discourses were thus shunned, as were "mathematical disquisitions" and topics in astronomy. The conversation, according to the rules established, "must be general, and not between particular members, and commences with an enquiry on the part of the chairman." When so much was happening in natural philosophy, especially in the worlds of chemistry and mineralogy, meetings such as those in the Chapter Coffee House were vital. Discussion was expressly forbidden at the Royal Society, and London coffeehouse culture offered opportunities to debate the latest theories, many of which challenged long-held orthodoxies.36
Although discussions were kept to "philosophical" (i.e. scientific) matters, many of the participants identified strongly with the American cause. As the end of the century neared, these views lay increasingly at odds with those of England around them. No fewer than three members of the society—Joseph Priestley, Benjamin Vaughan, and Thomas Cooper—emigrated to the United States to escape persecution in England in the mid-1790s, when the reactionary backlash to the French Revolution reached its zenith.
Many of the members had correspondents among the fledgling American scientific community. A number of them—including Smithson's second sponsor, the well-connected Portuguese-born instrument maker John Hyacinthe de Magellan37—were fellows of the American Philosophical Society, the organization that Benjamin Franklin had founded to encourage scientific discussion and research in the U.S. Shortly before Smithson joined the Coffee House Philosophical Society, his second sponsor Magellan offered the American Philosophical Society 200 guineas to establish an annual scientific prize for the New World, a bequest enthusiastically accepted by Franklin. The Magellanic Premium rewarded the "best discovery or most useful invention" in the fields of natural philosophy or navigation (or astronomy, a category added by Franklin). The prize, still in existence today, was one of the earliest benefactions to the United States for the increase of knowledge. It could well have been a gift that resonated with Magellan's new protégé, a young and impressionable James Smithson.38
The first meetings of the Coffee House Philosophical Society that Smithson attended were typical of the feverish exchange of information among London's scientific cognoscenti in the late 1780s. The men, about a dozen of them in total, gathered each week at the Baptist's Head, an old coffeehouse on Chancery Lane popular with Masonic lodge members and the area's solicitors.39 The group was intrigued by word from the United States that "at Albany [New York] & other places during the intense frost of Winter the fish which are caught are so immediately congealed as to be quite brittle, but that the vital powers are nevertheless so far from being destroyed that the fish resumes its life when thawed by means of cold water many weeks or even months after." William Babington reported that he found a "good syrup of Violets" four times more effective than a turmeric solution as a test for alkalis. And Kirwan shared news of the Leipzig chemist Johann Friedrich Westrumb's new method of decomposing sea salt by melting it with "dryed Blood & lime."40
Entry to the Coffee House Philosophical Society and the Royal Society invitations from Kirwan and Cavendish brought some incremental gratification of Smithson's ambitions. He no longer seems to have needed the little natural history society that had been the first to welcome him. The April 1786 meeting of the Society for Promoting Natural History, which Smithson attended with his Oxford friend Christopher Pegge, was Smithson's last ever in that company. It is possible perhaps that he had some kind of falling out with members of the group—an early indicator of his easily wounded temperament—but this seems unlikely. There is no trace of any troubles in the minutes, and Smithson's name was never excised from the books. He was still hailed as a life member in 1791, with his then address of Orchard Street, Portman Square, current and up-to-date in their ledgers.41 It seems simply that Smithson felt he had moved on to bigger and better things.
Smithson's life in London was going swimmingly. Flush with success and promise, he returned to Pembroke at the end of May for his degree, the awarding of an honorary Master of Arts, an event he enjoyed in the company of his young admiring friend Davies Giddy. They had not overlapped that much at Pembroke, as Smithson had spent much of his last year in London rather than at Oxford.42 The relationship was not exactly one
of equals. In Giddy's eyes, Smithson was the talented, worldly senior, the best chemist at Oxford. Giddy was only two years younger, but Smithson had come to know him in the company of Giddy's omnipresent father, and a tone of superiority and condescension infused his dealings with Giddy: "whatever you bring me," Smithson wrote at one point, admonishing him over some forgotten mineral specimens, "shall be received kinglike." For Giddy this graduation day became a moment impressed on the memory, the emblem of an entire friendship, a story he recounted in his diary some forty years later. At the ceremony in the Convocation House, Giddy remembered Smithson "being seated on the upper end of the Bench on the Floor on the Proctor's left hand." After the ceremony the two left the quadrangle together and walked back to Pembroke, where Smithson exchanged "his cap for a Hat," and then they strolled down the road past Tom Tower to wander in Christ Church meadows, the sun sparkling gold on the Cotswold stone, crisp against a blue sky.43
Graduation, while always a significant milestone, took on added importance for Smithson, as it possibly coincided with his literal coming of age, his twenty-first birthday. In England this landmark birthday had long been observed with extravagant festivities. Wealthy William Beckford, author of the popular Gothic novel Vathek and builder of Fonthill Abbey, famously held two parties. The first, the official celebration for relatives and all the locals, was a three-day affair for some ten thousand people, held under vast swags of tents and a specially erected triumphal arch in the grounds of the family estate; the second was a more intimate week-long house party at Christmas, which Beckford remembered as a "voluptuous festival." Davies Giddy recalled the bells ringing all day and "a great deal of Company" in Tredea, Cornwall, for his twenty-first birthday. Smithson, one imagines, at the very least had a party. He also had his portrait painted, by the artist James Roberts, who was then working in Oxford as a drawing master.44
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