:fHE'MJN£RVA-llBRARY-Of FAMOUS 800!^ OLMM (¥" If-jVrvr-n. f:'- ■ '• v r ^ CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1 89 1 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Cornell University Library PR 3493.F73 1890 The life and times of Oliver Goldsmith, 3 1924 013 184 233 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 31 84233 THE LIFE AND TIMES o? OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The Minerva Library OF FAMOUS BOOKS. Edited by G. T. BETTANY, M.A. t. CHARLES DARWIN'S JOURNAL during a Voyage in the ' Beagle.' 2. THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. 3. BORROWS BIBLE IN SPAIN, 4. EMERSON'S PROSE WORKS. 5. GALTON'S {FRANCIS) TRAVELS IN TROPICAL SOUTH AFRICA. 6. MANZONI'S THE BETROTHED LOVERS. 7. GOETHE'S FAUST {Complete.) Bayard Taylor's Translation. S. WALLACE'S (ALFRED RUSSEL) TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON. g. DEAN STANLEY'S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD, OF RUGBY. 10. FOES TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, A ND IMA GIN A TION. ,1. COMEDIES BY MOLIERE. 12. FORSTER'S LIFE AND TIMES OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. \NhRTi, LOCK & CO., LondoHf New TorJc, and Melboitfue, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. THE MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS. Edited by G. T. BETTANY, M.A., B.Sc. THE LIFE AND TIMES OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH BY- JOHN FORSTER AUTHOR OF "the LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS," "WALTER SAVAGE LANDOFj' ** STATESMEN OF THE COMMONWEALTH," ETC., ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER DESIGNS BY C. STANFIELD, R.A., D. MACLISE, R.A., JOHN LEECH, RICHARD DOYLE and ROBERT JAMES HAMERTON. AND A BIOGEAPHICAIi SKETCH OF THE AUTHOE. WARD, LOCK AND Co. LONDON, NEW YORK, AND MELBOURNE. 1890. {All rights reserved.^ A.fcti io TO CHARLES DICKEKS. GENIUS AND ITS REWARDS ARE BRIEFLY TOLD : A LIBERAL NATURE AND A NIQSARD DOOM, A DIFFICULT JOURNEY TO A SPLENDID TOMB. NEW-WRIT, NOR LIGHTLY WEIGHED, THAT STORY OLD IN GENTLE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE I HERE UNFOLD: THKO' OTHER THAN LONE WILD OB DESERT-QLOOJr, IN ITS MERE JOY AND PAIN, ITS BLIGHT AND BLOOM, ADVENTUROUS. COME WITH ME AND BEHOLD, FRIEND WITH HEART AS GENTLE FOR DISTRESS AS RESOLUTE WITH WISE TRUE THOUGHTS TO BIND THE HAPPIEST TO THE UNHAPPIEST OF OUIl KIND, THAT THERE IS FIERCER CROWDED MISERY IN GARSET-TOIL AND LONDON LONELINESS THAN IN CM-EL ISLANDS 'mID THE FAR-OFF SEA. JOHN FOKSTEE. Mmrli, 18 IS. BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOE. If lie had written notliing but tliis iDoob, literature would have owed to John Forster an enduring debt. The man who could revive for us so clearly with his cbarms and his faults, his smiles and his tears, the Oliver Goldsmith that we love, has laid us all under an obliga- tion. But John Forster was more than this. He was the friend, the critic, and the adviser of many men of mark ; he was the historian of great statesmen, the biographer of great writers, and the keen Liberal editor. In him was found, as the Earl of Lytton forcefully expressed it in the dedication of his ' Wanderer ' : •' A strength more strong than codes or crcoda, In lofty thoughts and lovely deeds Revealed to heart and mind ; A staif to stay, a star to guide, A spell to soothe, a power to raise, A faith by fortune firmly tried, A judgment resolute to preside O'er days at strife with days." John Forster, the eldest child of a cattle-dealer in Newcastle-on-Tyne, was born at Newcastle on April 2nd, 1812. He was educated at the Newcastle Grammar School, where he became head boy, and very soon showed powers of writing. An essay of his in vindication of the stage, written at the age of fifteen, shows essentially viii BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR. those traits of sturdy liberalism and serious thought, independent of convention, -which distinguished him in after life; and a historical play which he wrote, was acted in May, X828, in the Newcastle Theatre. By an uncle's help he was sent to Cambridge in October, 1828; but he was more strongly attracted to London, where the new university, now University College, was just opened. Here he entered as a student of English law, which he also studied under Thomas Chitty, the well-known special pleader. He soon made friends among students of mark, his seniors, such as James Emerson, afterwards Sir J. E. Tennent, and "Whiteside, afterwards Chief Justice of Ireland. His literary talent blossomed in various con- tributions to magazines and journals, besides planning a life of Oliver Cromwell. In 1832 he became a writer for the ' True Sun,' established by seceders from the ' Sun,' and in 1833 he had made his mark so clearly, that Albany Fonblanque appointed him chief literary dramatic critic of the ' Examiner.' When twenty-four years old he published in Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopasdia the first of five volumes on the Statesmen of the Commonwealth, the last two of which, appearing in 1839, contained the life of Oliver Cromwell. The ' Examiner ' criticisms speedily became famous for Cfuick recognition of merit and detection of imposture. John Porster was the first to discover and praise the ability of Eobert Browning, who, in return, gave him the manuscript of ' Paracelsus,' now in the Forster Collection at South Kensington, inscribed thus : " To John Forster, Esq. (my early understander), with true thanks for his generous and seasonable public Confession of Faith in me." And in 1 863, Mr. Browning dedicated his collected works "to my old friend, John Forster, glad and grateful that' BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOE. ix he who, from the first puhlication of the various poems they include, has been their promptest and staunchest helper, should seem even nearer to me now than thirty- years ago." Friendship with Charles Lamh and Leigh Hunt, and with Charles Dickens, united Porster to other rising and estahlished masters of English literature. While writing on Oliver Cromwell, he hecame engaged to the ill-fated L. E. L. (Miss Landon), ten years his senior, but the engagement was broken off. Forster for two years edited the 'Foreign Quarterly Eeview.' In 1843 he was called to the Bar. In 1845 he wrote some brilliant biographical articles in the ' Edin- burgh Eeview,' and in 1846 he was for nine months editor of the ' Daily News,' in succession to Dickens. In 1847 he became leditor of the ' Examiner,' which post he held till 1866. In 1848, after an unwearied process of re-writing, which extended even to a twelfth revision, he published ' The Life and Adventures of Oliver Goldsmith,' illustrated by his friends Maclise, Stanfield, Leech, Doyle, and Hamerton. In 1854 he issued a greatly enlarged edition under the title of ' The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith,' prefixing to.it an elaborate vindica- tion of himself from charges made against him by Mr. (afterwards Sir James) Prior, who had accused him of drawing largely on his previous ' Life of Goldsmith ' for his facts, with insufficient acknowledgment. So complete was Porster's vindication, that it is quite unnecessary to reproduce it here. The third and subsequent editions, while not superseding Ihe library edition in two volumes, omit much matter in the shape of illustrative notes and authorities, and not relating directly to Goldsmith. Thus the Author himself, and not any subsequent editor, is responsible for the form in which the book now appears. X BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR. We must not omit to mention Porster's part in the notable amateur theatricals got up by Dickens and his friends from 1845 onwards, in which Forster successively- played Ford in the ' Merry Wives of Windsor,' Kitely in 'Every Man in his Humour,' Hernani in Victor Hugo's drama, &c. At the same time, how intimately only those who have read his ' Life of Charles Dickens ' can know, he was, as he had been for many years, Charles Dickens's literary friend and adviser, and influenced, for good or ill, much of his work. "His chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields," says Professor Morley, in his Biographical Sketch of Forster in the ' Handbook to the Dyke and Forster Collections,' " were now walled with books. In a corner by one of the windows of his study, he was planted all day long, day after day, his massive head bent over his work. His features, when in repose, were cast, by habitual labour and severity of purpose, into a fixed expression that might suggest severity of character to one who did not know the man. There was not a young man of letters labouring for recognition, and deserving it, who could not find his way to the grasp of John Forster's strong hand, be encouraged by his ready smile, and helped by his sound counsel. He was intolerant of work with an unworthy aim, and quickened in all who were his friends ' the noble appetite for, what is best,' that showed itself not only in his public writing, but also gave worth to his familiar conversation." Meanwhile, Forster neither forgot his early love for the Commonwealth period, nor refrained from new studies in other periods. To write a worthy life of Swift was one of his great aims, and he made extensive studies for this purpose, but only achieved the issue of a first volume just before his death. Fruits of his Commonwealth studies BIOGEAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOE. xi were seen in some of his 'Historical and Biographical Essays' (two "vols. 1858); in his 'Arrest of the Five Members' (1860); his 'Debates on the Grand Eemon- strance' (18C0); his noble 'Life of Sir John Eliot' (two vols. 1864) ; but his further work in this direction was cut short by the deaths of intimate friends whose works he felt bound to bring out, and whose biographer he became. Landor died in 1864, and Forster saw through the press his ' Imaginary Conversations,' and published his ' Life ' in two vols, in 1869. In that year Alexander Dyce died, and his friend corrected and published Dyce's third edition of Shakespeare, and wrote the memoir of him prefixed to the catalogue of the Dyce Collection in South Kensington Museum. Dickens's death in 1870 once more claimed his biographical labours, and in 1872, 3, and 4, appeared successively the three volumes of Forster's Life of Dickens, which, if not the only or the complete rendering of the novelist's character, is quite essential to any perfect under- standing of him. We must go back to note that in 1855 Forster was appointed secretary to the Commissioners for Lunacy, with a stipend of £800 per annum, and resigned the editorship of the 'Examiner.' In 1856 he married Mrs. Colburn, widow of the well-known publisher, and went to live in Montagu Square, removing to Palace Gate House, Kensington, in 1862, having in the previous year been appointed a Commissioner of Lunacj'' at £1500 a year. This office he resigned in 1872. The loss of friends made him lonely as years went on, and he had the pain of losing every relative he had before his death. His strength and health flagged under successive bereavements, but his energy was as conspicuous as ever; but he suffered much from asthmatic gout, and withdrew largely PEEPACE TO THE FOUETH EDITION. In a few words prefixed to the Third Editon of this Work, issued in the same form as the present, I stated that it was not meant to displace its immediate predecessor, in two octavo Yolunies, of which it was an abridgment; but that the favour extended to the book had suggested its publica- tion at a price that might bring it within reach of a larger number of readers, and qualify it to accompany the many popular collections of those delightful writings to which its principal attraction is due. The chief omission in the volume is of matter not imme- diately relating to Goldsmith himself, and of that large body of illustrative notes and aiithorities which may be referred to in the library edition ; but in the preface referring exclusivelj'- to the latter, and now reprinted because of certain charges brought against the writer, will be found a sufficient indication of the leading sources from which the facts of the biography were drawn. Mr. Carlyle having always blamed me for suppressing the woodcuts given originally, they are here restored. J. F. 46,^MosTAQn Square, DccemTier,_lS62. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. FIRST BOOK. Frontispiece (Occupations preced- ing Authorship). Goldsmith learning his Letters The Sizar and Ballad-singer . Goldsmith and his College Tutor The Alehouse at Balltmahon 19 22 25 The Reception at Balltmahon Goldsmith and Voltaire . The Keception in London Poor Physician to the Pook . At Doctor Milner's. . page 29 43 48 5f) SECOND BOOK. Frontispiece (Writing for Bread). 63 At the Dunciad .... 67 Goldsmith and Horace Walfole , 15 Goldsmith's Garret .... 80 An Author and his Readers . . 90 Grben Arbour-codrt ... 93 Goldsmith and his Landlady . . 102 Mr. FERCr visits Goldsmith . . 110 THIRD BOOK. Frontispiece (Goldsmith and the Booksellers) . . . .125 Profiting by the Spiders. . . 135 Goldsmith's Night Wanderings , 131 Hogarth at Islington . . , lIG After Supper at the Mitre . . 192 Ketnolds at Islington . . . 201 Johnson at Islington . . , 206 DOCTOB Goldsmith .... 226 Facsimile of a Letter by Goldsmith 263 Goldsmith Conjuring . . . 263 At the window in Garden-court . 287 FOURTH BOOK. Frontispiece (Dignities of Author- ship) After the Comedy . . • . The Shoemaker's Holiday In Westminster Abbey and on Temple Bar .... Garrick and the Bloom-coloured Coat 289 297 307 The Landing at Calais . . ,356 The Royal Academy Dinner . . 373 BosWell's Election to the Club . 432 Goldsmith and Reynolds at Vaux- hall 449 The Author's Present and Fdture 472 TABLE OP CONTENTS: ANALYTICAL AND CHEONOLOGICAL. The Author to the EEArEE 1 Book I. 1728 to 1757. THE SIZAR, STCDETTT, TRAVELLER, AFOIHEOABl'S JOCRKEYHAIT, USHER, AND POOR PHTSioiAN. -Pages 5 to 61. 1728. 17S0. Mt. 2. 1731. JEt. 3. 1734. iEt. e. 1736. Mt. 8. 17S7. Xi. 9. 1738. St. 10. CHAPTER L 1728-1745. SOHOOIi DATS AND HOLIDAYS. FAOB (10th Nov.) Oliver's birth . 7 Oliver's father, Charles Gold- smith .... Bemoval to Lissoy . Sisters and brothers Elizabeth Delap The Dame's school of Lissoy The Master's village school Vagrant tastes . Blind Carolan's wayside melo- dies Attack of small-po3c The Elphin school Bad and good spirits Fun at Uncle John's . Betallation Different sources and forms of vanity ... . . Holofemes and Goodman Dull Charles Goldsmith's character Family failings "Worldly and unworldly advan- 1739. Mt. n. 1741. Mi. 13. The Athlone school . Genius exhibited and trade Tlie Edgewprthstown school A kind schoolmaster . 10 10 10 11 11 12 12 12 13 IS 18 13 la Tkam 14 14 14 14 15 1743. Classical studies . Mt. 15. Athletic sports . 1744. Oliver's last holidays . iEt. 18. Mistakes of a Night Disposition to swagger CHAPTER H. 1745-1749. 1745. Darkening prospects . .15 ^t. 17. Sizarship suggested . . . 16 Various opinions thereon . 16 Uncle Contarine . " . . . 16 A Sizarship obtained . . 17 Henry Flood and Edmund Burke 17 Uses of a flute . . . .17 1746. Lounging at the college gates . 17 .ffit. 18. Fellow collegians. . . , 18 The Sizar's "Wends" . . 18 1747. Charles Goldsmith's death . . 18 Mt. 19. Squalid poverty . . , .18 Writing street-ballads . . . 18 V Fame on a small scale . .19 A prisoner in the bed-ticking . 20 Sensibility not benevolence ' . 20 Euclid verms Horace . , . 20 A reverend tutor . . .21 Gray's dislike of mathematioe 21 Mr. Theaker Wilder's brutality 21 TABLE GF CONTENTS. FACE A riot aud its punishment . 21 A dancing party and its result 22 1748. Flight from college and return 23 Mt. 20. Day-dreams . . . . 23 Centre of gravity disturbed, and Oliver turned down . 23 1749. 02701 Feb.) B. A 23 Mi 21. Signature in the College Library 23 CHAPTER III. 1749-1752. THREE YEARS OF IDLENESS. 1749. Oliver at his mother's in Bally- Mt 21. mahon .... 24 Family changes . . . . 24 Errands run by Master Noll . 24 The village inn . . , 25 River walks and rustic games 25 Resources of Irish society . . 26 1750. Weakness of temperament and ^t. 32. strength of genius . . 26 Making the most of idleness . 27 The habit of cheerfulness . . 27 1751. Application to the Bishop . 28 Mt. 23. Biejected as a clergyman . . 28 Becomes a tutor ... 28 Card-playing verms Teaching . 28 Vagabond vrithout the pen, . Gentleman vrith it . . 29 The adventure of Fiddleback . 29 1752. Enters as a lawyer^ and loses Mt. 24. the entrance fee . . 30 Family quarrels and reconcilia- tions 30 Flute and harpsichord . . SO CHAPTER IV. 1752-1755. FAETPABINO FOB A. MEDICAL DEGREE. 1752. Dean Goldsmith advises Oliver 31 Mt. 24. Starts for Edinburgh, medical student 31 Lodging-house experiences . 31 A challenge to the theatre . , 31 Fellow-students . . .32 Helps himself by taaohing . , S2 Letters to Bryanton and Uncle Contarine . . . .32 1753. A trip to the Highlands . . 33 Mt. 25. Money wasted, BurkeandGold- smith 33 Ghosts of tailors' bills . . , 34 *' Silver loops and garment blue" .... 34 1754. Unpublished leaf of an Edin- dEt. 26. burgh ledger. . . . 34 GratefiU letters ... 35 The " Best of men " to Oliver , 35 Land rats and water rats . . S5 Jacobite adventure at New- castle 35 Arrived at Leyden . . . 36 Three BpecimeoB of womankind 36 1765. Pursuits at Leyden . ' ' H .ffit. 27.. Teaching and-gambling . , Sfl liCttersTost . - • .37 Flowers for Uncle Contarine . S7 (February) Leaves Leyden . . S7 CHAPTER V. 1755-1756. TRAVELS. 1755. Death and example' of Baron , Mt. 27. de Holberg ... 37 Scheme to travel on foot . . 38 Dining in convents, sleeping in barns, and playing the flute 38 The Medical Degree . . . 39 Louvain, Flanders, andHolland 39 Musical mendicancy . . 39 In Paris 40. A thrifty young pupil . . 41 Rouelle's lectures and Clairun's acting 41 Sees into the future of France 42 Voltaire's exile from Paris . 42 Visit to Voltaire in Geneva . 42 The English attacked and do- fended 44 Lecture rooms of Germany . 44 In Switzerland . . .44 Portions of the Traveller written 44 Character of the Swiss , . 45 Mental discipline in travel . 46 In Piedm.ont . . . . 46 Italian cities . . . .46 1756. Disputing for a livelihood . . 46 Mt. 28. Returning to England . . 47 CHAPTER VL 1756-1757. PECKHAM SCHOOL AND GKUB-6TREET. 1756. (February) In England . . 47 Mt. 28. Low comedy in a bam . . 48 Employed at a country apothe- cary's 48 In London as Usher . . . 48 Penalties of a feigned name . 48 Among the beggars in Aze- lane 49 Apothecary's journeyman , , 49 1757. Visit to an old fellow-student , 49 ^t. 29. Sets up as Poor Physician . 49 Becomes press-corrector to Mr. Richardson . , .50 Sees Young the poet . , , 61 Attempts a tragedy . , fil Proposes to decipher the Writ- ten Mountains . . , 61 Assistant at the Peckham Aca- demy 5x Doctor Milner's tenth daughter 62 Unpublished Anecdotes . . 62 Miss Milner's recollections . 62 A good-natured practical joke 63 Core for a hopeless passion . ^ TABLE OF CONTENTS, The Usher challenges the Foot- boy 54 The triumph . . . .65 A boy among boys , , . 55- Bitter mortmcations . . 55 A pert young gentleman . . 56 :Master Bishop and the apple- woman . . . .56 Meets Griffiths the booTcseller , 57 Writes a specimen-review . . 67 Le^es himself to Griffiths . 67 An author's prospects . . Interral between patrons and public .... Literature used and despised . Origin of Grub-street . . . Sam Johnson and the lower class of writers . Mr. John Jackson and the higher class . . , , The Reign of periodicals . Goldsmith at the Dxmciad , . Book II. 1757 to 1759. AUTHORSHIP BT COMPULSION. PagCS 63 tO 124, CHAPTER I. 1757. REVIEWING FOR MR. AND MRS. GRIFFITHS. 1757. Author by Profession . . . 65 a:t. 29. In the Griffith's-livery . . 65 Writing for the Monthly Jtevieio 66 Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths superin- tending GG Northern Antiquities . . . 67 The tragedy of Xfouglas . . 68 Why Garrick rejected it , . 68 Advantages of persecution . . 63 A polite pooh 1 pooh 1 . .69 VfnTsie'B ^oiffoniad . . . 70 Distinguished Mr, Puffs . . 70 Want of critical depth no proof of literary envy . . . 71 Bounell Thornton and George Colman . . . .71 Criticising and praising Burke. 71 Smollett, Hmno, and Warbur- tou 72 Jonas Hanway and his pro- jects 73 VaOs to servants put down . . 73 Umbrellas forced into use . 73 The Journey from Portsmouth . 73 Polignac's Anti-I/ucretiiis and Gray's Mastor Tommy . 74 Goldsmith and Hoi-ace Walpole 75 Odet hy Mr. Gray . . . . 75 Walpole's quarrel with Gray . 76 Habit of depreciatiou . . 76 Lessons in poetry. . . . 76 Gray praised by Goldsmith. . 76 Johnson's influence yet unfdt. 78 CHAPTER II. 1757-175S. UAKING SHIFT TO EXIST. 1757. Qi^anel with Griffiths . . 78 A^t. 20. Close of engagement ou the Monthly ^mew . ... 78 1758. iEt. 30, Interpolation of articles . . . Mr. Griffiths's opinion of Gold- smith .... lu a Garret near SaHsbury-sq . Doctor James Grainger. . . Brother Charles visits the gar- ret A sore disappointment . . Letter to brother-in-law Hod- son A picttire for Irish friends . . Irish memories and Irish pro- mises Poor physician and poorer poet (February) Translating under a feigned name . Loses hope and courage . . Gives up literature . Goes back to Feckham school . A medical appointment prom- ised ... One more literary effort . Irish independence . . . Released from Peckham school 78 82 83 84 84 84 85 85 86 CHAPTER III. 1758. ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE FROM UTBBATUBB. 1758. A new Magazine . . .86 ^t. 30. (August)Workingforhisoutfit 86 Letter to Edward Mills . . 86 What an Irish relative might do 87 What the Irish relative did . , 87 Letter to Robert Bryanton . 88 The Future invoked against the Present . . . . 89 Ordinary fate of Authors . . 89 Bread wanting, and milk-sdoro unpaid 89 Despair in the garret , . J>0 Starring where Butler and. Otway starved. . . . 91 Letter to Cousin Jane . . .91 TABLE OF CONTENTS. rAQB A fancy portrait . . . . 92 Living deatli of TJncle Conta- rine 93 Proposals for a subscription to abcok ... .93 AK^i^t®*! medical officer at Coromandel. . . .93 CHAPTER IV. 1768. BSGAFE PBETENTED, 1758. Describes tbe appointment to Mt. 30, Hodson 03 Fine words for Irish hearing . 94 Grand siyle of the Marquis of Griffiths . , . . 94 A hopeful group of friends . . 95 Smollett and the "Old Gentle- woman " of the MojUhly Review 95 Hamilton's Oridcal Remew . . 96 Reviews for Hamilton . . 05 A thought of Dryden . . . 97 bpeaking out for the Author's profession . . . .97 Green-Arbour-court . . . 97 The flute still in tune . . 98 (Novem.ber) Coromandel ap- pointment lost . . . 90 Resolves to be a hospital mate. 99 Griffiths and the tailor , . 100 Four articles for the Monthly Review 100 (December) Examined and re- jected at Surgeons' iSall . 100 The virtue of necessity . . 101 Driven back to Literature . . 101 CHAPTER V. 1758—1759. DISCIPLINE Off SORROW, 1758. Pawns his new clothes for his Mt» 30. landlady ..... 102 Griffiths demands payment for them 102 Letter in possession of the bio- grapher .... 102 Griffiths calls names . . . 103 Which is the sharper and villain? . . . .103 The gain in sorrow . . . 104 Beams of morning . . . 104 Writing a Life of Voltaire . . 104 (February) Letter to Henry Goldsmith. . . .106 PAOB Self-painted portraiture. . . 105 A poor wandering uncle's ex- ample . ■ ' ' J22 Heroi-comical verses . , . 107 Poetry and prose . ... 107 The ale-house hero , . . 108 CHAPTER VL " 1759. WORK AND HOPE, 1769. Voltsure and Ned Purdon . 108 ^t. 31. Introduced to Mr, Percy . . 109 Mr. Percy's visit to the garret. 10i> 110 111 111 111 112 A Newgate biography Reviewing for Smollett , , Laughing at Elegies . Forecasting the future / . Another scheme for travel A reverend and irritable dra- matist 112 The fashionable family novel . 113 Adieu to both Reviews . . 113 Close of his account with the owl and the ass . . . 113 CHAPTER VIL 1759. AH" APPEAL FOR ATITHOKS. BY PKOFESSION. 1759. (April) Publication of the ^- ^t. 31. guiry mto PolUe learning , 114 Bad critics and sordid book- sellers 114 Truths of a hard experience . 115 Reviews and Magazines assail- ed 116 A frightful monosyllable . , 116 Smollett's answer, and Grif- fiths's insult . . .116 Dirt flung at Goldsmith . . .117 "What Walpole and Hiune thought of Grub-street quarrels . . . .118 Evil influences on literature . 118 Right encouragements to au- thors 119 Grants of money not required . 120 The days of patronage . .120 Wit and its disadvantages , .121 Genius and its rewai'ds . .121 Collins and Goldsmith . . 122 Compensations .... 122 Warnings . . . * . . 123 \Khat has been done for Litei-a- _ture 123 What Literature may do . , 124 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Book III. 1759 to 1767. AUTHOESHiF B7 OHOiOE. Fages 125 to 287. CHAPTER I. 1V59. WRITING THE "BEE." 1739. Activity ia Grub-strcct . (Et. 81. Dullness and her progeny . A doubtful recruit . Samuel Johnson The knell of patronage . Encoui-agement and example Thirty pounds a year. A Great Ciiam in gi-eat dis- tress .... Society gatliering round John- son .... Poverty and independence (October) First number of the Bee ... . Playhouse criticism . Second number of the Bee Third number of the Bee , Fourth number of the Bee Booksellers' literature . Writing for the Busy Body and the lady's Magazine Kith number of the Bee . Goldsmith's first mention _ol Johnson . An ovoniug with a bookseller Night wanderings . . . Sympathy with the wretched FA6B 127 127 12S 128 129 129 129 130 130 131 131 132 132 133 133 134 135 135' 135 130 136 137 CHAPTER II. 1759. DAVID QABBICE. 1759. (November 29th) Close of the fit. 31. Bee 137 Love of the theatre . . . 188 Garrick and Balph . , . 138 Authors and mana^gers . . 138 A comic or a tragic Lilliput ? 139 Garrick's management . . 139 Inj ustice to players and wrongs to dramatists . . 140 Goldsmith attacks Garrick 140 Garrick resents the attack . 141 Inconsiderate expressions . 142 The actor's claims . . . 143 CHAPTER III. 1759-1760. OTEBTURES FIIOM SMOLLETT AKD UB. NEWBERT. 1759. (December) Important viffltors Mt. 31. in Green Arbour-court . 143 Candour towards an unsuc- CGSaful autlioi' . . 143 1760. (January 1) Smollett's British Mt. 32. Magasine . . . . Essays contributed by Gold- smith Cheerful philosophy . A pufFby Goldsmith A countiT Wow-wow . (7x0. 12) Newber/s news- paper .... A Daily Paper then and now Goldsmith engaged for the Fvhlic ledger . . . A Guinea an Article CHAPTER IV. 1760. "the citizen op the WORLD." 1760. (January 24 and 29) The first ^t. 32. and second Chmeae Letters Newspaper shadows and reali- ties .... Grif&ths swallows the leek The Citizen of the World Social reforms suggested in it Quacks and pretenders . Law and Church Property luid poverty . Mad-dog cries . Pictures of the day . Laurence Sterne Goldsmith's attack on Tris- tram. Siandy Beau Tibbs and the Man in Black . Jack PiUdngton The great Duchess and the white mice . Tea party at the White Con- duit Gardens . Supper party at the Chaptei Coffee-house Dinner at Blackwall Roubiliac and Goldsmith . . Hawkins's exposure exposed Humble recreations PoUy and the Pickpocket . . The State reminded of its duty. Editing the Lady's Magazine Writing prefaces . Betterlodgings 144 145 145 146 140 147 148 148 148 148 149 149 149 150 150 151 151 151 152 152 154 155 155 155 155 156 156 156 157 157 157 CHAPTER V, " 1761-1762. FELLOWSHIP WITH JOBNSOK. 1761. Wine-Office-court . . . 158 ^t. 33, A supper in honour of John- ^ sou 159 xjxnua v/r vunxjinxo. pagbJ J olmaon in a new suit . . 159^ Lost anecdotes . . . 150 Booksellers better than pa- trons . . : , . 160 17C2. Pamphlet on the Cock-lane £t. 31. Ghost . . . .160 Drudging for Newbery . . 161 Small debts . . . .162 Visits Tunbridge and Bath . 162 I/^e of Beau Nash . . . 162 Unconscious self-revelationfl . 163 \^ A good-natured man . , 163 ^^ Johnson pensioned . . . 164 Shebbeare (of the pillory )^en- sioned .... 164 A Uteiury Prime Minister , 1G5 CHAPTER VI. 1762. ISTRODUCTIONS AT TOM DAVIES'S. 1762. An actor turned bookseller . 165 ^t. 34. The shop in Russell-street . 165 Garrick and Davies . . 166 A Patron 166 Men of feeling . . .166 ^Tohnsou and Foote . . . 167 Burke at the Robin Hood . 167 A Master of the Rolls . . 167 ""Goldsmith and Johnson as de- baters 167 The Cherokee Kings Peter Annet . ... Completing a history iffilemorialising Lord Bute . . X^ At work on the Vicar of Wake- ^ fUU At dinner with Tom Davies . ■^James Boawell . . . . Sayings and doings in Lon- don BoBwell and the Cow . . A strange dispenser of fame . Robert Levett .... CHAPTER VIL 1762-1763. HOOABTH AND REYNOLDS. 1762, Mrs. Fleming at Islington . * SA>. 34. The publisher-paymaster 1763. Compiling .... 2J!t. 35. Histories and Prefaces ' . . iMt&rz from a Nohl&man to hU son Visitors at Islington . . . William Hogarth . Sympathies with Goldsmith . "^—Admiration of Johnson . , Portrait of the Landlady Joshua Reynolds * . . Not a petty quarrel . . East and West in Leicester-sq. 167 16S 168 168 169 170 170 170 171 171 171 185 186 186 CHAPTER VIII. 1763. THE CLUB AND ITS FIHBT MEMHEHB- TAOB 1763. A club proposed . . .178 ^t. 35. Members and rules . . • 178 What it became . . .179 What it was at first . . 179 Mr. John Hawkins . . . 180 Loose characters * . . . 180 An unclubable man . . • ISl Irish adventurers . . . 181 Burke's outset in life . . 181 What kept him down . . . 182 A wonderful talker . . . 183 Johnson and Burke talking . 183 Conversational contests . . 184 Bennet Langton . . . 184 Topham Beauclerc . . . 185 A prudent mother and a fiisk- ing philosopher , A man of fashion among scho- lars Beau's secret charm . Being superior to one's subject 186 Beauclerc's sallies . . . 187 Goldsmith at the club . . 187 Dick Eastcourt's example . . 187 Doubtful self-assertion . . 188 Self-distrust 188 "It comes!" .... 188 Boswell sees Johnson . . . 188 Shock the first . . . .189 The Mitre 189 The Turk's Head . . .190 The sage taken by storm . .190 Boswell criticizing Goldsmith 190 A roar of applause . . . 191 "V- Easy familiarity . . . . 192 '^^Tohiison's pensioners and cha- rities 192 Miss Williams . . . . 192 Levees at Inner Temple-lane . 192 The countess and the scholar . 193 A singular appearance . . 193 Goldsmith becomes a Templar 194 CHAPTER IX. 1763—1764. THE ARREST AND WHAT PRECEDED IT. 1768. Mt.35. 1764. iEt. 36, Compiling for Dodsley . , . 194 Growing importance . . 194 Secret labours . . . . 195 Singing birds captive and free 195 Distress 195 A letter to Dodsley . . . 196 Johnson imd Smai't . . . 196 Goldsmith's Oratorio . . . 197 Atlatiujirton . . . .107 Unpublished bills of his land- lady 198 Ooody Two &ioes , . .200 Reynolds at Islington . . . 200 Borrowing from Newbery . 201 Pope and Garrick . . . 201 Garrick in Paris , . 203 TABLE OP CONTENTS. A rival at born* PAGB . 203 Powell's success . 202 O'Brien and Lady Susan . 203 Horace 'Walpole's horror . Percy and Grainger . . 203 . 203 Goldsmith and Percy . 204 Aroundofvisitings . . 204 iheThrales . 204 fSoldsmith arrested , . 205 kiJohnson sent for . 205 who arrested hira ? , , . 205 Newbery's friendship with the .>^landlady . . . .206 "Bale of the Vicar of WdkefieU . 207 What Johnson thought the Vinar worth . 207 CHAPTER X. 1761-1V65. " THE IBAVELLEB " AND WHAT FOLLOWED IT. 1T64. (Deo. 19) Tlie Traveller pub- Mt.. 36. lished . 207 Dedicatioa . ... 208 Qharles CliurchUl . . .208 Legitimate aatire . . . 209 Goldsmith aud Pope . 210 Merits of The IVaveller . 210 ■-^—Johnson's help . . .211 Not knowing what one means 211 Luke's crown explained . . 212 Being partial the wrong way . 212 Fatronising airs . . . 212 Renny dear 213 Sacriuce of a boast . . . 213 Charles Fox and The Traveller 213 The Reviews . . . . 213 1765. Essays by Mr. Goldsmith , . 214 iEt. 37. Sdvsin and Angelina . ■ . . 215 Charge of plagiarism . . 215 Percy and Goldsmith . , . 216 A hint to young writera . . 216 At Northumberland House . 216 An Idiot 217 Borrowing fifteen and sixpence 217 The best patrons . . . 213 An agreement for ninety-nine years 218 CHAPTER XI. 1766. ■ OOLDSMJTH IN PRACTICE AHD EUEKE IN OFFICE. 1706. Robert Nugent .219 St. 37 His three wives . . . 219 The GrenviUe ministry . 220 Taxation of America . . . 220 Pidl of GrenviUe . . 221 Burke's hopes . .221 The Rockingham party . 221 The new premier . . 222 Hr. O'Bourke . . 229 Garriok, Powell, and Stei -ne . 223 Finessing and t? ick . . . 223 The Actor and the Club . . 224 Hawkins and Garrick . . , 224 ' itoctor Goldsmith . . ,224 ^**^Fine clothes and fine company 225 Beauclerc's advice . ■ . 226 CHAPTER XII. 1765—1766. ZTEWD FOR THE CLUB, OP VARIOUS KINDS AND FROM VARIOUS PLACES, 1766. Society of Arts . . . .226 Mt. 27. Hiss Williams's Miscellanies . 227 ^„„^ Johnson's Shakespeare, and his Doctorate . . . . !!27 1766. Chambers in Garden-court . . 227 Mt. 38. English in Faiis . . .228 Hume, Rousseau, Barry, and Boswcll 228 Walpole, en philosophe . . 228 A solemn coxcomb in London 228 "^^-Johnson's treatment of books . 229 Flayers and poets . . 229 Old friends quarrelling . 229 ^,^ Kenrick's Falstafif . . 230 ^**»Goldsmith and Johnson . . 230 ""Wohnsou ' * making a line " . . 230 Reappearance of Boswell . . 230 The big man . . . . 231 BosweU and Mr. Pitt . . 231 (14th January) Burke enters Parliament . . . . 232 Astonishment at the Club . 232 Another marvel . . . . 233 John and Francis Newbery . 233 The Vicar of WakeJUM . . 233 \i CHAPTER XIII. 1766. THE "VICAR OF WAKEFIELD." 1766. The most popular of stories . 234 Mt. 38. First purely domestic novel , 234 Purpose of the writer . . . 235 Ragged-school experiences an- ticipated .... 235 Social Iruths . • • 235 The gibbet and its fashions . 236 Charles Primrose aud Abra- ham Adams . . . . 236 Fielding's friend and Gold- smith's father . , .236 Musical-glasses . . . . 237 The historical family picture . 237 The wisdom of simplenesa . . 238 A fire-side scene . . . 239 Passages expunged . . . 239 Goldsmith'sinfiuenceonGootho 240 The Reviews . . . .241 "■*«*— Johnson's opinion . . . 241 What the club thought of it . 241 What Burke and Garrick thought 241 Editions and translations • 241 TABLE OP CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIV. 1766. OLD t>BUI>0£BY, AKD A UtEW TEZTTDBB DA.W27IHO. rASi 1766. Poem for Young LadUg . . 242 M^ 38. A mistake of aatdiorship . . 242 Seauties of Bnglish, FoOiy «- lecUd 242 Prior in polite company . . 243 Doctor Doddridge and Nancy Moore 243 Bonsseau in Garrick's box . ^3 GoldsmitJi at the theatxe . . 243 T/iedandatimeMaTria^ . . 244 Garrick's original draught . . 244 Gdman disooatented . . 244 Goldsmith and Newbeiy . . 245 Thoughts of a comedy . . 245 At the Devil tavran . . . 246 Conversation Cooke . , . 246 Dape to an impostor . . . 246 Adventnres of a guinea . . 246 Goldsmith and Charles Ijamb's schoolmistress . . . 247 Fatagonlans .... 247 CHAPTER XV. 1766. THE GKEAT WOKU> AKD ITS R1TLER3. 1766. Lord Rockingham, retires . . 247 Mi. 38. Mr. Pitt and a new arrange- ment 247 A king's caresses . . . 248 Camden and Shelbtime . . 24S Charles Townshend . . 248 Endeavours to secure Borke . 2^ Obsbnctions in his way . . 249 What he had and what ho wanted 250 The three gangs . . .250 Inflnence of faction on litera- ture 250 Pamphleteering and libellmg . 251 Uses of Uteratore to politics . 251 Gratitude of politics to litera- ture 251 Christopher Anstey . . . 252 Hen of letters in London and in Paris .... 252 Caleb Whitefoord's cross lead- ihgQ 253 (^28th Dec.) Goldsmith writes a Grammar for five guineas. 253 CHAPTER XVL-* 1767. THS&T&ES :iOYAL GOVEHT-GABDSS AMD DBUBV-LAKE. 1767. (6th. Jan.) Boirowa one-jKrand fit 39. one 253 A.t work on his comedy. . . 2(3 Uchnson promises a prologue. 254 - Johnson's Jnterricw with the King 25* How his Hqesty talked . . 25; Goldsmith listenmg . . . 256 Anxieties of the tluatre . . 256 Comedy sent to Garrick . . 256 Mrs. Pritchflid and Mis. Clive 256 Gairickand Goldsmith * . 257 Goldsmltii borrowing . . 35S Gfurick suggesting changes in comedy 258 Honeywood and his original . 25S Croaker and Suspirius . 258 Gfurick's objections . . . 259 Arbititition r^ected . . . 260 Goldsmith's anger . . . 260 News ofa rival management . 260 Golman and Powell . . 260 Garricfe^s suspicions . . S61 New management announced . 262 His. Yates deserts Gamck . . 262 Goldsmitii joins Colman . . 262 Freparafions for war . . . 262 Letter and comedy to Colman 263 Writes to Garrick . . .265 Carriers answer . . . 266 Foote at the Haymarket . . 266 Goldsmith at a new play . . 266 jack and Gia 267 Wa^ witii chOdren . . . 2G7 Croldsmitb's, Garricl^ and Foote's . . .267 Geoige Colman the younger . 267 Goldsmith conjuring . . : 263 CHAPTER XVn. 1767. THE WEDNESDAY CLTTB . C90 1767. Goldsmith com|nling J&t. 39. Newbery's last illness Sncoess of Goldsmith's Zetien. 2^ Tom Davies propt^es a Roman Histoiy . . ,269 Lectoreship on CivU Iaw . . 270 Humble dubs .... 270 At the Devil, the Bedford, and the Globe . . . . 270 TVednesday Club . . .270 Doctor Glover . . . . 271 ■ Advent^ire at Hampstead . 271 Hugh Kelly 271 Imitaticoi of Churchill . . 273 Nottingham ale . . . . 2T2 Orig^o^ of Ned Purdon's epi- taph 272 Melancholy in mirth . . . 273 (^nonbury Tower . . . 273 CHAPTER XVIIL 1767. PATBOHS OF UTKRA.TOEE. 1767. Robert Nnguit, Visconnt ^t^ 39. Clare . . , 274 a'4.BTjE OP CONTENTS. HoloSkta of Chatluuu's Ministry 271 Oeorgo OreuTills and Chaxm Townihoml . . . 27fi New prctjoctto tax America . 276 Faeaionaio ridicule of Burke . 276 Cbatluim'B supprcMed gout . 274 Ctaatlmm and the King Ctiarles Townnbii'jd'u death . S76 The Grafton Ministry . .278 Lord Nortli and Mr. Jcnkin- son 276 Short-sighted statesmen . . 277 Kinfr's friendii . . . . 277 What the now system cost . 278 Its literature . . . .278 A formidable letter-writer . . 278 Forebodings of a storm . . 279 Authorship of Letters in the PiO/lic Jdvertiter . . . 279 Writers wanted by the Minis- try 279 Qoldsmith refuses his sup- port 279 Consequcncos of refusal . . 279 Smollett and Lord Sholbumo . 280 Gray and Lord Buto . . 280 Hopes fur a writer of genius . 280 ,Death of the author of Num- pJi/rei/ Clinker , . . . 280 CnAPTEE XIX. 1767. CLOSE OP A TWELVE YEABS' STEUOGLE. rAoa 1767. Reflections for a garret . . 280 ^t. 89. What is done and what might have been done . . . 281 Scar of a twelve years' confljeU 281 What poverty brings with it . 281 Ita benefits and its evils . . 282 Contrasts in all men . . . 282 Social disadvantages , , 288 The habit of disrespect . . 288 An innocent vanity . . . 283 Doctor Minor and Doctor Major 284 Hashed-up stories . . .284 Beattio's guinea and Gold- smith's sixpences . . . 284 Bui-ke's noble advice . . 285 Labour and leisure ill-appor- tioned 285 Irish temperament . . . 286 A battle well fought out . . 286 Want of a home . . .286 An unfailing friend . . . 286 The nu in, wbe of Goldsmith and Gray .... 286 The Temple Gardens . . . 287 Book IV, 1767 to 1774. IDE FniliNI) or JOnilSON, SVSXTS, and IHSYKOIiDS ; dbauaiist, hovblist, AND POET. Pages 289 to 472. 1767. Mt. 89. 1768. ^t.4a OHAPTBU I. 1767-1768. "THE aoOD-NATUnED MAN." (Deo. 22nd) Death of JohnNew- bery 291 (Jan. , 28th) Promised per- formance of the Cfood- NatwtdMan . . . 291 guarrels In the theatre . . 291 IckerstafT's complaint . . 292 The comedy in rehetmuil . .292 Hugh Kelly's rival comedy . 292 Faiie Micacy . . . . 293 A saving of wit and trouble . 294 Oarrick's zeal for Kelly . , 294 A blaze of triumph . . , 294 Last rehearsal of the Good- Naturcd Man . . . 294 DoloAil anticipations . . . 296 (29th Jan.) Qoldsmith on the Stagn . . . .296 Powell^ acting in Honoywood 296 BccepUon of the BallifBi . . 296 Shuter's acting in Croaker . 296 At supper after the comedy . 206 'Qoldsmith singing and crying 20G —Johnson's sympathy , . 207 Fublieation of the Oood-NO' twred Man . . . . 297 High critics of low humour ..^" Our Uttlo Bard" . Goldy . . ' .. . Stage-career of the comedy 298 . 298 298 X CHAPTER IL 1768. . SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS, HUMBLE OLIENTS, AND SBOBMAKEB'S HOLIDAYS. 1768. Results of theatrical success . 299 ^t. 40. Chambers in Brick-court . . 299 Poet Goldsmith and Lawyer Blackstone . . .290 Dancing a minuet . . . 800 " A cheerful little hop ". . 800 The Wednesday Club . . . 801 Putting a pig in the right way 801 Practical jokes . . .801 Hugh Kelly and bis wife's sister . ... . , fl02 Qoldaiiiitli proposes . ^02 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PASS Throwi'ig stones from glass houses 302 Tyrian bloom and garter bhie 303 (May) Henry Goldsmitli's death 303 The Village Preacher . , . 303 Idea of the Deserted Village . 304 Unsettled opinions . . . 304 Sentimental politics . . 305 Depopulation in England and Ireland 805 Conversation Cooke . . . 305 A Shoemaker's Holiday . . S06 Peter Barlow . . . .307 Poor pensioners . . . 307 ^in^uQ Sally SalUhwry . . 308 Mr. Cooke and Mr. Bogers . 308 CHAPTER III. 1768. THE KDGEWABB COTTAGE, ST. STEPHEN'S, AND GBTTB STREET. 1768. The Shoemaker's Paradise . 309 ^t. 40. Lawyer Bott . . . . 309 WalpoIe.Hume, andBobertson 310 Death of Laurence Sterne . 310 Boyal Academy founded . . 811 Goldsmith Professor of Histoi-y 311 Biots in St. George's and St. James's . . .* . 311 An Austrian ambassador head- over-heels . . , • 312 Lord COifltham re-awakening . 812 Burke's purchase of Beacons- fieldT 313 (Oct.) Goldsmith at the theatre 313 Epigram against Goldsmith . 314 Paul Hiffernan . . .314 Goldsmith at the reading of a play 315 Isaac Bickerstaff . . . 315 In&my and misery . . . 315 An Ishmael of criticism . . 315 Setting reviewers at defiance . 816 The QeftalemcuiCs Journal . .316 A visit from Grub-street . 316 The screw of tea and sugar . 816 General Oglethorpe . . . 317 Jacobite leanings . . . 317 InPoets'-corner and at Temple- bar .... 317 CHAPTER 17. 1769. LABOURS AMD ENJOYMENTS PUBLIC AND PRIVATE. 1769. Degree at Oxford . , .318 Bt. 41. The Great Bear . . . . 318 Boys of the Newcastle Gram- mar school . . .810 New members elected to the club 310 "'••^-.' Goldsmith and Johnson dij^ agree . . . ,319 The club's gradual decline * 820 FAQH Mrs, liennox'a comedy • ■ 320 Goldsmith's epilogue . 320 Vera de SocUU .... 320 Mrs. Homeck and her daugh- ters 321 Little Comedy and the Captain in I^ce , . . . 321 Mr. "Washington Irving and the Jessamy Bride . .322 Burke's guardianship . . . 322 •' This is a poem "... 322 Reynolds and Angelica Kauff- man . . . . . 323 (May) The Roman ffittorp . 324 Dinner talk at Beauclerc's . . 324 First agreement fortheAnimafed Nature . - . .324 A History of England proposed 325 Money advanced to the his- torian 325 What the lustorian did with it 82& Goldsmith and the Vandyke . 325 Payments anticipated . . 326 Goldsmith on party . . 327 Gray absorbed in a newspaper 327 First Letter with the signature of "Junius" . . . 32lr Burke trying to be heard . 328 The right to report debates . 328 Sir Henry Cavendish's Notes . 328 CHAPTER V. y 1769-1770- LONDON LIFE. 1769. Mrs. Macauley's statue . . 328 ^t, 41, Madame Dubarry's portrait . 328 Vanity Fair . . . . 329 The Stratford Jubilee . . 329 Boswell and PaoU . . . 329 The Auld Dominie . . 329 Barettl and Goldsmith . . 330 Baretti's bail and Witnesses . 330 Mr. William Filby's bills . . 330 Boswell's dinner-party » . 331 Waiting for Reynolds . . . 331 The bloom-coloured coat , , 331 How to treat a host . . . 333 At work on a Life of Famell . 333 The Deserted Village announced 333 1770. Uncle Contarine's legacy , . 334 Mt. 42. Irish friends and family . . 334 Letter to brother Maurice . 334 Surrenders his legacy . . . 335 Sends his picture . . . 335 Maurice becomes a cabinet- maker 335 Nephew Hodson comes to Lon- don 336 CHAPTER VL I 1770. \ DINNEBS AND TALK. 1770. Goldsmith painted by Roynolds 336 iEt. 42. Print in the shop-windows . 336 Goldsmith and Sir Joshua . . 337 The nonsense of a man of wit 337 TABLE OF CONTENTS. The dinners in Leicester-square 338 Formidable g\iostB . . . 338 Invulnerability of the host . 338 A joke without ita point . ,339 A story not laughed at . . 340 Petty annoyances . . . 340 STohnson's practical wisdom . 840 Exaggeration of foibles . . 840 The Muses and the Players . 341 Talking and writing . . 841 Burke's trick upon Goldsmith 341 The Irish widow . . . . 34? Celebrated talkers . . .342 Au old lady's advice . . . ^42 Goldsmith's conversation . 343 Little fishes talking like whales 344 Goldsmith roads the Heroic ^iatlt to Johnson . . 344 The he-bear and the she-bear . 345 - Johnson'spamphlet against the Opposition . . . 345 Tommy Townshend's attack . 345 Burko in the House of Com- mons 345 Unpunished libels . . . 346 Supremacy of Junius . . . 346 CHAPTER VII. irro. THE "DESEBTED VILLAGE." 1770. (26th May) Publication of the Mt. 42 Deserted Village . . 346 What Qr&y thought of it . 846 Burke's opinion . . . . 347 Secret of the life of books . . 847 "^Johnson's and Goethe's opinion 848 Sentiment of the Deserted Village . . . .848 The giant of Giant-castle . . 348 Writing from the heart . . 348 Longing for homo . . . 348 The village ale-houso . . 349 Sympathy with the very poor . 350 Republican principles . . . 350 ""^STohnson's masterpiece . . 350 Without and within . . . 351 Auburn and Lissoy . . 351 Irish evictions . . . . 851 Supposed sites of the poem . 361 The got-up Auburn . . .351 Dedication to Reynolds . . 852 Payment for the poem . . 352 Farewell to poetiy . . . 853 Alarm of the critics . . 853 !ay) Ghatterton in London . 853 london expeiienees . , . 353 The disorders caused by hunger 354 A three months' struggle . 854 Last act of a tragedy . . . 364 ffi 1770. fit 42, CHAFTKB VIII. 1770. A VISIT TO PARIS. (Juiy) Goldsmith and the Her- necks at Calais . S56 Letter toi Reyn olds . . 855 Fourteen tporters for two trunks S55 The poet'B wig .... 355 At Lisle . , . . 357 At Paris . , . .357 Travelling at twenty and at forty 357 Another letter to Reynolds . 357 Thinking of another comedy . S58 His good things not understood 358 Outrunning the constable . 858 Looking like a fool in a silk coat 858 A leap at Versailles . . . 858 English and French parrots . 359 Death of Goldsmith's mother . 359 Half-mouming , . . 35S CHAPTER IX 1770-1771. " UADNCn OP VENISON ' OF CHESS." AND "game 1770. Abridgment of Roman History 359 iEt. 42. Life of Pamell . . .359 Adjective and substantive . 860 Life of Bolingbroke . . . 360 "N» Johnsonian writing , . . SCO Attack of the MorUhly Review . 360 1771. At Lord Clare's ..... 361 ^t. 43. At breakfast with a duchess by mistake . . . .362 Squire Gawkey . . . . 362 Lord Clare's daughter and her playfellow . . . .362 Lord Camden and Goldsmith . 362 A present to Goldsmith from Lord Clare. . . .368 A present to Lord Clare from Goldsmith . ' . . . 363 The Haunch of Venison . . 363 Poor poet-pensioners . . . 364 Boileau's third satire . . 364 Parson Scott and Barr^ . . 365 Catastrophe of the oven . , 366 A newly discovered poem . . 366 Vida's Qatne of Chess . , .366 The favourite of Leo . . . 367 Goldsmith'sknowledgeof chess 867 Translation by Croldsmith . 368 The elephants and the archers 368 Divine machinery . . . 369 Vicissitudes of the fight . . 360 Encounter of the queens . . 370 Struggle of the kings . . . 371 New fact in Goldsmith's life . 371 CHAPTER X. 1771. a bound of FLEASUItBS. 1771. Horace Walpole . . . . 371 Mt. 43. First Royal Academy diuuer . 372 What Academies cannot do . 872 What Academies can do . . 372 Conversation at the Academy dinner 373 TABLE UF CONTEi^TS. cJuldsmith and Rowley . . 874 ■Walpolo and Chattertou . . 374 Percy and Goldsmith . . 374 Gol^mith and Henry Qrattan 87fi Judge Day describes Gold- smith 375 Bunbuiy's caricatures . '. 375 Alatigh 375 At the Grecian coffee-houso . 376 -At Banclagh and Vauxball . 376 A challenge .... 376 Eenrlck the libeller . . . 376 At the Chapter coffee-house . 376 At the masquerade . . . 377 The poet and the president . 377 Charles Fos and the macca- ronis 377 Disadvantages of a mask . . 378 The poet doing penance , . 378 Goldsmith at cards . . 378 Charles Fox at hazard . . 379 Thoughtless indulgence . . 379 At work on another comedy . 379 The rise of Richard Cumber- land 380 Firstcomedy at Coveut Garden 380 The original Sir Fretful . . 380 Pleasant persiflage . . . 380 Grateflil for being laughed at . 380 At Hyde Farm . . . . 381 ■Writing the Animated Nature . 381 Boswell's visit with 'William Julius Mickle . . . 381 Natural history experiences . 382 Among the country fairs . . 382 Wonderful matters , , . 382 CHAPTER XI. 1771. COUNTRY LABOUES AND RELAXATIONS. /■ 1771. (August). The English History Ut. 43. published .... Party warnings and imputa- tions Tom Davies reviews his own publication Goldsmith's farm - house at Hyde Recollections of his habits there Strolling players at Hendon . '* The Gentlemui " . Letter to Benuet Laugton . , Little Comedy married , Civilities and help from Garrick '* Dr. Goldsmith's ridiculosity " Sports at Mrs. Bunbury's A Christmas party . . . t Letter to Mrs. Bunbuiy . A spring velvet coat in winter At a round game with Little Comedy and the Jessamy Bride " The Doctor is loo'd " . . Handsome culprits A solemn-faced, odd-looking prosecutor , , 3S4 384 384 385 385 385 385 385 386 CHAPTER XIL 1772. FAME ACQUIRED AND TASK-WORK RESUMED. rAoa 1772. A desperate game . . . 390 iEt. 44, Goldsmith in the Temple-gai^ dens 390 An Irish client . . . > 390 Nothing for nothing in London 390 -■ .391 . 391 A description of China Little Cradock . Prologue for Zobade The' Threnodia Augtutalis . . 392 \ Rehearsal of the parts . . 392 A surprise for Boswell . . 393 Johnson put to the question . 393 Horrible shocks for Boswell . 393 Tigers as cats, and cats as tigers 393 Colly Gibber and Dryden . . 394 Disagreements and friendship 394 An illustration from Blue Beard 395 Goldsmith and Sappho . . 395 ** Oh, dear good man r* . .395 Dean Barnard's verses . . 395 At work on the Animated Nature . . . .396 Bits of natural painting . . 397 Obligations to the Goose . . 398 Failure in a new novel . . 399 Abridgment of the Romam. His- tory 399 Trial of an amanuensis '. ', 399 Gibbon and Goldsmith . . 400 ohnson's blame and praise . 400 Household words . , . , 400 Now Essays , . . . . 400 CHAPTER XIII. 1772. PUPPETS AT DRURT-LANE AND ELSEWHERE. 1772. Attack on sentimental comedy 401 Mt. 44. The new venture . , , 401 Libellers of Garrick , . . 401 French airs .... 402 Garrick's greatest mistake . 402 Hamlet with Alterations . . 402 George Steevens's joke . .402 Cock-a-doodle-doo I . , , 403 Burke in Paris . . . 403 Goldsmith at the puppet-show 403 Thomas Paine . . . . 404 At the theatre with Johnson . 404 Northcote at Reynolds's . . 404 Goldsmith and Bairy . . . 405 Disputing with Burke . .' 405 Criticism of Otway and Shake- speare 405 A dead set at Cumberland . 406 ProposiQg to play Scrub . . 406 Cultivating his brogue . 406 Dining dub at the St. James's Coffee-house . . 406 Goldsmith's "Little Cornelys'"' 407 At Shelbume House . , , 407 At Mrs, Vescy*s and Mra. Mon- taffii's . . . .407 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Jack's in Dean-street . . . 407 A question for a philosopher . 408 At a chop-house with Cooke . 408 Fears about his comedy . . 408 '^oldflmith toying a speech . . 408 CHAPTER XIV. 1772-1773. "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'* 1772. Varieties of enjoyment in ffit 44. comedies . . . .409 Fine gentlemen critics . . 410 ToungMarlow . . . 410 Tony Lumpkin . . . . 411 Goldsmith and Sheridan . . 411 Goldsmith and Lord Clare's daughter . . . . 411 George Colman's misgivings . 411 1773 (January) Letter to Colmau . 412 Mt, 45, The comedy sent to Garrick , 412 Again withdrawn . . . 412 .^^ohnson's anticipations . . 413 "Poote'B Piety m Pattena . .413 Garrick's conversioii . . 413 Objections of the actors to their parts 414 Theatrical criticism . . . 414 A Harlequin for Young Marlow 414 Company at the rehearsals . . 414 Five epilogues . . . 414 Letter to Uradock , . . 415 A history of stage adventures , 415 A name for the comedy , . 415 Value of Horace Walpolq's judg- ments . . .' . . 415 The first night arrived . . 416 Johnson and George Steeveas . 416 (15th March) Dinner before the performance . . 416 Cumberland's account of it . . 416 In the theatre . . . • . 417 Signals for applause . . . 417 How the comedy was received 417 Goldsmith during the perform- ance 417 Gratitude to the actors . . 418 Colman's amende . . . 419 Northcote in the gallery . . 419 Stage career of She Stoops to Gonguer . •. . . . 419 ^Dedication to Johnson . . 419 CHAPTER XV. 1773, TnE SHADOW AND THE SUNSHINE, 1773. Jjiiioi in the London Packet . 420 4i)t. 45. Swift's sign of a genius . . 420 The uses of a libeller . . . 420 Insult to the Jessamy Bride . 421 Goldsmith's visit to the pub- lisher 421 Goldsmith sent home in a coacli 421 Address to the public . . . 422 ,^ A foolish thing well done . . 422 ^*- Visit from Boswell . . . 422 "^~-,^ A dinner with Johnson . . 423 Sings Tony Lumpkin's song . 423 Talk at Paoli's. . . . . 423 The man Sterne . . .423 Prefaces and dedications . . 423 An argument with JohnBon . 423 Beasoning "wrcmg at firat 'thinlang . . . . 423 The king and the comedy . 426 Bebellions and revolutions . . 425 Faoli'a compliment to Gold- smith. .... 42S Goldsmith's attack on the Mar- riage Act . . . . 425 Talk at Thrale's . . . 42A Vanity of Garrick . . . 427 The profession of an actor . 427 Lawyers and players . . 427 Davy and Sam . . . . 427 ^"^^aricature of Johnson . . 428 Elnowledgeofactiug . . .428 Credulity of Goldsmith '. . 428 Marvels in the Animated Nature 428 CHAPTER XVI. 1773. THE CLUB. 1773. At work on a Grecian Histcn'y . 429 Mt. 45. Disputes with the booksellers . 429 Changes in the club and new members .... 429 Boswell proposed . . . 430 What Reynolds and Malone thought of him . , . 430 Boswell elected . . . . 431 First appearance at the club . 431 ^Johnflotfs charge . . . 432 A specimen of dub talk . . 432 Dinner at DiU/s . .433 Goldsmitli's love of nature . . 43? ^^A dispute with Johnson . . 433 -Goldsmith hat in hand . . 434 Johnson's rude attack . , 435 The epilogue for Lee Lowes . 435 Goldy*s forgiveness . . .435 ^Meddling of Boswell . . . 435 Envy not concealed . . . 436 -X. Bozzy's retort . . , . 436 ^■^Goldsmith suggested as John- son's biographer . . 437 Random sallies . , . . 437 Talking laxly and feelingkindly 4S7 To be remembered when Boe- v>eU is read .... 438 CHAPTER XVII. 1773. DRUDGERY AND DEPRESSION. 1773. The Cfrecian History . . . 439 ^t. 45. Flan for a Dictionary of Arts and Sciences . . . 439 Introduction written . , . 431> A peep into his chambers . 439 The occasional man-servuit . 440 Percy proposed as his biogra- pher 440 Spirits and health broken . . 440 ItABLE OF CONTEIJTS. Camberland's visit to the Tem- ple 440 Signs of depression . . . 441 A trouble during whist . . 441 A pension applied for . . . 441 Popularity of Beattie with tho s. great . . . . .442 ^ Why Goldsmith should not he popular with the great . 443 Goldsmith's only dispute with Eeynolds . . . . 443 The ale-house in Gtorrard-street 443 Reynolds rebuked . . ,443 Beattie pensioned . . . 443 Dependmg on moonshine . 444 Malagrida 444 False emphasis in life . . . 445 Discontents with Covent- garden .... 445 Desertion by the booksellers , 446 CHAPTER XVIII. 1773. TUB CLOUDS STILL OATHERINO, 1773. Failure of the Dictionary pro- fit. 45. ject 446 Goldsmith's letter to Garrick . 447 Proposed alteration of the Good-Natured Man rejected 447 More "parlaver" to Garrick . 447 A gleam of smishine . * 448 Goldsmith and Sir Joshua at Vauihall . . . .448 Kelly's fourth comedy . . 449 Goldsmith and Walpple at Beauclerc's . -... . 450 Horace playing off a butt , . 450 A game of Mufti . . .450 Goldsmith and Garrick . , 450 ^Almost killed with envy . . 451 Approach of a more serious ^ malady . . ... 451 CHAPTER XIX. 1773-1774. "retaliation." 1773. The last dinner-parties , . 452 ^t. 45. Satirical epitaphs proposed . 453 Cumberland's and Glarrick'B . 453 Goldsmith produces his . . 453 Two sets ofjeux d'e^rit . . 453 1774. Garrick's account of the matter 453 Mt. 46. Cumberland's account . . 454 Confusion of facts and incidents 454 Account in an original letter . 455 Goldsmith recites Cumber- land's verses . . . . 455 Goldsmith's lines on Garrick . 455 Burke and Mrs. Cholmondeley 456 Burke's Epitaph , .457 Itoynolds's Epitaph > • 467 Goldsmith's last unfinished verse . Final drudgery . His friends neglecting him Proposing to leave London. Approach of his last visitor 457 . 467 . 453 . 458 . 458 CHAPTER XT 1774. illness akd death. 1774 (Feb. 25) Illness . . . . 459 Mt. 46. Hawes called in . . .469 Doctor Fordyce sent for . . . 459 Goldsmith persists in taking the fever-powders . . 460 Results . . . . . . 460 Evidence of the servants . . 4f0 ^ Doctor Turton summoned . . 461 \ Goldsmith's last words . .461 \ (4th April) Death . . . 461 Grief of Biu-ke, Sir Joshua, and Johnson . . . . 462 I Mourners of various kinds . . 462 Little Comedy and the Jes- samy Bride . . . 462 Arrival and departure of Mau- rice Goldsmith . ... 463 The funeral . . . .463 VNo record of the grave . . 463 v^ound-robin to Johnson . . 463 Johnson's epitaph . . . 465 Attempted in English. . .465 Tablet in the Temple . . 465 CHAPTER XXL 1774. THE REWARDS OF GENIUS. 1774. Cases of disputed copyi-ight .466 Property in wit . . . . 466 Opinions of the Judges . . 467 Lord Mansfield and Lord Cam- den " 467 Opinion of Justice Willes . 467 Lord Chatham's opinion . . 463 Results of Goldsmith's genius 468 Account between a writer and his readers . . . 469 Intention of this book . . . 469 Claims of men of letters . . 469 What English parliaments re- ward 470 An author's right to the fruits of his labour . , . 470 Birds folding their own nest ■. 471 The last Copyright Act . . 471 Less protection in England than anywhere . . . 471 The true remedy for literary wrongs . ^ . 47S THE AUTHOE TO THE EEADEE. "It seems rational to hope," says Johnsoii in 'the lAfe of Savage, "that minds qualified for great attainments should first " endeavour their own benefit ; and that they who are most " able to teach others the way to happiness, should with most " certainty follow it themselves : but this expectation, howevel " plausible, has been very frequently disappointed." Perhapt not so frequently as the earnest biographer imagined. Much depends on what we look to for our benefit, much on what we follow as the way to happiness. It may not be for the one, and may have led us far out of the way of the other, that we had acted on the world's estimate of wordly success, and to that directed our endeavour. So might we ourselves have blocked up the path, which it was our hope to have pointed out to others; and in the straits of a selfish profit, made wreck of great attainments. OirviB Q-OLSSHITH, whose life and adventures should be known to all who know his writings, must be held to have succeeded in nothing that his friends would have had him succeed in. He was intended for a clergyman, and was re- jected when he applied for orders ; he practised as a physician, and never made what would have paid for a degree ; what he ^as not asked or expected to do, was to write, but he wrot? , 4 ...THE AUTHOR, TO, THE READER. , latter, no -doubt he, forfeited .not, a; liitjfcle of the former. " He is " an inspired idiot," .cried ^W^lpoje, ■" He does notKknow the ■' .difference (pf a jfc,uriey fro)p,agoQ8e,",sai(i Cumibeflarid. "■ Sir," shouted Johns(j)n, ,", he knows, pojihing, he] has aiaole wp , his mind " about nothing." ,Pew, qared, to think, or speak, of him but ,as little Goldy,|honest|Goldy ; ^nd.^verypije lajighcfl at him for the oddity qf :his blunders, jand the ,,a^ykwi^rdnefis of hie manners, But I invite ihe .j-esider to ;his life an^ adventures; ,and the times in which they weire cast. No upinstructiye explanation of all this may possibly await ^s there, if together we review the scene, and move among its actors ^a they play their parts. THE siziK, ST0i)ENT, TRAVELLER; APOTHECjtRY'S JOURNEYMAN, BSHER,' AND tOOfi PHYSiCiA;N.' BOOK THE FIRST. CHAPTER I. SCHOOL BATS AND HOLIDAYS. 1728—1745. Thk marble in Westminster Abbey is correct in the place, but not in the time, of the birth of Outer Goldsmith. He was bom at a small old parsonage house (supposed afterwards to be haunted by the fairies, or good people of the district, who could not however save it from being levelled to the groimd) in a lonely, remote, and almost inaccessible Irish village on the southern banks of the river Inny, called Pallas, or Pallasmore, the property of the Edgeworths of Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford, on the 10th of November, 1728 : a little more than three years earlier than the date upon his epitaph. His father, the reverend Charles Goldsmith, descended from a family which had long . been settled in Ireland, and held various offices or dignities in connexion with the established church, was a protestant clergyman with an un- certain stipend, which, with the help of some fields he farmed, and occasional duties performed for the rector of the adjoining parish of Kilkenny West (the reverend Mr. Green) who was uncle to his wife, averaged forty pounds a year. In May, 1718, he had married Anne, the daughter of the reverend Oliver Jones, who was master of the school at Elphin, to which he had gone in boy- hood ; and before 17'28 four children had been the issue of the marriage. A new birth was but a new burthen ; and little dreamt the humble village preacher, then or ever, that from the date of that tenth of November on which his Oliver was bom, his own virtues and very foibles were to be a legacy of pleasure to many generations of men. For they who have loved, laughed, or wept, with the father of the man in black in the Gitken of the World, 8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. eke preacher of the Deserted ViUage, or the hero of the Vicar of Wdkejield, have given laughter, love, amd tears, to the reverend Chades Goldsmith. The death of the rector of KUkeuny West improved his fortunes. He succeeded in 1730 to this living of his wife's uncle ; jZ. 2 ^ income of forty pounds was raised to nearly two hundred ; and Oliver had not completed his second year when the family moved firom PaUasmore to a respectable house and farm on the verge of the pretty little village of lissoy, " in the county of " Westmeath, 'barony of Kilkenny West," some six mUes from Pallasmore, and about midway between the towns of Ballymahon and Athlone. The first-born, Margaret (22nd August, 1719), appears to have died in childhood ; and the family, at this time consisting of Catherine (13th January, 1721), Henry (9th Febru- ary, 17 — ), Jane (9th February, 17 — ), and 01iver,-bom at Pallasmore, was in the next ten years increased by Maurice (7th July, 1736), Charles (16th August, 1737), and John 23rd , 1740), born at Lissoy. The leaf of the family bible recording these dates is imfortimately so torn that the precise year of the births of Henry and Jane, like that of Oliver's birth, is not discernible from it ; but it seems quite decisive, from the fact of the same day specified in both cases, coupled with the distinct assurance of Mrs. Hodson that there was a childless interval of seven years before the birth of Oliver, that Henry and Jane were twins, and both bom in 1722. The youngest, as the eldest, died in youth ; Charles went in his twentieth year, a friendless adventurer, to Jamaica, and after long self-exile died, little less than half a century since (1803 — 4), in a poor lodging in Somers' Town ; Maurice was put to the trade of a cabinet-maker, kept a meagre shop in Charlestown in the county of Boscommon, and " departed "from a miserable life" in 1792 ; Henry followed his father's calling, and died as he had lived, a humble village preacher and schoolmaster, in 1768 ; Catherine married a wealthy husband, Mr. Hodson, Jane a poor one, Mr. Johnston, and both died in Athlone, some years after the death of that celebrated brother to whose life and times these pages are devoted. A trusted dependant in Charles Goldsmith's house, a young woman related to the family, afterwards known as Elizabeth m. g Delap and schoolmistress of Lissoy, first put a book into Oliver Goldsmith's hands. She taught him his letters ; lived till it was matter of pride to remember ; often talked of it to Doctor Strean, Henry Goldsmith's successor in the curacy of Kilkenny West ; and at the ripe age of ninety, when the great writer had been thirteen years in his grave, boasted of it with her last breath. That her success in the task had not been much to boast of, she a^ oSAt. i.j SOHOOl DAYS AND HOLIDAYS. ^ other times confessed. " Never was so dull a boy : lie seemed " ifupenetrably stupid," said the good Elizabeth Delap, when she bored her friends, or answered curious enquirers, about the cele- brated Doctor Goldsmith. " He was a plant that flowered late," said Johnson to Boswell ; "there ap- "peared nothing remarkable about Tiim " when he was young." This, if true, would have been only another confir- mation of the saying that the richer a nature is, the harder and more slow its development is like to be ; but it may perhaps be doubted, in the mean- ing it would ordinarily bear, for all the charms of Goldsroith's later style are to be traced in even the letters of his youth, and his sister expressly tells us that he not only began to scribble verses when he could scarcely write, but otherwise showed a fondness for books and learning, and what she calls "signs of genius." At the age of six, Oliver was handed over to the village school, kept by Mr. Thomas Byrne. Looking back from this dis- tance of time, and penetrating through greater obscurity iL- i than its own cabin-smoke into that Lissoy academy, it is to be discovered that this excellent Mr. Byrne, retired quarter-master of an Irish regiment that had served iu Marlborough's Spanish wars, was more given to "shoulder a crutch and show how fields were "won," and certainly more apt to teach wild legends of an Irish hovel, and hold forth about fairies and rapparees, than to inculcate what are called the humanities. Little Oliver came away from him much as he went, in point of learning ; but there were certain wandering imsettled tastes, which his friends thought to have been here implanted in him, and which, as well as a taste for song, one of his later essays might seem to connect with the vagrant life of the blind harper Carolan, whose wayside melodies he had been taken to hear. UnhappUy something more and other than this also remained, in the efiects of a terrible disease which assailed him at the school, and were not likely soon to pass away. An attack of confluent small-pox which nearly proved mortal left deep and indelible traces on his face, for ever settled his small pretension to good-looks, and exposed . him to jest and sarcasm. Kind-natured Mr. Byrne might best have reconciled him to it, used to his temper as no doubt he had become ; and it was doubly unfortunate to be sent at such a time away from home, to a school among strangers, at once to taste the bitterness of those 10 OLlVilll GOtDSJtITfl'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. school experiences which too early and' sadly teach the shy, lU- favoured, backward boy, what tyrannies in the large as m ^j I that little world the strong have to inflict, and what suffer- ings the weak must be prepared to endure. But to the reverend Mr. Griffin's superior school of Elphin, in Boscommon, it was resolved to send Viitti ; and at the house of an uncle John, at Ballyoughter in the neighbcrhood of Elphin, he was lodged and boarded. The knowledge of Ovid and Sorace, introduced to him here, was the pleasantest as well as the least important, though it might be by far the most difficult, of what he had now to learn. It was the learning of bitter years, and not taught by the school- master, but by the school-fellows, of this poor little, thick, pale- faced, pock-marked boy. " He was considered by his contempo- "raries and school-fellows, with whom I have often conversed on "the subject," said Doctor Strean, who succeeded, on the death of Charles Goldsmith's curate and eldest son, to his pastoral duty and its munificent rewards, "as a stupid, heavy blockhead, little better "than a fool, whom every one made fun of." It was early to trample fun out of a child ; and he bore marks of it to his dying day. It had not been his least qualification as game for laughter, that all confessed his nature to be kind and affectionate, and knew his temper to be cheerful and agreeable ; but .feeling, as weU as fun, he could hardly be expected to supply without intermission, aud, precisely as in after years it was said of him that he had the most unaccountable alternations of gaiety and gloo™) 3,nd was subject to the most particular humours, ^, g even so his elder sister- described his school-days to Doctor Percy, bishop of Dromore, when that divine and his friends were gathering materials for his biography; .That he seemed to possess two natures, was the learned comment at once upon his childhood and his manhood. And there was sense in it ; in so far as it represented that continued struggle, happily always unavailing, carried on against feelings which God had given him, by fears and misgivings he had to thank the world for. " Why NoU ! " exlaimed a visitor at uncle John's, "you are "become a fright! When do you mean to get handsome " again ? " Oliver moved in silence to the window. The speaker, a, thoughtless and notorious scapegrace of the Goldsmith family, repeated the question with a worse sneer : and " I mean to get " better, sir, when you do ! " was the boy's retort, which has delighted his biographers for its quickness of repartee. It was probably something more than smartness. Another example of precocious wit occurred also at uncle John's, when his nephew was still a mere child. There was company, one day, to a little dance ; and the fiddler who happened to be engaged on the oooa dftAp. t.] SCflOOii SAYS AND SOLIDA^S. 11 sion, being a fiddler who reckoned himself a wit, received suddenly an Oliver for his Bowland which he had not come prepared ft>r. During a pause between two country dances, the party had been greatly surprised by little Noll quickly jumping up and dancing a pas seid impromptu about the room, whereupon, seizing the oppor- tunity of the lad's ungainly look and grotesque figure, the jocose fiddler promptly exclaimed JEsop ! A burst of laughter rewarded him, which however was rapidly turned the other way by Noll stopping his hornpipe, looking round at his assailant, and giving forth, in audible voice and without hesitation, the couplet which was thought worth preserving as the first formal effort of his genius by Percy, Malone, Campbell, and the rest who compiled that biographical preface to the Miscellaneous Works on which the subsequent biographies have been founded, but who nevertheless appear to have missed the correct version of what they thought so clever. Heralds, proolalm aloud ! all saying, See ^aop dancing, and his Monkey playing. Yet these things may stand for more than quickness of repartee ; for it is even possible that the secret might be f6und in them, of much that has been too harshly condenmed for mf iq egregious vanity. Such a failing in Goldsmith, at any rate, had a source very diflferent from that in which the ordinary forms of vanity have birth. Fielding describes a class of men who feed upon their o^vn hearts ; who are egotists, as he says, the wrong way ; and if Goldsmith was vain, it was the wrong way. It arose, not from over-weening self-complacency in supposed advantages, but from what the world had forced him since his earliest youth to feel, intense uneasy consciousness of supposed defects. His re- sources of boyhood went as manliood came. There was no longer the cricket-match, the hornpipe, an active descent upon an orchard, or a game of fiy'ss or foot-ball, to purge unhealthy humours and "clear out the mind." There was no old dairy-maid, no Peggy Golden, to beguile childish sorrows, or, as he mournfully recalls in one of his delightful essays, to sing him into plea.sant tears with Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or the Cruelty of Barbara AUen. It was his ardent wish, as he grew to manhood, to be on good terms with the society around him ; and, finding it essential first of all to be on good terms with himself, he woidd have restored by fantastic dress and other innocent foUies what his friends till then had done their best to banter him out of. It was to no purpose he made the attempt. So unwitting a contrast -to gentle- ness, to simplicity, to an utter absence of disguise, in his real nature, co\dd but make an absurdity the more. "Why, what 12 OLIVER aoiiDSMITfl'S LIFK AND TIMES. [book t. " wouldst ttou have, dear Doctor ! " said Johnson, laughing at a gqtiib in the St. James's Chronicle which liad coupled himself and his friend as the pedant and his flatterer in Love's Labour's Lost, and at which poor Goldsmith was fretting and foaming ; " who the "plague is hurt with all this nonsense ! and how is a man the "worse, I wonder, in his health, purse, or character, for bejug "called Holofernes?" "How you may relish being called " Holofernes," replied Goldsmith, "I do not know ; but I do not "like at least to play Goodman Dull." Much against his will it was the part he was set down for from the first. But were there net still the means, at the fire-side of his good- hearted father, of turning these ohUdish rebufis to something of a wholesome discipline 1 Alas ! little ; there was little of worldly wisdom in the home circle of the kind but simple preacher, to make a profit of this worldly experience. My father's education, says the man in black, and no one ever doubted who sat for the portrait, "was above his fortune, and his generosity greater than "his educjition. . . . He told the story of the ivy-tree, and that was " laughed at ; he repeated the jest of the two scholar.s and one " pair of breeches, and the company laughed at that ; but the story " of Taffy in the sedan-chair was sure to set the table in a roar : "thus his pleasure increased in proportion to the pleasure he "gave ; he loved aU the world, and he fancied all the world "loved him. . . . We were told that vmiversal benevolence was " what first cemented society ; we were taught to consider all the " wants of mankind as our own ; to regard the human face divine " with affection and esteem ; he wound us up to be mere machines ' ' of pity, and rendered us incapable of withstanding the slightest "impulse made either by real or fictitious distress : in a word, we " were perfectly instructed in the art of giving away thousands, " before we were taught the more necessary qualifications of getting "a farthing." Acquisitions highly primitive, and supporting what seems to have been the common fame of the Goldsmith race. " The Goldsmiths "were always a strange family," confessed three difierent branches of them, in as many different quarters of Ireland, when inquiries were made by a recent biographer of the poet. "They rarely "acted like other people : their hearts were always in the right " place, but their heads seemed to be doing anything but what "they ought." In opinions or confessions of this kind, however, the heart's right place is perhaps not so well discriminated as it might be, or collision with the head would be oftener avoided. Worthy Doctor Strean expressed himself more correctly when Mr. Mangin was making his inquiries more than forty years ago. " Several of the family and name," he said, " live near Elplun, CHAP. I.] SCHOOL DAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 18 "who, as well as the poet, were, and are, rtctarkable for their "worth, but of no clevemess in the common affairs of the world." If cleverness in the common affairs of the world is what the head should be always versed in, to be meditating what it ought, poor Oliver was a grave defaulter. We are all of us, it is said, more or less related to chaos ; and with him, to the last, there was much that lay unredeemed from its void. Sturdy boys who work a gallant way through school, become the picked men of their colleges, grow up to thriving eminence in their several caUings, and 'found respectable families, are seldom troubled with this re- lationship till chaos reclaims them altogether, and they die and are forgotten. AU men have their advantages, and that is theirs. But it shows too great a pride in what they have, to think the whole world should be under pains and penalties to possess it too ; and to set up so many doleful lamentations over this poor, weak, confused, erratic. Goldsmith nature. Their tone will not be taken here, the writer having no pretension to its moral dignity. Con- sideration wUl be had for the harsh lessons this boy so early and bitterly encountered ; it will not be forgotten that feeling, not always rightly guided or controlled, but sometimes in a large excess, must almost of necessity be his who has it in charge to dis- pense largely, variously, and freely to others ; and in the endeavour to show that the heart of Oliver Goldsmith was indeed rightly placed, it may perhaps appear that his head also profited by so good an example. At the age of eleven he was removed from Mr. Griffin's, and put to a school of repute at Athlone, about five mUes from his father's house, and kept by a reverend Mr. Campbell At ^7 , j about the same time his brother Henry went as a pensioner to Dublin University, and it was resolved that in due course Oliver should follow him : a determination, his sister told Dr. Percy, which had replaced that of putting him to a common trade, on those evi- dences of a certain liveliness of talent which had broken out at xmcle John's being discussed among his relatives and friends. He remained at Athlone two years ; and, when Mr. Campbell's ill- health obliged him to resign his charge, was removed to the school of Edgeworthstown, kept by the reverend Patrick ^^ j^g Hughes. Here he stayed more than three years, and was long remembered by the school acquaintance he formed ; among whom were Mr. Beatty, Mr. Nugent, Mr. Boach, and Mr. Daly, to whom we are indebted for some traits of that^x I'g early time. They recollected Mr. Hughes's special kindness to him, and " thinking well" of him, as matters not then to be accounted for. The good master, it appeared, had been Charles Goldsmith's friend. They dwelt upon his ugliness and awkwj^yd 14 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. manners ; they professed to recount even the studies he liked or disliked (Ovid and Horace were -weloome to him, he hated Cicero, Livy was his delight, and TacUus opened him new sources of plea, sure) ; they described his temper as ultra-sensitive, but added that though quick to take oflfenoe, he was more feverishly ready to forgive. They also said, that though at first diffident and backward in the extreme, he mustered sufficient boldness in time to take even a leader's place in the boyish sports, and particularly at fives or ball- playing. "Whenever an exploit was proposed or a trick was going forward, "Noll Goldm,ith" was certain to be in it ; an actor or a victim. Of his holidays, Ballymahon was the central attraction ; and here too recollection was vivid and busy, as soon as his name grew famous. An old man who directed the sports of the place, and kept the ball-court in those days, long subsisted on his stories of " Master Noll." The narrative master-piece of this ancient Jack Fitzsimmons related to the depredation of the orchard of Tirlicken, by the youth and his companions. Fitzsimmons also vouched to the reverend John Graham for the entire truth of the adventure so currently and confidently told by his Irish acquaint- ance, which offers an agreeable relief to the excess of diffidence heretofore noted in him, and on which, if true, the leading incident of She Stoops to Conquer was founded. At the close of his last holidays, then a lad of nearly seventeen, he left home for Edgewortbstown, mounted on a borrowed „I ,g hack which a friend was to restore to Lissoy, and with store of unaccustomed wealth, a guinea, in his pocket. The delicious taste of independence beguiled him to a loitering, lingering, pleasant enjoyment of the journey ; and, instead of finding himself under Mr. Hughes's roof at nightfall, night feU upon him some two or three miles out of the direct road, in the middle of the streets of Ardagh. But nothing could disconcert the owner of the guinea, who, with a lofty, confident air, inquired of a person passing the way to the town's best house of entertainment. The man addressed was the wag of Ardagh, a humorous fencing- master, Mr. Comeliiis Kelly, and the schoolboy swagger was irresistible provocation to a jest. Submissively he txirned back with horse and rider till they came within a pace or two of the great Squire Featherston's, to which he respectfully pointed as the " best house " cif Ardagh. Oliver rang at the gate, gave his beast in charge with authoritative rigour, and was shown, as a supposed expected guest, into the comfortable parlour of the squire. Those were days when Irish inn-keepers and Irish squires more nearly approximated than now ; and Mr. Feather- »ton, unlike the excellent but explo^ve Mr, Hardcastle, in said to CHAP. II.] COLLEGE. 15 have seen the mistaJce and humoured it. Oliver had a supper which gave him so much satisfaction, that he ordered a bottle of wine to follow ; and the attentive landlord was not only forced to drink with him, but, with a like familiar condescension, the wife and pretty daughter were invited to the supper-room. Going to bed, he stopped to give special instructions for a hot cake to breakfast ; and it was not till he had dispatched this latter meal, and was looking at his guinea with pathetic aspect of farewell, that the truth was told him by the good-natured squire. The late Sir Thomas Featherston, grandson to the supposed inn-keeper, had faith in the adventure ; and told Mr. Graham that as his grandfather and Charles Goldsmith had been college acquaintance, it might the better be accounted for. It is certainly, if true, the earliest known instance of the dis- position to swagger with a grand air which afterwards displayed itself in other forms, and strutted about in clothes rather noted for fineness than fitness. CHAPTEK II. COLLEGE. 1745—1749. But the school-days of Oliver Goldsmith are now to close. Within the last year there had been some changes at Lissoy, which not a little affected the family fortunes. Catherine, the elder ^. , j sister, had privately married a Mr. Daniel Hodson, " the "son of a gentleman of good property, residing at St. John's, near " Athlone." The young man was at the time availing himself of Henry Goldsmith's services as private tutor ; Henry having obtained a scholarship two years before, and now assisting the family resources with such employment of his college distinction. The good Charles Goldsmith was greatly indignant at the marriage, and on reproaches from the elder Hodson " made a sacrifice detrimental "to the interests of his fanuly." He entered into a legal en- gagement, still registered in the Dublin Four Courts, and bearing date the 7th of September, l'r44, " to pay to Daniel Hodson, Esq., "of St. John's, BoBcommon, £400 as the marriage portion of his "daughter Catherine, then the wife of the said Daniel Hodson." But it could not be effected without sacrifice of his tithes and rented land ; and it was a sacrifice, as it seems to me, made in a spirit of very simple and very false pride. The writer who dis- covered this marriage settlement attributes it to " the highest sense 16 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book I. " of honour ;" but it must surely be doubted if an act which, to elevate the pretensions of one ohUd, and adapt them to those of the man she had married, inflicted beggary on the rest, should be so referred to. OUver was the first to taste its bitterness. It was announced to him that he could not go to college as Henry had gone, a pensioner ; but must consent to enter it, a sizar. The first thing exacted of a sizar, in those days, was to give proof of classical attainments. He was to show himself, to a certain reasonable extent, a good scholar ; in return for which, being clad in a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves, he was markud with the servant's badge of a red cap, and put to the servant's offices of sweeping courts in the morning, carrying up dishes from the kitchen to the fellows' dining-table in the after- noon, and waiting in the haU tiU the fellows had dined. This, for which commons, teaching, and chambers, were on the other hand greatly reduced, is called by one of Goldsmith's biographers "one of " those judicious and considerate arrangements of the founders of " such institutions, that gives to the less opulent the opportunity of "cultivating learning at a trifling expense ;" but it is called by Goldsmith himself, in his inquiry into the Present State of PoUte Learning (and Johnson himself condemns the practice not less severely, though as pompously Sir John Hawkins supports it), a " contradiction" suggested by motives of pride, and a pas- sion which he thinks absurd, "that men should be at once " learning the liberal arts, and at the same time treated as slaves ; "at once studying freedom and practising servitude." To this contradiction- he is now himself doomed ; and that which to a stronger judgment and more resolute purpose might have prompted only the straggle that triumphs over the meanest circumstance, to him proved the hardest lesson yet in his life's hard school. He resisted with all his strength ; .little less than a whole year, it is said, obstinately resisted, the new contempts and loss of worldly consideration thus bitterly set before him. H<> would rather have gone to the trade chalked out for him as his rough alternative, — ^when uncle Contarine interfered. This was an excellent man ; and with some means, though very far from considerable, to do justice to his kindly impulses. In youth he had been the college companion of Bishop Berkeley, and was worthy to have had so divine a Mend. He too was a clergyman, and held the living of Kihnore near Carrick-on-Shannon, which he afterwards changed to that of Oran near Roscommon ; where he built the house of Emblemore, changed to that of Tempe by its subsequent possessor, Mr. Edward Mills, Goldsmith's relative and contempoivy. Mr. Contarine had married Charles goldsmith's sister (who died at about this date, leaving one chil(4), OBa)" rt.j COLLEGE. 17 Mid was the only member of the Goldsmith family of whom we have solid evidence that he at any time took pains with Oliver, or felt anything like a real pride in him. He bore the greater part of his school expenses ; and was wont to receive him with delight in holidays, as the playfellow of his daughter Jane, a year or two oLler than Oliver, and some seven years after this married to a Mr., Lawder. How little the most charitable of men will make allowance for differences of temper and disposition in the education of youth, is too well known : Mr. Contarine told Oliver that he had himself been a sizar, and that it had not availed to withhold from Mm the friendship of the great and the good. His counsel prevailed. The youth went to Dublin, showed by passing the necessary examination that his time at school had not been altogether thrown away, and on the 11th of June 1745 was admitted, last in the list of eight who so presented themselves, a sizar of Trinity College ; — there most speedily to earn that ex- perience, which, on his elder brother afterwards consulting him as to the education of his son, prompted him to answer thus : " If he " has ambition, strong passions, and an exquisite sensibility of con- " tempt, do not send him to your college, unless you have no other " trade for him except your own." Flood was then in the college, but being some years younger than Goldsmith, and a fellow commoner, it is not surjjrising that they should have held no intercourse ; but a greater than Flood, tiiough himself little notable at college, said he perfectly recollected his old fellow-student, when they afterwards met at the house of Mr. Reynolds. Not that there was much for an Edmimd Burke to recollect of him. Little went well with Goldsmith in his student course. He had a menial position, a savage brute for tutor, and few inclinations to the study exacted. He was not, indeed, as perhaps never living creature in this world was, without his consolations ; he could sing a song well, and, at a new insult or outrage, could blow off excitement through his flute with a kind of desperate " mechanical vehemence." At the worst he had, as he describes it himself, a " knack at hoping ;" and at all times, it must with equal certainty be affirmed, a knack at getting into scrapes. Like Samuel Johnson at Oxford, ajj jg he avoided lectures when he could, and was a lounger at the college gate. The popular picture of him in these Dublin University days, is little more than of a slow, hesitating, somewhat hollow voice, heard seldom and always to great disadvantage in the tlass-rooms ; and of a low-sized, thick, robust, ungainly figure, lounging about the college courts on the wait for misery and m-luck. His Edgeworthstown schoolfellow, Beatty, had entered among 18 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [soofi 7. the sizars with him, and for a, time shared his rooms. They are described as the top-rooms adjoining the library of the building • numbered 35, where the name of Oliver Goldsmith may still be seen, scratched by himself upon a ■window-pane. Another sizar, Marshall, is said to have been another of his chums. Among Ms occasional associates, were certainly Edward Mills, his relative ; Robert Bryanton, a Balljinahon youth, also his relative, of whom he was fond ; Charles and Edward Purdon, whom he lived to befriend ; James WiUington, whose name he afterwards had permission to use in London, for low literary work he was ashamed to put his own to ; "Wilson and Kearney, subsequently doctors and fellows of the college ; Wolfen, also well known ; and Lauchlan Macleane, whose political pamphlets, unaccepted challenge to Wilkes, and general party exertions, made a noise in the world twenty or thirty years later. But not till a man becomes famous is it to be expected that any wonderful feats of memory should bo performed respecting him ; and it soems tolerably evident that, ■with the exception of perhaps Bryanton and Beatty, not one owner of the names recounted put himself in friendly relation with the sizar, to elevate, assist, or cheer him. Richard Malone, after- wards Lord Sunderlin ; Barnard and Marlay, aftei-wards worthy bishops of Killaloe and Waterford ; found nothing more pleasant than to talk of " their old fellow-collegian Doctor Goldsmith," in the painting-room of Reynolds : but nothing, I suspect, so difficult, thriving lads as they were in even these earlier days, than to vouchsafe recognition to the unthriving, depressed, insulted Oliver. A year and a half after he had entered college, at the com- mencement of l'r47, his father suddenly died. The scanty xi. ig sums reqijired for his. support had been often intercepted, but this stopped them altogether. It may have been the least and most trifling loss connected ■with that sorrow ; but " squalid poverty," relieved by occasional gifts, according to his small means, from uncle Contarine, by petty loans from Bryanton or Beatty, or by desperate pawning of his books of study, was Goldsmith's lot thenceforward. Yet even in the depths of that despair, arose the consciousness of faculties reserved foi better fortune than continual contempt and failure. He would ■write Btreet-ballads to save himself from actual starving ; sell them at the Rein-deer repository in Mountrath-court for five shillings a-piece ; and steal out of the college at night to hear them sung. Happy night, to him worth all the dreary days ! Hidden by some dusky wall, or creeping ■within darkling shado^ws of the iU- lighted streets, this poor neglected sizar watched, waited, lingerod, listened there, for the only eifort of his life which had not wholly . H.l COLLEGtE- iS failed. Fe* aild dull perhaps the beggar^s audience at first, but more thronging, eager, and delighted, as he shouted forth his newly-gotten -ware. Cracked enough, I doubt not, were those ballad-singing tones ; very harsh, extremely discordant, and passing from loud to low without meaning or melody ; but not the less did the sweetest music which this earth affords fall with them on the ear of Goldsmith. Gentle faces pleased, old men stopping by the way, young lads venturing a purchase with their last remaining farthing; why, here was a world in little with its fame at the sizar's feet! "The greater world will be listening " one day," perhaps he muttered, as he turned with a lighter heart to his dull home. It is said to have been a rare occurrence when the five shillings of the Rein-deer repository reached home along with him. It was more likely, when he was at his utmost need, to stop with some beggar on the road who had seemed to him even more destitute than himself. Nor this only. The money gone, — often, for the naked shivering wretch, had he slipped off a portion of the scanty clothes he wore, to patch a misery he could not otherwise relieve. To one starving creature with five crying children, he gave at on« time the blankets off his bed, and crept himself into the ticking 20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [eoo4 1. for shelter from the cold. For this latter anecdote, Mr. Mills, Goldsmith's relative and fellow student, is the authority. He occasionally furnished him, when in college, with small supplies, and gave tn'tn a breakfast now and then ; for which latter purpose having gone to call Th't" one morning, Goldsmith's voice from within his own room proclaimed himself a prisoner, and that they must force the door to help him out. MiUs did this, and found him so fastened in the ticking of the bed, into which he had taken refuge from the cold, that he could not escape unassisted. Late on the previous winter night, imable otherwise to relieve a woman and her five children who seemed all perishing for want of warmth, he had brought out his blankets to the college-gate and given them to her. 1 It is not meant to insist on these things as examples of conduct. " Sensibility is not Benevolence ; " nor will this kind of agonised sympathy with distress, even when graced by that active self-denial of which there is here little proof, supply the solid duties or satisfactions of life. There are distresses, vast and remote, with which it behoves us still more to sympathise than with those, less really terrible, which only more attract us by intruding on our senses ; and the conscience is too apt to discharge itself of the greater duty by instant and easy attention to the less. Let me observe also, that, in the case of a man dependent on others, the title to such enjoyment as such largeness and looseness of sympathy involves, has very obvious and controlling- limits. So much it is right to interpose when anecdotes of this description are told ; but to Goldsmith, all the circumstances considered, they are really very creditable ; and it is well to recollect them when the " neglected opportunities " of his youth are spoken of. Doubtless there were better things to be done, .by a man of stronger purpose. But the nature of men is not different from that of other living creatures ; it gives the temper and the disposition, but not the nurture or the culture. These Goldsmith never rightly had, except in such sort as he could himself provide ; and now, assuredly, he had not found them in his college. " That strong, steady disposition which " alone makes men great," he avowed himself deficient in : but were other dispositions not worth the caring for ? " His imagina- tion" (as, with obvious allusion to his own case, he says of PameU's) "might have been too warm to relish the cold logic of " Burgersdicius, or the dreary subtleties of Smiglesius : " but with nothing less cold or dreary might a warm imagination have been cherished 1 When, at the house of Burke, he talked these matters over in after years with Edmond Malone, he said that, though he made no great figure in mathematics, which was a study in much repute there, he could turn an ode of Horace ii\to English bettei OHi.F. II.] COLLEGE. 31 than any of them. His tutor, Mr. Theakor Wilder, would soone» have set him to turn a lathe. This tutor, this reverend instructor of youth, was the same who, on one occasion in Dublin streets, sprang at a bound from the pavement on a hackney-coach which was passing at its swiftest pace, and felled to the ground the driver, who had accidentally touched his face with the whip. So, mathematics being Mr. Theaker Wilder's intellectual passion, the same strength, agility, and ferocity which drove him into brawls with hackney-coachmen, he carried to the demonstrations of Euclid ; and for this, all his life afterwards, even more than poet Gray, did poor Goldsmith wage war with mathematics. Kever had he stood up in his class that this learned savage did not outrage and insult him. Having the misery to mistaike malice fbr wit, the comic as well as tragic faculty of Mr. Wilder found endless recreation in the awkward, ugly, "ignorant," most sensitive young man. There was no pause or limit to the strife between them. The tufaw's brutality rose even to personal violence ; the pupil's shame and suffering hardened into reckless idleness ; and the college career of Oliver Goldsmith was proclaimed a wretched failure. Lot us be thankful that it was no worse, and that participitation in a college riot was after all the highest of bis college crimes. Twice indeed he was cautioned for neglecting even his Greek lecture j but he was also thrice commended for diligence in attending it ; and Doctor Kearney said he once got a prize at a Christmas examination in classics. The latter seems doubtful ; but at any rate the college riot was the worst to allege against him, and in this there was no very active sin. A scholar had been arrested, though the precincts of the university had always been held privileged from the intrusion of bailiffs, and the students resolved to take rough revenge. It was in the summer of 1747. They explored every bailiff's den in Dublin, found the offender by whom the arrest was made, brought him naked to the college pump, washed his delinquency thoroughly out of him ; and were so elated with the triumph, and everything that bore affinity to law, restraint, or authority, looked so ludicrous in the person of this drenched baUiff's-runner, their miserable representative, that it was on the spot proposed tq crown and consummate success by breaking open Newgate, and making a general jail delivery. The Black Dog, as the prison was called, stood on the feeblest of legs, and with one small piece of artillery must have gone down for ever ; but the cannon was with the constable, the assailants were repulsed, and some townsmen attracted by the fray unhappily lost theii- lives. Five of the ringleaders were discovered and expelled the pollege ; and among flve lesser offenders wjjo 22 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH-g LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. were publicly admonislied for being present, "aiding and abetting" (Quod sedition! favisset et tumultuantibus opem tulisset), the name of Oliver Goldsmith occurs. More galled by formal University admonition than by Wilder's insults, and anxious to wipe out a disgrace that seemed not so undeserved. Goldsmith tried in the next month for a scholarship. He lost the scholarship, but got an exhibition : a very smaL axhibi- tion trutyj worth some thirty shiUings, of which there were nine- teen in number, and his was seventeenth in the list. In the way of honour or glory this was tiifling enough ; but, little used to anything in the shape of even such a success, he let loose his unaccustomed joy ia a small dancing party at his rooms, of humblest sort. Wilder heard of the affront to discipline, suddenly showed him- self in the middle of the festivity, and knocked down the poor triumphant exhibitioner. It seemed an irretrievable disgrace. Goldsmith sold his books next day, got together a small sum, ran away from college, lingered fearfully about Dublin till his money was spent, and then, with a shilling in his pocket, set out for Cork. He did not know where he would have gone, he said, but he thought of Aweriga. For three days he lived upon the shilling ; CHAP. II.] COLLEGE. 23 parted by degrees with uearly aE tis clothes, to save himself from famine ; and long afterwards told Reynolds what his sister relates hi her narrative, that of all the exquisite meals he had ever tasted, the most delicious was a handful of grey peas given him by a girl at a wake after twenty-four hours' fasting. The vision of America sank before this reality, and he turned his feeble steps to Lissoy. His brother had private intimation of his state, went to him, clothed him, and carried him back to college. " Something of a "reconciliation," says Mrs. Hodson, was effected with the tutor. Probably the tutor made so much concession as to promise not to strike him to the ground again ; for certainly no other im- provement is on record. An anecdote, " often told in con- ^. „', " versation to Bishop Percy," exhibits the sizar at his usual disadvantage. Wilder called on Goldsmith, at a lecture, to explain the centre of gi-avity, which, on getting no answer, he proceeded him- self to explain : calling out harshly to Oliver at the close, " Now, "blockhead, where is your centre of gravity?" The answer, which wa,s delivered in a slow, hollow, stammering voice, and began " Why, Doctor, by your definition, I think it must be" — disturbed every one's centre of gra'Vity in the lecture room ; and, turning the laugh against Wilder, turned down poor Oliver. And so the insults, the merciless jests, the " Oliver Goldsmith turned down," appear to have continued as before. We still trace bim less by his fame in the class-room than by his fines in the buttery-books. The only change is in that greater submission of the victim which marks imsuccessful rebellion. He offers no resistance ; makes no effort of any kind ; sits, for the most part, indulging day-dreams. A Greek Scapula has been identified which he used at this time, scrawled over with his writing. "Free. Oliver Goldsmith;" "I promise to pay, " &c. Oliver Goldsmith ; " are among the autograph's musing shapes. Perhaps one half the day he was with Steele or Addison in parh'ament ; perhaps the other half in prison with CoUins or with Fielding. We should be thankful, as I have said, that a time so dreary and dark bore no worse fruit than that. The shadow cast over his spirit, the uneasy sense of disadvantage which obscured his manners in later years, affected himself singly ; but how many they are whom such suffering, and such idleness, would have wholly and for ever corrupted. The spirit hardly lees generous, cheerful, or self-supported than Goldsmith's, has bivm broken by them utterly. He took his degi-ee of bachelor of arts on the 27th February, 1749 ; and as his name stood lowest in the Mst of sizars with whom he was originally admitted, so it stands also ^^ ^^ lowest in a list still existing of the graduates who passed on the same day, and thus became entitled to use the coUege library. ■24 OLIVEU GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES, [book I. But it would be needless to recount the names that appear above his ; for the public merits of their owners ended with their college course, and oblivion has received them. Not indeed does that position of his name necessarily indicate his place in the examina- tion ; it being then the usage to regulate the mere college standing of a student through the'whole of his course, by his position obtained at starting. But be this as it might, Mr. AVilder and his pupil now parted for ever : and when the fKeiid of Burke, of Johnson, and of Reynolds, next heard the name of his college tyrant, a violent death had overtaken Mm in a dissolute brawl. CHAPTER III. — ♦— THREE TEAKS OP IDLENESS. 1749—1752. Goldsmith returned to his mother's house. There were great changes. She had removed, in her straitened circum- xjt 21 stances, to a cottage at Ballymahou, "situated on the " entrance to BaUymahon from the Edgeworthstown-road " on the left-hand side." His brother Henry had gone back to his father's little parsonage house at Pallas ; and, with his father's old pittance of forty pounds a year, was serving as curate to the living of Kilkenny West, and was master of the village school, which after shifting about not a little had become idtimately ^ed at Lissoy. His eldest sister, Mrs. Hodson, for whom the sacrifice was made that impoverished the family resources, was mistress of the old and better Lissoy parsonage house, in which his father had lived his latter Ufe. All entreated Oliver to qualify himself for orders ; and when they joined uncle Contarine's request, his own objection was withdrawn. But he is only tifenty-^ne ; h« must wait two years ; and they are passed at BaUymahon. It is the sunny time between two dismal periods of his life. He has escaped one scene of misery; another is awaiting him; and what possibiHties of happiness ho in the interval, it is his nature to seize and make the most of. He assists his^ br»tit8» Henry in the school ; runs household errands for his mother, as if he were still what the village gossips called him, " Master Noll," and brings her green tea by the ounce, the half ouncp, and the quarter ounce, for which the chai-ges respectively are sevenpence, threepence halfpenny, and twopence ; he writes scraps of verse to please his uncle Contarine; and, to please himself, gets cousin Bryanton and Tony Lumpkins of the district, with wandering bear-leaders of rnAi". III.] THREE YEARS OP IDLENESS. geuteeler sort, to meet at an old inn by his mother's house, and be a club for story-teUmg, for an occasional game of whist, and for the singing of songs. First in these accomplishments, great at Latin quotations, as admirer of happy human faces greatest of all, — Oliver presides. Cousin Bryanton had seen his disgrace in college, and thinks this a tritmiph indeed. So seems it to the hero of the triumph, on whose taste and manners, still only forming as yet in these sudden and odd extremes, many an amusing shade of contrast must have fallen in after-life, from the storms of WUder's class-room and the sunshine of George Conway's inn. Thus the two years passed. In the day-time occupied, as I have said, in the village school; on the winter nights, at Conway's; and, in the evenings of summer, taking solitary walks among the rocks and wooded islands of the Inny, strolling up its banks to fish or play the flute, otter-hunting (as he tells us in his AnvmaUd Nature) by the course of the Shannon, learning French from the Irish priests, or winning a prize for throwing the sledge- hammer at the fair of Ballymahou. " A lady who died lately in this "neighboxirhood," says Mr. Shaw Mason, in his account of the district, " and who was well acquainted with Mrs. Goldsmith, men- "-tipned that it was one of Oliver's habits to sit in a window of his " mother's lodgings, and amuse himself by playing the flute." Two sunny years, with sorrowful afiection long remembered; storing up his mind with many a thought and fancy turned lo profitable use in after-life, but hardly better than his college course to help him through the world. So much even occurred to himself when eight years were gone, and, in the outset of his London distresses, he turned back with -wistful looks to Trelaml, 26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book I. " Unaccountable fondness for country, this Maladie du Pais, aa " the French call it ! " he exclaimed, writing to his brother-in-law Hodson. " Unaccountable that he should still have an affection "for a place who never received when in it above common "civility; who never brought anything out of it except his brogue " and his blunders. . . What gives me a wish to see Ireland again ? "The country is a fine one perhaps? No. There are good "company in Ireland? No. The conversation there is generally "made up of a smutty toast or a bawdy song; the vivacity "supported by some humble cousin, who has just folly enough to " earn his dinner. Then perhaps there's more wit and learning "among the Irish? Oh, lord! no! There has been more money "spent in the encouragement of the Padareen mare there one " season, than given in- rewards to learned men since the times of " Usher. All their productions in learning amount to perhaps a "translation, or a few tracts in divinity; and all their productions " in wit, to just nothing at all." But perhaps the secret escaped without his knowledge, when, in that same year, he was writing to a more intimate friend. "I have disappointed your neglect," he said to Bryan ton, "by "frequently thinking of you. Every day do I remember St 22 " ^^® '^^^^ anecdotes of your hfe, from the fireside to the ' ' easy chair : i-eoal the various adventures that first cemented " our friendship : the school, the college, or the tavern : preside in " fancy over your cards : and am displeased at your bad play when " the rubber goes against you, though not with all that agony of " soul as when I once was your partner." Let the truth, then, be confessed; and that it was the careless idleness of fire-side and easy chair, that it was the tavern excitement of the game at cards, to which Goldsmith so wistfully looked back fi'om those first hard London struggles. It is not an example I would wish to inculcate ; nor is thif narrative written with that purpose. To try any such process for the chance of another Goldsmith would be a somewhat dangerous attempt. The truth is important to be kept in view : that genius, representing as it does the perfect health and victory of the mind, is in no respect allied to those weaknesses, but, when unhappily connected with them, is in itself a means to avert their most evil consequence. Of "the associates of Goldsmith iu these happy, careless years, perhaps not one emerged to better fortune, and many sank to infinitely worse. "Pray give my love to Bob " Bryanton, and entreat him from me, not to drink," is a passage from one of his later letters to his brother Henry. The habit of drinking he never suffered to overmaster himself; — if the love of gaming to some trifling extent continued, it was at, least the CHAP. III.] THREE TEAKS OF IDLENESS. 27 origin of many thouglits that may have saved others from like temptation; — and if these irregular early years unsettled him for the pursuits his friends would have had him follow, and sent him ivandering, with no pursuit, to mix among the poor and happy of other lands, it is very certain that he brought back some secrets both of poverty and happiness which were worth the finding, and, having paid for his errors by infinite personal privation, turned aU the rest to the comfort and instruction of the world. There is a providence that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will ; and to charming issues did the provideu^o of Goldsmith's genius shape these rough-hewn times. What it .eceived in mortification or grief, it gave back in cheerful humour or whimsical warning. It was not alone that it made him wise enough to know what infirmities he had, but it gave him the rarer wisdom of turning them to entertainment and to profit. Through the pains and obstructions of his childhood, through the uneasy failures of his youth, through the desperate struggles of his manhood, it lighted him to those last uses of experience and suffering which have given him an immortal name. And let it be observed, that this BaUymahon idleness could lay claim to a certain activity in one respect. It was always cheerful ; and this is no unimportant part of education, if heart and head are to go together. "Rely upon it, Sir," said Johnson to Boswell, " vivacity is much an art, and depends greatly on habit." It will be well, therefore, when habits of cheerfulness are as much a part of formal instruction as habits of study; and when the foolish argument will be heard no longer, that such things are in native's charge, and may be left exclusively to her. Nature asks help and culture in all things; and will even yield to their solicitation, what would otherwise lie utterly unknown. It was an acute remark of Goldsmith's, in respect to literary efforts, that the habit of writing will give a man justness of thinking ; and that he may get from it a mastery of manner, which holiday writers, though with ten times his genius, will find it difficult to equal. It is the same in temper as in mind : habit comes in aid of all deficiencies. The reader will be therefore not unprepared ^? 23 to find, as well in these sunny Irish years, as in other parts of the apparently vagrant and idle career to be now described, some points of even general beneficial example. The two years, then, are passed ; and Oliver must apply for orders. " For the clerical profession," says Mrs. Hodson, " he had "no liking." It is not very wonderful ; after having seen, in his father and his brother, how much learning and labour were rewarded in the church by forty pounds a year. But he had yet another, and to him perhaps a stronger motive ; though I do j»ot know if 28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book I. it has not been brought against ^'t" as an imputation of mere vanity or simplicity, that he once said, " he did not deem himself " good enough for it." His Mends, however, though not so resolutely as at first, still advised Tn'm to this family profession. " Our friends," says the man in black, " always advise, irhen they " begin to despise us." He made application to the Bishop of Elphin, and was refused ; sent back as he went ; in short, plucked ; — but the story is told in various ways, and it is hard to get at the truth. His sister says that his youth was the objection ; while it was a tradition " in the diocese" that either Mr. Theaker Wilder had given the bishop an exaggerated report of his college irregularities, or (which is more likely, and indeed is the only reasonable account of the affair) that he had neglected the pre- liminary professional studies. Doctor Strean on the other hand fully believed, from rumours he picked up, that "Mr. Noll's" offence was the having presented himself before his right reverence in scarlet breeches ; and certainly if this last reason be the true one, it is our first ominous experience of the misplaced personal finery which will find reiterated mention in this veritable history. But in truth the rejection is the only absolute certainty. The man in black, it will be remembered, undergoes something of the same kind, remarking, " my friends were now perfectly satisfied "I was undone ; and yet they thought it a pity, for one that had " not the least harm in him, and was so very goodnatured." Uncle Contarine, however, was far from thinking this. He found a gentleman of his county, a Mr. Flirni, in wajit of a tutor, and recommended Oliver. The engagement continued for a year, and ended, as it might have beau easy to anticipate, unsatisfac- torily. His talent for card-playing, as well as for teaching, is said to have been put in requisition by Mr. FUnn ; and the separation took place on Goldsmith's accusing one of the family of unfair play. But when he left this excellent Irish family and returned to Ballymahon, he had thirty pounds in his pocket, it is to be hoped the produce of fairer play ; and was undisputed owner of a good plump horse. "Within a few days, so furnished and mounted, he again left Lis mother's house (where, truth to say, things do not by this time seem to have been made very comfortable to him), and started for Cork, with another floating vision of America. He returned in six weeks, with nothing in his pocket, and on a lean beast, to which he had given the name of Fiddleback. The nature of his reception at Ballymahon appears from the simple remark he is said to have made to his mother. "And now, my dear '• mother, after having struggled so hard to come home to you, I '■' Wonder you are not more rejoiced to see me." ge afterwards a4dresse4 a Qjever though somewhat cavtvUcr tBAf. m.j DHUEE YEARS OE IDLENESS. 28 tetter to lier from his brother's house ; which is open to the objec- tion that no copy exists in his hand- writing, but which has great internal evidence of his facility, grace, and humour. Nor is there anything more signally worth remark in connection with the vagabond vicissitudes which these pages will have to record, than that, out of all the accidents which befel the man, the poverty he had to undergo, the companions with whom he associated, the sordid necessities which unavoidably conduct so often into miry ways, no single speck or stain ever fell oa that enchanting beauty of style. Wherever he might be, or with whatever clowns for playfellows ; in the tavern, in the garret, or among citizens in the Sunday gardens ; when he took the pen in hand, he was a gentleman. Everything coarse or vulgar dropped from a instinctively. It reflected nothing, even in its descriptions of things vulgar or coarse in them- selves, but the elegance and sweetness, which, whatever might be the accident or meanness of his external lot, remained pure in the last recesses of his nature. In substance this letter to his mother confessed that his inten- tion was to have sailed for America ; that he had gone to Cork for that purpose, and converted the horse which his mother prized so much higher than Fiddleback, into cash ; that he had paid for his pas- sage in an American ship, and, the wind threatening to detain them some days, had taken a little country excursion in the neighbourhood of the city ; but that, the vrind suddenly serving in his absence, his friend the captain had never inquired after him, but set sail with as much indifference as if he had been on board. " You know, ''mother," he remarks, "that no one can starve while he has " money in his pocket : " and, being reduced by the practice of this apophthegm to his last two guineas, he bought the generous beast, Fiddleback, for one pound seventeen, and with five shiUings in his pocket turned homewards. Then had come one of those sudden appeals to a sharp and painful susceptibility, when, as ho afterwards described them to his brother, charitable to excess, he forgot the rules of justice, and placed himself in the situation of the wretch who was thanking him for his bounty. Ponniless in W OLIVBR GOLDSMITH'S Llt'E AND TltfiS. [BOOk I. oonsequcaice, he bethought him of a college acguaintance on tha road, to whose house he went. With exquisite humour he desoiibeB this most miserly acquaintance, who, to allay his desperate hunger, dilated on the advantages of a diet of slops, and set him down to a porringer of sour milk and a heel of musty cheese ; and, being asked for the loan of a guiaea, earnestly recommended the sale of Fiddleback, producing what he called a much better nag to ride upon, which would cost neither price nor provender, in the shape of a stout oaken cudgel. His adventures ended a little more agree- ably at last, however, in a more genial abode, where an acquaint- ance of the miser entertained him. He had " two sweet girls to " his daughters, who played enchantingly on the harpsichord ; and " yet it was but a melancholy pleasure I felt the first time I heard " them ; for, that being the first time also that either of them had " touched the instrument since their mother's death, I saw the " tears in silence trickle down their father's cheeks." Law was the next thing thought of, and the good Mr. Contarine came forward with fifty pounds. It seems a small sum where- 'Pt 24 "^^^^ *o travel to Dublin and London, to defray expenses of ' entrance at inns of coiul;, and to Kve upon till anecessaryniun- ber of terms are eaten. But with fifty pounds young Oliver started ; on a luckless journey. A Roscommon friend-laid hold of him in Dublin, seduced him toplaj, and the fifty pounds he would have raised to a hundred, he reduced to fifty pence. Li bitter shame, after great physical suffering, he wrote to his uncle, confessed, and was forgiven. On return to Ballymahon, it is probable that his mother objected to receive him ; since after this datf we find him living wholly with his brother. It was but for a short time, however ; disagreement followed there too ;. and we see him next by Mr. Contarine's fireside, again talking literature to his good-natured uncle, writing new verses to please him (alleged copies of which are not sufficiently authentic to be believed in), and joining his flute to Miss Contarine's harpsichord. , _ CHAPTER IV. PREPARING FOR A MEDICAL DEaUEE. 17S2— 175S, The years of idleness must nevertheless come to a close. Do-do nothing, no matter how melodiously accompanied by flute jnj 24 and harpsichord, is not what a man is bom into this world " to do ; and it required but a casual word from a not very genial visitor, to dose fori ever Goldsmith's happy nights at uncle 5HAP. tv.] nEPARINGT FOR A MEDICAL DUCtEEE. 82 Contarine's. There was a sort of cold grandee of tlie family, Dean Goldsmith of Cloyne, who did not think it unbecoming his dignity to visit the good clergyman's parsonage now and then ; and Oliver having made a remark which showed him no fool, the dean gave it as his opinion to Mr. Contarine that his young relative would make an exellent medical man. The hint seemed a good one, and was the dean's contribution to his young relative's fortune. The small purse was contributed by Mr. Contarine ; and in the autumn of 1752, Oliver Goldsmith started for Edinburgh, medical student. ~ Anecdotes of amusing simplicity and forgetfulness in this new character are, as usual, more rife than notices of his course of study ; but such records as have been preserved of the period rest upon authority too obviously doubtful to require other than a very cursory mention here. On the day of his arrival he is reported to have set forth for a ramble round the streets, after leaving his lug- gage at hired lodgings where he had forgotten to inquire the name either of the street or the landlady, and to which he only found his way back by the accident of meeting the porter who had carried his trunk from the coach. He is also said to have obtained, in this temporary abode, a knowledge of the wondrous culinary expedients with which three medical students might be supported for a whole week on a single loin of mutton, by a brandered chop served up one day, a fried steak another, chops with onion sauce a third, and so on till the fleshy parts should be quite consumed, when finally, on the seventh day, a dish of broth manufactured from the bonea would appear, and the ingenious landlady rested from her labours. It is moreover recorded, in proof of his careless habits in respect to money, that being in company with several fellow-students on the first night of a new play, he suddenly proposed to draw lots with any one present which of the two should treat the- whole party to the theatre ; when the real fact was, as he afterwards confessed in speaking of the secret joy with which he heard them aJl decline the challenge, that had it been accepted, and had he proved the loser, he must have pledged a part of his wardrobe in order to raise the money. This last anecdote, if true, reveals to us at any rate that he had a wardrobe to pledge. Such resource in the matter of dress is one of his peculiarities found generally peeping out in some form or other : and, unable to confirm any otter fact in these recollec- tions, I can at least establish that. But first let me remark that no traditions remain of the character or extent of his studies. It sSems tolerably certain that any . learned celebrity he may have got in the schools, paled an ineffectual fire before his amazing social repute, as inimitable teller of a humorous story and capital singer of Irish songs. He became a 32 OLIVER aoLDSMM'a'S LlFK AND TtMES. [fiooK 1. member of the Medical Society, and on his admission appears to have been exempted from the usual condition of reading a paper on a medical subject. But he was really fond of chenustry, and was remembered favourably by the celebrated Black ; other well- known fellow-students, as William Farr, and his whUome college acquaintance, Lauchlan Macleane, conceived a regard for him, which somewhat later Farr seems to have had the opportunity of showing ; certainly of kind quaker Sleigh, afterwards known as the eminent physician of that name, as painter Barry's first patron, Burke's friend, and one of the many victims of Foote's witty malice, so much may without contradiction be aflBrmed ; and it is therefore to be sup- posed that his eighteen months' residence in Edinburgh was, on the whole, not unprofitable. It had its mortifications, of course ; for all his life had these. " An ugly and a poor man is society only " for himself ; and such society the world lets me enjoy in great " abundance : " " nor do I envy my dear Bob his blessings, while " I may sit down and laugh at the world ; and at myself, the "most ridiculous object in it:" are among his expressions of half bitter, half good-natiured candour, in a letter to his cousin Bryanton. There, is another confession in a later letter to his uncle, which touches him in a nearer point, and suggests perhaps more than it reveals. It would seem as though, to eke out his resources, he had for some part of his time accepted employment in a great man's house : probably as tutor. " I have spent," he says, " more " than a fortnight every second day at the Duke of Hamilton's ; " but it seems they like me more as a jester than as a companion ; " so I disdained so servile an employment." To those with whom, on equal terms, he could be both jester and companion, Bryanton was charged with every kind of remembrance. "You cannot send " me much news from Ballymahon, but such as it is, send it all ; "everything you send will be agreeable to me. Has George " Conway put up a sign yet ? or John Binely left oflf drinking ' drams 1 or Tom Allen got a new wig 1 " To the pleasant and whimsical satire of the Scotch he at the same time sent to Bryanton, I need scarcely have referred, because in all the editions of his works, except the Scotch, it is commonly printed : but in merely alluding to these various letters it will be well to reserve any special belief in the accuracy of all their statements. As a generally humorous picture drawn from various sources, rather than a strictly veracious record of his o-vra experience, it will be safest to regard them ; but this remark applies less strongly to those two of the three letters to his uncle Oontarine, the earliest in date and least important in contents, which have been recently discovered. otiAP. iV.J fREPAllI>fQ foil A MEblCAL DEGfRES. 33 In tlie first, dated May, 1753, and in wliicli he alludes to a de- scription of himself by his imcle, as "the philosopher who " carries all his goods about him," he describes Munro as the „( gj one great professor, and the rest of the doctor-teachers as only less afflicting to their students than they must be to their patients. He makes whimsical mention of a trip to the Highlands, for which he had hired a horse about the size of a ram, who " walked away ( trot he could not) as pensi-ve as his master." Other passages have a tendency to show within what really narrow limits he had brought his wants ; with how little he was prepared to be cheerfully content ; and that, for whatever advances were sent him, though certainly it might have been desirable that he should have turned them to more practical use, he at least over- flowed with gratitude. There has been occasionally a harsh judgment of Goldsmith for this money so wasted on abortive professional undertakings : but the sacrifices cannot fairly be called very great. Burke had an allowance of 200J. a-year for leisure to follow studies to which he never paid the least attention ; and when his father anxiously expected to hear of his call to the bar, he might have heard, instead, of a distress which forced him to sell his books : yet no one thinks, and rightly, of exacting penalties from Burke on this ground. Poor Goldsmith's supplies were on the other hand small, irregular, uncertain, and, in some two years at the furthest, exhausted altogether. Here, in this letter to his uncle, he says that he has diawn for six pounds, and that his next draft, five months after this date, wiU be for but four pounds ; pleading in extenuation of these light demands, that he has been obliged to buy everything since he came to Scotland, " shirts not even excepted : " while in another letter at the close of the same year he accounts for money spent, by the remark that he has " good store of clothes" to accompany him on his travels. Yet there was decided moderation even in the direc- tion sartorial ; nor does the wardrobe, to which allusion was made a few pages back, appear to have been by any means extensive in the proportion of the gaiety of its colours. Upon the latter point our evidence is not to be gainsayed. What will have to be re- marked of Goldsmith in this respect at Mr. BosweU's or Sir Joshua's, is already to be said of him in the lodging-house and lecture-room at Edinburgh ; and on the same proof of old tailor's bills, the very ghosts of which continue to flutter about and plague his memory. The leaf of an Edinburgh ledger of 1753 has fallen into my hands, from which it would appear that one of his feUow students, Mr, Homier, had introduced him at the beginning of that year to 84 OLtVEU GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book l a merchant tailor with whota he, dealt for sundry items of hose, hats, silver lace, satin, allapeen, fustian, durant, shalloon, cloth, and velvet ; which materials of adornment are charged to him, from the January to the December of the year, in the not very immoderate sum of 9f. lis. 2jd., the first entries of which, to the amount of 31. 15s. 9|d. were in November duly paid in full, and what remained at the year's end carried to a foUo in the same ledger, unluckily destroyed before it was discovered to whom the page related. I owe this curious little document to the kindness of Mr. David Laing, of the Signet Library in Edinburgh, who remarks in sending it, that unfortunately the foUo 424, to which reference is made at its close, had been torn up before the earlier leaf was discovered, Neither was there any indicatioi; of the name of the merchant taUor. Mk. Oliver Goidsmitd, Student,- pr. Mr. HoKNEn. 1753. £ Jan?. 24. 'To 2^ yds. rich Sky-Blew sattin, 12s. . .1 ,, To 1^ yds. white Allapeen, 2« „ To Ij yds. Do. Fustian, 1«. id, . . . ,, To 4 yds. Blew Durant, Is. id. . . . „ To I yds. fine Sky-Blew Shalloon, Is. 9d. Feb'y 23. To 2i yds. fine Priest's Grey cloth, 10s. 6d. . 1 ,, To 2 yds. Black shalloon. Is. 6(i. . . . ,, To a pair fine 3-thd Black worsed Hose „ To I yds. rich Ditto Genoa velvett, 22s. . . Nov'. 23. By Cash in full '. £3 15 , , To 1 OK. 6 J drs. silves Hatt-Lace, Ss. . , . ., ,, To 1 drs. silver chain, 6d., and plate button, 2rf,. ,, To lacing your Hatt, Gd., and a new lyniiig, 6d. ,, To a sfine small Hatt , . . . . ,, To 34 yds. best sfine high Clarett-oolour'd Cloth, 19s. . . . . . . i ,, To 6i yds. sfine best White shall"., 2s. . . „ To 4 yds. white Fustian, 16d. . . . . Dec. 6, To a pr sfine Best Blk worsed hose . s. d. 10 3 2 4 5 4 1 H 3 n 3' 4 6 3 15 9? ■3 15 n 11 H « 1 14 3 6 6, 11 5 4 5 6 To Folio i24. £5 15 4i Such IS the old leaf, exactly ,copied' ; and radiant as it ie, through all its age and dinginess, with a name bright and familial since to many generations of boys and men in the good merchant- tailor's city, is it not also still sparkling in every part with its rich sky-blue satin, its fine sky-blue shalloon, its superfine silver laced small hat, its rich black Qenoa velvet, and its best superfine rttAP. tV.] PREf AMNO FOR A MEDICAL DEGREE. 85 high, claret-coloured cloth ? for, which the gravest reader will not vmmUingly spare a snule, before he retums.-with me to the letters that preceded student Oliver's departure for the continent. In that first letter he had professed himself pleased with his siaidies, and expressed a hope that when he should have heard Munr<< for another year, he might go "to hear Albinus, the great professor at " Leyden." The whole of the letter gives evidence of a most grateful affection. In the second, written eight mj ng months later, where he describes his preparations for travel, and, confirming his intentions as to Leyden in the following winter, says that he shall pass the intervening months in Paris, the same feeling is not less apparent : " Let me here acknowledge," he says, " the humility of the station in which you found me ; let me tell " how I was despised by most, and hateful to myself. Poverty, " hopeless poverty, was my lot, and Melancholy was beginning to " make me her own. When you . . . . " This good man did not live to know the entire good he had done, or that his own name would probably live with the memory of it as long as the English language lasted. " Thou best of men ! " exclaims his nephew in the third of these letters, to which I shall presently make larger reference, "may heaven guard and preserve you and " those you love ! " It is the care of Heaven that actions worthy of itself should in the doing find reward, nor have to wait for it even on the thanks and prayers of such a heart as Goldsmith's. Another twenty pounds are acknowledged on the eve of departure from Edinburgh, as the last he will ever draw for. It was the last of which we have record. But Goldsmith had drawn his last breath before he forgot his uncle Contarine. The old vicissitudes attended him at this new move in his game of life. Land rats and water rats were at his heels as he quitted Scotland ; bailiffs htmted him for security given to a fellow-student ("fortius he was arrested," says the Percy Memoir, "but soon "released by the liberal assistance of his friends, Mr. Lauchlan "Macleane and Dr. Sleigh, who were then in college"), and shipwreck he only escaped by a fortnight's imprisonment on a false political charge. Bound for Leyden, and his purpose to interpose Paris for some reason or other laid aside, with charac- teristic carelessness or oddity he had secured his passage in a ship bound for Bourdeaux ; but, taken for a Jacobite in Newcastle-on- Tyne, and in Sunderland arrested by a tailor, the ship sailed on without him, and sank at the mouth of the Garonne, " We were " but two days at sea," he says, " when a storm drove us into a "city of England called Newcastle-upon-Tyne. We aU went " ashore to refresh us after the fatigue of our voyage. Seven men " and I were one day on shore, and on the following evening,, as we 88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFl; ANl TIMES. [book l " Tvere all very merry, the room door bmsis open : enters a ser- "jeant and twelve grenadiers, 171111 their bayonets screwed, and " puts us all under the king's arrest. It seems my company we: a " Scotchmen in the French service, and had been in Scotland to " enlist soldiers for the French army. I endeavoured all I could " to prove my innocence ; however, I remained in prison with the " rest a fortnight, and with difficulty got off even then." These facts are stated on his o\\ti authority ; but whether they are all exactly credible, or' whether credit may not rather be due to the suggestion that they were mere fanciful modes of carrying off the loss, in other ways, of money given to enable him to cany on studies in which it cannot now be supposed that he took any great interest, I shall leave to the judgment of the reader. Certain it is that at last he got safe to the learned city ; and wrote oflf to his uncle, among other sketches of character obviously meant to give him pleasure, what he thought of the three specimens of womankind he had now seen, out of Ireland. "A Dutch " woman and Scotch will well bear an opposition. The one is pale " and fat, the other lean and ruddy : the one walks as if she were " straddling after a go-cart, and the other takes too masculine a " stride. I shall not endeavour to deprive either country of its " share of beauty ; but I must say, that of all objects on this " earth, an English farmer's daughter is most charming." In the same delightful letter he observingly corrects the vulgar notion of the better kind of Dutchman, amusingly comparing him with the downright Hollander, while in equally happy vein he cou- Mt 27 *f^^*^ Scotland and Holland. The playful tone of these passages, the amusing touch of satire, and the incomparably easy style, so compact and graceful, were announcements, properly first vouchsafed to the delight of good Mr. Contarine, of powers that were one day to give unfading delight to all the world. Little is known of his pursuits at Leyden, beyond the fact that he mentions himself, in his Enquiry into Polite Lea/rning, as in the habit of fanular intercourse with Gaubius, the chemical professor. But by this time he would seem to have applied himself, with little affectation of disguise, to general knowledge more than to professionaL The one was available in immediate wants; the other pointed to but a distant hope which those very wants made, daily, more obscure ; and the narrow necessities of self-help now crowded on him. His principal means of support were as a teacher ; but the difficulties and disappointments of his own philosophic vagabond, when he went to Holland to teach the natives English, bimself knowing nothing of Dutch, appear to have made it a sorry calling. Then, it is said, he borrowed, and again resorted to play, winning even . largely, but losing all he won ; and it is at least CHAP, v.] PRErARINQ FOR A MEDICAL DEGREE. 37 certain that lie encountered every form of distress. Unhappily, though he ■wrote many letters to Ireland, some of them described from recollection as compositions of singular ease and humour, all are lost. But Doctor EUis, an Irish physician of eminence and ex-student of Leyden, remembered his fellow-studept when years had made him famous, and said (much, it may be eonfessed, in the tone of ex-post-facto prophecy) that in all his peculiarities it was remarked there was about him an elevation of mind, a philo- sophical tone and manner, and the language and information of a scholar. Being much in want of the philosophy, it is well that his friends should have given him credit for it ; though his last known scene in Leyden showed greatly less of the philosophic mind than of the gentle, grateful heart. Bent upon leaving that city, where he had now been nearly a year without an effort for a degree, he called upon EUia, and asked his assistance in some trifling sum. It was given ; but, as his evil, or (some might say) his good genius would have it, he passed a florist's garden on lus return, and seeing some rare and high-priced flowers which his uncle Contarine, an enthusiast in such things, had often spoken and long been in search of, he ran in without other thought than of immediate pleasure to his kindest friend, bought a parcel of the roots, and sent them off' to Ireland. He left Leyden next day, with a guinea in his pocket, one shirt to his back, and a flute in his hand. CHAPTEE V. TRAVELS. 1755—1756. To understand what was probably passing in Goldsmith's mind at this, curious point of his fortunes when, without any settled prospect in life, and devoid even of all apparent »! 27 means of self-support, he quitted Leyden, the Enqmry into the Present State of FoUte Lea/rm/ng, the first literary piece which a few years afterwards he published on his own account, will in some degree serve as a guide. The Danish writer. Baron de Holberg, was much talked of at this time, as a celebrated person recently dead. His career impressed Goldsmith. It was that of a man of obscure origin, to whom literature, other sources having failed, had given great fame and high worldly station. On the death of his father, Holberg had found himself involved " in all that dis- " tress which is common among the poor, and of which the great " have sojwoely any idea." Bui persisting in a determination to 38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. be somettiMig, he resolutely begged his learning and his bread, and so succeeded that " a life begun in contempt and penury ended in "opulence and esteem." Goldsmith had his thoughts more espe- cially fixed upon this career, when at Leyden, by the accident of its sudden close in that city. The desire of extensive travel, too, his sister told Mr. Handcook, had been always a kind of passion with him. " Being of a philosophical turn," says his later associate and friend. Doctor Glover, " and at that time possessing a body "capable of sustaining every fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified "at danger, this ingenious, unfortunate man became an enthusiast " to the design he had formed of seeing the manners of difierent "countries." And an enthusiast to the same design, with pre- cisely the same means of indulging it, Holberg had also been. "His ambition," I turn again to the Polite Learning, "was not to "be restrained, or his thirst of knowledge satisfied, until he had " seen the world. Without money, recommendations, or friends, " he undertook to set out upon his travels, and make the tour of /"Europe on foot. A good voice, and a, trifling skill in music, '"were the only finances he had to support an undertaking so "extensive; so he travelled by day, and at night sung at the "doors of peasants ' houses to get himself a lodging. In this ' ' manner, while yet very young, Holberg passed through France, " Germany, and Holland." With exactly the same resources, still also very young. Goldsmith quitted Leyden, bent upon the travel which his Traveller has made immortal. It was in rebruary, 1755. For the exact route he i;ook, the nature of his adventures, and the com-se of thought they suggeisted, it is necessary to resort for the most part to his published writings. His letters of the time have perished. It was common talk at the diuner table of Reynolds that the wanderings of the philosophic vagabond in the Vicar of Wakefield had been suggested by his own, and he often admitted at that time, to various friends, the accuracy of special details. "He frequently used to talk," says Foote's biographer Mr. Cooke, who became very faiiiiliar with Goldsmith in later life, "of his distresses on the continent, "such as living on the hospitalities of the friars in convents, " sleeping in bams, and picking up a kind of mendicant livelihood "by the German flute, with great pleasantly." If he did not make more open confession than to private friends, it was to please the booksellers only ; who could not bear that any one so popular with their customers as Doctor Goldsmith had become, should lie under the horrible imputation of a poverty^ so deplorable. " Countries wear very difierent appearances," he had written in the first edition of the Polite Learnvng, " to travellers of diftoront " ciroumstancos. A man vho is whirled through Europe in 9 OBAP. v.] TllAVELS. 8» "post-chaise, and the pilgrim who walks the grand tour on fout, "will form very different conclusions. Haud wiex/pmius loquor." In the second edition, the haud inexpertus loquor disappeared; but the experience had been already set down in the Vwar oj Wakefield. Louvain attracted him of course, as he passed through Flanders ; and here, according to his first biographer, he took the degree of medical bachelor, which, as early as 1763, is found in one of the Dodsley agreements appended to his name. Though this is by no means certain, it is yet likely enough. The records of Louvain University were destroyed in the revolutionary wars, and the means of proof or disproof lost ; but it is improbable that any false assimiption of a medical degree would have passed without question among the distinguished friends of his later life, even if it escaped the exposure of his enemies. Certain it is, at any rate, that he made some stay at Louvaiu, became acquainted with its professors, and informed himself of its modes of study. "I always forgot ' ' the meanness of my circumstances when I could converse upon " such subjects." Some little time he also seems to have passed at Brussels. Of his having examined at Maestricht an extensive cavern, or stone quarry, at that time much visited by travellers, there is likewise trace. It must undoubtedly have been at Antwerp (a "fortification in Flanders") that he saw the maimed, deformed, chained, yet cheerful slave, to whom he refers in that charming essay, in the second number of the Bee, wherein ho (argues that happiness and pleasure are in ourselves, and not in the lobjeets offered for oiu' amusement. And he afterwards remem- bered, and made it the subject of a striking allusion in his Animated Nature, how, as he approached the coast of Holland, he looked down upon it from the deck, as into a valley ; so that it seemed to him at once a conquest from the sea, and in a manner jrescued from its bosom. He did not travel to see that all was barren ; he did not merely outface the poverty, the hardship, and fatigue, but made them his servants, and ministers to entertain- ment and wisdom. Before he passed through Flanders good use had been made of his flute ; and when he came to the poorer provinces of France, he found it greatly serviceable. "I had some knowledge of "music," says the vagabond, "with a tolerable voice; I now " turned what was once my amusement into a present means of " subsistence. I passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, " and among such of the French as were poor enough to be very " merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their " wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards night- ?'fall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured 40 OWVEK G0LDS,\I1TH'S LIFK AND TIMES. , [book I. " me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next. day. I once "or twice attempted to play for people of fashion; but they "always thought my performance odious, and never rewarded me "even with a trifle." In plain words, he begged, as Holberg had done ; supported by his cheerful spirit, and the thought that Holberg'fl better fate might also yet be hia. Not, we may be sure, the duU round of professional labour, but intellectual distiuction, popvilar fame, the applause and wonder of his old Irish associates, were now within the sphere of Goldsmith's vision ; and wKat these will enable a man joyfully to endure, he afterwards bore witness to. "The perspective of life brightens upon us when terminated "by objects so charming. Every intermediate image of want, " banishment, or sorrow, receives a lustre from their distant "influence. With these in view, the patriot, philosopher, and "poet, have looked with calnmess on disgrace and famine, and "rested on their straw with cheerful serenity." Straw, doubtless, was his own peasant-lodging often ; but from it the wanderer arose, refreshed and hopeful, and bade the melody and sport resume, and played with a new delight to the music of enchanting verse already dancing in his brain. Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas'd witli thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir, With timeless pipe, heside the murmuring Loire, Where shading elms along the margin grew. And, fteshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew ! And hapip, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill, Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. . Alike all ages : dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze ; And the gay granJsire, skUl'd in gestic lore. Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore. So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display ; Thus idly busy rolls their world away. Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear. For honour forms the social temper here : Honour, that praise which real merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains. Here passes current — paid from hand to hand, It shifts, in splendid traffic, round the land ; From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise : They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem. Arrived in Paris, he rested some brief space, and, for the time, a sensible improvement ;s to bg observed in his resources. This ig OUAF. vj TRAVELS. 41 not easily explained ; fbr, aa will appear a little later in oivr history, many applications to Ireland of this date remained altoge-flier ■without answer, and a sad fate had fallen suddenly on his best friend. But in subsequent communication with his brother-in-law Hodson, he remarked, with that strange indifference to what was implied in such obligations which is not the agreeable side of his character, that there was hardly a kingdom in Europe in which he was not a debtor ; and in Paris, if anywhere, he would find many hearts made liberal by the love of learning. His early memoir- writers assert with confidence, that in at least some small portion of these travels he acted as companion to a young man of large fortune (nephew to a pawnbroker, and articled-clerk to an attorney) ; and there are passages in the philosophic vaga- bond's adventures, which, if they did not themselves suggest the assertion (as they certainly supply the language) of those first biographers, would tend to bear it out. " I was to be the young " gentleman's governor, with a proviso that he should always be "permitted to govern himself. He was heir to a fortune of two "hundred thousand pounds, left him by an imcle in the West " Indies ; and all his questions on the road were, how much "money could be saved. Such curiosities as could be seen for "nothing, he was ready enough to look at; but if the sight of "them was to be paid for, he usually asserted that he had been "told they were not worth seeing ; and he never paid a bill that "he would not observe how amazingly expensive travelling " was." Poor Goldsmith could not have profited much by so thrifty a young gentleman, but he certainly seems to have been present, whether as a student or a mere visitor, at the fashionable chemical lectures of the day (" I have seen as bright a circle of " beauty at the chemical lectures of Eouelle as gracing the coiuH; "at Versailles") ; to have seen and admired the celebrated actress Mademoiselle Clairon (of whom he speaks in an essay at the close of the second number of the Bee) ; and to have had leisure to look quietly around him, and form certain grave and settled conclu- sions on the political and social state of Fi-ance. He says, in his Arwmated Nabwre, that he never walked about the environs of Paris that he did not look upon the immense quantity of game nmning almost tame on every side of him, as a badge of the slavery of the people. What they wished him to observe as aii object of triumph, he added, he regarded with a secret dread and compassion. TSoT was it the badge of slavery that had alone arrested his attention. If on every side he saw this, he saw liberty at but a little distance beyond ; and in the fifty-sixth letter of the Oitiaen of the World, more than ten years before the AnimaUid 42 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AKD TI.MES. [book i. Nalnvre was -writteii, he predicted, in words that are really veiy remarkable, the issue which was so terrible and yet so glorious. This remark alone would reveal to us the kind of advantage derived by Goldsmith from the rude, strange, wandering life to which his nature for a time impelled him. It was the education thus picked up from personal experience, and by actual soUision with many varieties of men, which not only placed him greatly in advance on several social questions, but occasionally gave him mvich the advantage over the more educated and l^.tmed of hia contemporaries, and made him a Citizen of the World. "As " the Swedes are making concealed approaches to despotism, the "French, on the other hand, are imperceptibly vindicating them- " selves into freedom. When I consider that those parliaments " (the members of which are all created by the court, the presi- " dents of which can only act by. immediate direction) presume "even to mention privileges and freedom, who, tUl.of late, re- " oeived directions from the throne with implicit humility ; when "this is considered, I cannot help fancying that the genius of "freedom has entered that kingdom in disguise. If they have "but three weak monaxohs more successively on the throne, the "mask will be laid aside, and the country will certainly once ' ' more be free. " Some thirty years after tliis was written, and when the writer had been fifteen years in his grave, the crash of the falling Bastille resounded over Europe. Before Goldsmith quitted Paris, he is said by his biographers to have seen and become known to Voltaire. But at Paris this could not have been. The great wit was then self-exiled from the capital, which he had not seen from the luckless hour in which he accepted the invitation of Frederick of Prussia. The fact is alleged, it is quite true, on Goldsmith's own authority ; but the passage is loosely written, does not appear in a work wliich bore the writer's name, and may either have been tampered with by others, or even mistakenly set down by himself in confusion of memory. The error does not vitiate the statement in an integral point, since it can hardly be doubted, I think, that the meeting actually took place. The time when Goldsmith passed through the Genevese territory, is the time when Voltaire had settled himself, in greater quiet than he had known for years, in his newly- purchased house of Les DUices, his first residence in Geneva. Ho is, in a certain sort, admitted president of the Evuropean intellectual republic ; and, from his president's chair, is laughing at his own follies, laughing heartily at the kings of his acquaintance, par- ticularly and loudly laughing at Frederick and his " (Euvres desi " Poeshies." It is the time of all others when, according tq his owfl letters, he is resolved to have, on every occasion and in every shape. onAP. v.] TRAVELS. 43 'f the society of agreeable and clever people." Goldsmith, flute in hand, or Goldsmith, learned and poor companion to a rich young fool, — Goldsmith, in whatbVer chaxaoter, yearning to literature, its fame, and its awe-inspiring professors, — would not find himself near Les Dilices without finding also easy passage to its Ulustrious owner. By whatever chance or design, there at any rate he seems to have been. A large party was present, and conversation turner upon the English ; of whom, as he afterwards observed in a lettei to the Public Ledger, Goldsmith recollected Voltaire to have remarked, that at the battle of Dettingen they exhibited prodigies of valour, but lessened their well-bought conquest by lessening the merit of those they had conquered. In a Life of Voltaire afterwards begun, but not finished, in one of the magazines of the day, he recalled this conversation in greater detail, to illustrate the general manner of the famous Frenchman. " When he was warmed in discourse, and had got over a hesitating " manner which sometimes he was subject to, it was rapture to " hoar him. His meagre visage seemed insensibly to gather beauty, " every muscle in it had meaning, and his eye beamed with unusual " brightness." Among the persons alleged to be present, though this might be open to question if anything of great strictness were involved, the names are used of the vivid and noble talker, Diderot, ftiid of Fontenello. then on the verge of the grave that waited for Ji OLIVEXi GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i him nigh a himdred years. The last, Goldsmith says, reviled the BngUsh in everything ; the first, with unequal ability, defended them ; and, to the surprise of aU, Voltaire long continued silent. At last he was roused from his reverie ; a new life pervaded his frame ; he flung himself into an animated defence of England ; strokes of the finest raillery fell thick and fast on his antagonist ; and he spoke almost without intermission for three hours. "I " never was so much charmed," he added, " nor* did I ever " remember so absolute a victory as he gained in this dispute." Here Goldsmith was a worshipper at the footstool, ar,d Voltaire was on the throne ; yet it is possible that when the great Frcnduaajj heard in later years the name of the celebrated Englishman, he may have remembered this night at Les Dilices, and the enthusiasm of his young admirer, — ^he may have recalled, with a smile for its fervent zeal, the pale, somewhat Sad face, with its two great wrinkles between the eyebrows, but redeemed from ugUness or contempt by its kind expression of simplicity, as his own was by its wonderful intellect and look of unutterable mockery. For though when they met, Voltaire was upwards of sixty-one, and Goldsmith not twenty-seven, it happened that when (in 1778) the Frenchman's popularity returned, and all the fashion and intellect of Paris were again at the feet of the philosopher of Femey ; the Johnsons, Burkes, Gibbons, Waxtons, Sheridans, and Eeynoldses of England were discussing the inscription' for the marble tomb of the author of the Vicar of Wakefield. The lecture rooms of Germany are so often referred to in his prose writings, that, as he passed to Switzerland, he must have taken them in his way. In the Polite Leamwng, one is painted admirably : its Nego, Probo, and Distinguo, growing gradually loud till denial, approval, and distinction are altogether lost ; till disputants grow warm, moderator is unheard, audience take part in the debate, and the whole haU buzzes with false philosophy, sophistry, and error. Passing into Switzerland, he saw Schaff- hausen frozen quite across, and the water standing in columns where the cataract had formerly fallen. His Animated Nabwre, in which this is noticed, contains also masterly descriptions, from his own sxperience, of the wonders that present themselves to the traveller over lofty mountains ; and he adds that " nothing can be finer or " more exact than Mr. Pope's description of a traveller straining " up the Alps." Geneva was his resting-place in Switzerland : but he visited Basle and Berne ; ate a "savoury" dinner on the top of the Alps ; flushed woodcocks on Mount Jura ; wondered to so* the sheep in the valleys, as he had read of them in the old pastoral poets, following the sound of the shepherd's pipe of reed ; and, poet himself at last, sent off to hjs brother Henry the first sketch of what enkv. v.] TRAVEliS. ii was afterwards expanded into the Xravdler. Wlio can doubt that it would contain the germ of these exquisite lines ?— Eternal Uessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend : Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ; Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair And every stranger finds a ready chair ; Bless'd be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, Or press the bashful stranger to his food. And leam the luxury of doing good. Remembering thus his brother's humble kindly life, he had set in pleasant contrast before him the weak luxuriance of Italy, and the sturdy enjoyment of the rude Swiss home. Observe in this following passage with what an exquisite art of artlessuess, if I may so speak, an unstudied character is given to the verses by the recurring sounds in the rhymes ; by the turn that is given to particular words and their repetition ; and by the personal feeling, the natural human pathos, which invests the lines with a charm sc rarely imparted to mere descriptive verse. My suul, turn from them, turn we to survey , Where rougher climes a nobler race display — Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread. And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sworJ ; N-o vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm. Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, Ue sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes ; With patient angle trolls the finny deep ; Or drives his venturous plough-share to the steep ; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. C6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S UM AND TIMES. [book t. At night returning, every labour sped, He sits Iiini down the mbnarcli of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, ahd roimd surreys His children's looks that brighten at the blaze — While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board : And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Such *as tte education of thought and heart now taking iLe place of a more learhed discipline ift the truant wanderer ; such the wider range of sympathies and enjoyment opening out upon his view ; such the larger knowledge that awakened in him, aH the subtle perceptions of genius arose. More than ever was he here, in the practical paths of life, a loiterer and laggard ; yet as he passed from place to place, finding for his foot no solid resting- ground, no spot of all the world that he might hope to call liis own, there was yet sinking deep into the heart of the homeless vagrant that power and possession to which all else on earth subserves and is obedient, and which out of the very abyss of poverty and want gave him a right and title over aU. For me your tributary stores combine ; Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine ! Descending into Piedmont he observed the floating bee-houses of which ho speaks so pleasantly in the Animated Natwre. "As the "bees are continually choosing their* flowery pasture along the "banks of the stream, they are furnished with sweets before ' imrifled ; and thus a single floating bee-house yields the proprietor " a considerable income. Why a method similar to this has never " been adopted in England, where we have more gentle rivers, and "more flowery banks, than any other part of the world, I know "not." After this, proofs of his having seen Florence, Verona, Mantua, and Milan, are apparent ; and in Carinthia the incident occurred with which his famous couplet has too hastily reproached a people, when, sinking with fatigue, after a long day's toilsome walk, he was turned from a peasant's hut at which he implored a lodging. At Padua he ia supposed to have stayed some six months ; and here, it has been asserted, though in this case also the official records are lost, he received his degree. Here, or at Louvain, or at some other of these foreign universities where he always boasted himself hero in the disputatious to which his philosophic vagabond refers, there can hardly be a question that the degree, a very simple and accessible matter at any of them, was actually conferred. " Sir," said Boswell to Johnson, •' he disputed " Ms passage through Europe." Of his having also taken a some- flBAp. vt.] TRAVEliS. 47 wliat close survey of those countless academic institutions of Italy in the midst of which Italian learning at this time withered, evidence is not T^anting ; and he always thoroughly discriminated the character of that country and its people. But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows ; . In florid beauty groves and fields appear — Man seems the only growth that dwindles here ! Conti'asted faults through all his manners reign : Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue ; And even in penance planning sins anew. It is a hard struggle to return to England ; but his steps are lUDW bent that way. "My skill in music," says the philosophic vagabond, whose account there wiU be little danger in ajl os accepting as at least some certain reflection of the truth, "could avail me nothing in Italy, where every peasant was a " better musician than I : but by this time I had acquired another "talent which answered my purpose as well, and this was a skill " in disputation. In all the foreign universities and convents there "are, upon certain days, philosophical theses maintained against " every adventitious disputant ; for which, if the champion opposes "with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, •'and a bed for one nighlLV,,In this manner, then, I fought my " way towards England ; walked along from city to city ; examined "mankind more nearly; and, if I may so express it, saw both " side.? of the picture." . , ; CHAPTIiB YI. PiBCKHAM SCHOOL AND GEUB-STREET. 1756—1757. It was on the 1st of February, 1^56, that Oliver Goldsmith stepped upon the shore at Dover, and stood again among his countrymen. H^f,'o Stem o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great. Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by, Intent on high designs, , , , The comfort of seeing it must have been about all the comfort to him. At this moment, there is little doubt, he had not a sLngle (8 OLrVER aOLDSMMH'S LltE AND TIMBS. [book J farthing in his pocket ; and from the lord^ of human kind, intent on looking in any direction but his, it was much more difficult to get one than from the careless good-humoured peasants of France or Flanders. In the struggle of ten days or a fortnight which it took him to get to London, there is reason to suspect that he attempted a " low comedy" performance in a country bam ; and, at one of the towns he passed, had implored to be hired in an apothecary's shop. , In the middle of February he was wandering without friend or acquaintance, without the knowledge or comfort of even one kind face, in the lonely, terrible, London streets. He thought he might find employment as an usher ; and thera is a dark imcertain kind of story, of his getting a bare subsistence in this way for some few months, imder a feigned name ; which must have involved him in a worse distress but for the judicious silence of the Dublin Doctor (RadcHGF), fellow of the college and joint- tutor with Wilder, to whom he had been suddenly required to apply for a character, and whose good-himioured acquiescence in his private appeal saved him from suspicion of imposture. Goldsmith showed his gratitude by a long, and, it is said, a most delightful letter to Badcliff, descriptive of his travels ; now unhap- pily destroyed, He also wrote again to his more familiaa: Iridi CHAP. VI.] PECKHAM SCHOOL AND GRUB-STREET. 49 friends, but his letters were again unanswered. He went among the London apothecaries, and asked them to let him spread plasters for them, pound in their mortars, run with their medi- cines : but they, too, asked him for a character, and he had none to give. At last a chemist of the name of Jacob took compassion upon him, and the late Conversation Sharp used to point out a shop at the comer of Monmnent-yard on Fish-street-hill, shown to him in his youth as this benevolent Mr. Jacob's. Some dozen years later. Goldsmith startled a brilliaiit circle at Bennei fiangton's with an anecdote of " When I lived among the '' beggars in jVxe-lane," just as Napoleon, fifty years later, appalled the party of crowned heads at Dresden with his story of " When " I was lieutenant in the regiment of La Pfere." The experience with the beggars will of course date before that social elevation of midng and selling drugs on Fish-street-hill. For doubtless the latter brought him into the comfort and good society on which he afterwards dwelt with such unction, in describing the elegant Httle lodging at three shillings a week, with its lukewarm dinner served up between two pewter plates from a cook's shop. Thus employed among the drugs, he heard one day that Sleigh, an old fellow-student- of the Edinburgh time, was lodging iiot far off, and he resolved to visit him. He had to wait, ™/ „„ of course, for his only holiday ; " but notwithstanding it "was Sunday," he said, afterwards relating the anecdote, "audit is " to be supposed I was in my best clothes. Sleigh did not know "me. Such is the tax the unfortunate pay to poverty." He did not fail to leave to the unfortunate the lessons they should be taught by it. Doctor Sleigh (Foote's Doctor Sligo, honourably named in an earlier page of this narrative) recollected at last his friend of two years gone ; and when he did so, added Goldsmith, " I found his heart as warm as ever, and he shared his purse and " friendship with me during his continuance in London." With the help of this warm heart and friendly purse, seconded also by the good apothecary Jacob ("who," says Cooke, "saw in Goldsmith "talents above his condition"), he now "rose from the apothecary's "drudge to be a physician in a humble way," in Bankaide, South* wark. It was not a thriving business : poor physician to the poor : but it seemed a change for the better, and hope was strong in him. An old Irish acquaintance and school-fellow (Beatty) met him Rt this time in the streets. He was in a suit of green and gold, miserably old and tarnished ; his shirt and neckcloth appeared to have been worn at least a fortnight ; but he said he was practising physic, and doing very well ! It is hard to confess faUitre to one's ichool-fellow. 50 OLIVKR GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMKS. [book I. Our next glimpse, though not more satisfactory, is more profts- sional. The green and gold have faded quite out, into a rusty full-trimmed black suit : the pockets of -which, like those of the poets in innumerable farces, overflow with papers. The coat is second-hand velvet, cast-off legacy of a more successful brother of the craft ; the cane, the wig, have served more fortunate owners ; and the humble practitioner of Bankside is feeling the pulse of a ^^ft patient humbler than himself, whose courteous entreaties to be allowed to relieve him of the hat he keeps pressed over his heart, he more courteously but firmly declines. Beneath the hat is a 'arge patch in the rusty velvet, which he thus conceals. But he cannot conceal the starvation which is again impending. Even the poor printer's workman he attends, can see how hardly in that respect it goes with him ; and finds courage one day to suggest that his master has been kind to clever men before now, has visited Mr. Johnson in spunging-houses, and might be service- able to a poor physcian. For his master is no less than Mr. Samuel Richardson of . Salisbury-court and Parson's-green, printer, and author of Glarissa. ' The hint is successful ; and Goldsmith, appointed reader and corrector to the press in Salisbury-court, — admitted now and then even to the parlour of Richardson himself, CHAP. VI.] PEOEHAM SCHOOL AND GRUB-STEEET. 51 and there grimly smiled upon by its chief literary omamert, great poet of the day, the author of the Night Thoughts, — ^sees hope in literature once more. He begins a tragedy. With what modest expectation, with what cheerful, simple-hearted deference to criti- cal objection, another of his Edinburgh fellow-students, Doctor Fair, will relate to us. From the time of Goldsmitli's leaving Edinburgh, iu the year 1754, I never saw him till 1756, when I vita in London,, attending the hospitals and lectures; early in January [1756 is an evident mistake for 1757] he called upon me one morning before I was up, and on my entering the room, I recognised my old acquaintance, dressed in a rusty full-trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly reminded me of the poet in Garrick's farce of Lethe. After we had finished our breakfast, he drew from his pocket a part of a tragedy ; which he said he had brought for my correc- tion ; in vain I pleaded iAability, when he began to read, and every part on which I expressed a doubt as to the propriety, was immediately blotted out. I then more earnestly pressed him not to trust to my judgment, but to the opinion of persons better qualified to decide on di'amatlc compositions, on which he told me he had submitted his production, so far as he had written, to Mr. Bichardson, the author of Clarissa, on which I peremptorily declined offering another criticism on the performance. The name and subject of the tragedy have unfortunately escaped my memory, neither do I recollect with exactness bow much he had written, though I am inclined to believe that he had not completed the third act ; I never heard whether he afterwards finished it. In this visit X remember his relating a strange Quixotic scheme he had in contemplatibn of going to decipher the inscriptions on the vmtlen mountains, though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or the language iu which they might be supposed to be written. The salary of SOOl. per annum, which had been left for the purpose, was the temptation ! Temptation indeed ! The head may well be full of projects of any kind, when the pockets are only full of papers. But not, alas, to decipher inscriptions on the written mountains, only to preside over pot-hooks at Feckham, was doomed to be the lot of Goldsinith. One Doctor Milner, known still as the author of Latin and Greek grammars useful in their day, kept a school there ; his son was among these young Edinburgh fellow-students with Oliver, come up, like Farr, Sleigh, and others, to their London examinations ; and thus it happened that the office of assistant at the Peckham Academy befell. "AH my ambition " now is to live," he may well be supposed to have said, in the words he afterwards placed in the mouth of young Primrose. He seems to have been installed at nearly the beginning of 1757. Ad attempt has been made to show that it was an earlier year, but on grounds too unsafe to oppose to known dates in his life. The good people of Peckham have also cherished traditions of Goldsmith House, as what once was the school became afterwards fondly designated ; which may not safely be admitted here. Broken window-panes have been religiously kept, fbr the supposed treasure X2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book t. of his liand--writing ; and old gentlemen, formerly Doctor Milner's scholars, have claimed, against every reasonable evidence, the honour of having been whipped by the author of the Vicar of Wakefield. But nothing is with certainty known, save what a daughter of the school-master has related. At the end of the century Miss Hester MUner, "an intelligent "lady, the yoxmgeBt, and only remaining of Doctor Milner's ten "daughters," was still alive, and very willing to tell what she recollected of their old usher. An answer he had given herself one day to a question which, as it interested her youth, had happily not ceased to occupy and interest her old age, seemed to have retained all the strong impression which it first made upon her. Her father being a presbyterian divine, she could hardly fail to hear many arguments and differences in doctrine or dogma discussed ; and, in connection with these, it seems to have occur- red to her one day to ask Mr. Goldsmith what particular commen- tator on the Scriptures he would recommend ; when, after a pause, the usher replied, with much earnestness, that in his belief common-sense was the best interpreter of the sacred writings. What other reminiscences she indulged took a lighter and indeed humourotis tone. He was very good-natured, she said ; played all kinds of tricks on the servants and the boys, of which he had no lack of return in kind ; told entertaining stories ; "was "remarkably cheerful, both in the family and with the young " gentlemen of the school ;" and amused everybody with his flute. Two of his practical jokes on Doctor Milner's servant, or footboy, were thought worth putting in a notebook by a neighbour of Miss Milner's at IsUngton, to whom she related them. This was the popular Baptist preacher and schoolmaster, Mt. John Evans, already known as the author of A Brief Sketch of the Denomina- tions, and afterwards more vddely distinguished. Thinking that thjB old lady's recollections somewhat pleasantly illustrated the "htunour and cheerfulness of Goldsmith," he was careful, after "receiving them from Miss Milner on drinking tea with her," to write ^hem down immediately on his return home. And as even biography has its critics jealous for its due and proper dignity, the present writer had perhaps better anticipate a possible objection to these and other anecdotes which in this narrative will first be read, by pleading also the apology of Miss Milner's firiend, that "however trivial they may be, there are some young persons "to whom they may prove acceptable." William was the name of the schoolmaster's servant, and his duty being to wait on the young gentlemen at table, clean their shoes, and so forth, he was not, in social position, so very fax removed from the usher but that much familiarity subsisted be- OBAP. vi.] taiJliHAM SCHOOL AJs'D aRtJB-StEEEi , 6^ tween them. He waa weak, but good-tempered, and one of Goldsmith's jokes had for its object to cure him of a hopeless passion ■with which a pretty servant girl in the neighbourhood had inspired him. This youthful PTiiHia seems to have rather suddenly quitted service and gone back to her home in Yorkshire, leaving behind her a sort of half-promise that she would some day send William a letter ; which everybody, but William, of course knew was only her good-natured way of getting rid of importunity : he, however, having a fixed persuasion that the letter would come, every morning would watch the postman as he passed, and became at last so wretched with disappointment that Goldsmith good- naturedly devised an attempt to cure these unfounded expectations. In a servant-girl's hand elaborately imitated, and with such lan- guage and speUing as would exactly hit off the longed-for letter out of Yorkshire (" the lady who told me the anecdote," interposes the narrator, " saw it before it was sent "), Goldsmith prepared an epistle from PhiUis which was to convey to William, in effect, that she had for various reasons delayed writing, but was now to inform bim that a young man, by trade a glass-grinder, was paying his addresses to her, that she had not given him much encom-agoment but her relations were strongly for the match, that she, however, often thought of WiUiam, and must conclude by saying that some- thing must now be done one way or another, ifec. ifec. Properly sealed and directed, one of the young gentlemen had it in charge from Goldsmith to take in the letters on the postman's next visit, place this among them, and hand them all to the footboy ; " the " yoimg gentlemen being in the habit of running towards the door, "whenever the postman made his appearance." Everything fell out as desired ; the letter was seized, read, and secreted by its supposed owner ; and though nothing was said of its contents to anybody, the fact of something having happened as plainly revealed itself in William's increased air of importance, as formerly was shadowed forth in the young lady of Mr. Bickerstaffs acquaintance, who held up her head higher than ordinary from having on a pair of striped garters. Nevertheless, for the rest of the day. Goldsmith let the potion work which was to effect the cure ; and not till night did he disturb it by the startling question, addressed to the Bervant-man on his walking into the kitchen, " So, WiUiam, you " ha/ue had a letter from Yorkshire? Well, what does she say "to you! Come, now, tell mo all about it." William recovered his surprise, confessed the letter, but would say nothing more. " Yes," nodding his head; "but I shall not tell you, Mr. GoM- " smith, anything about it ; no, no, that wiU never do." "What, " nothing 1" No. " Not if she says she'U marry you?" No. ••Wot if she has married anybody else?" No. "Well, then," 64 OhVfM GOLDSMITH'S hWH AND TIMES. [book 1. says Goldsmith, " suppose, William, I tell you what the ;ontents " of the letter are. Come," he added, looking at a newspaper he held in his hand, " I will read you your letter just as I find it ' ' here ; " and he read it accordingly, word for word, to his amazed listener, who at last cried out very angrily, " You use me very " m, Mr. Goldsmith ! you have opened my letter." The sequel was a full explanation by. the good-natured usher, and such kindly advice not in future to expect any letter more real than that which had been written to cure him of his folly, that, according to Miss Milner, " poor WUliam was then induced to believe it the wisest " way." This anecdote sufficiently implies that poor WilUam had obstinate notions of liis own, ■which it was not very easy to dissipate by or- dinary modes of persuasion. One of these, Miss Milner told our taformant, was a preposterous estimate of his capacity to do astonishing things, which nobody else could attempt, in the eating and drinking way. The whole kitchen laughed at him ; but of course refused to accept his challenge for a trial at some poisonous draught, or fare unfit for a Christian. They enlisted Goldsmith at la.st, however, who, having promised to administer correction to this very eccentric vanity, thus commenced preparations. He pro- cured a piece of uncoloured Cheshire cheese, rolled it \xp in the form of a candle about an inch in length, and, twisting a bit of white paper to the size of a wick, and blacking its extremity, thrust it into one of the ends of the cheese, which he then put into a candlestick over the kitchen fireplace, taking care that in another, by the side of it, there should be placed the end of a real candle, in size and appearance exactly the same. Everything thus ready, in came William, and was straightway challenged by the usher to display what he had so often boasted of, in a trial with himself. "You eat yonder piece of candle," said he, taking down the cheese, "and I will eat this." William assented rather drUy. "I have " no objection to begin," continued Goldsmith, "but both must "finish at the same time." William nodded, took his portion of candle, and, still reluctant, looked ruefully on with the other servants while Goldsmith began gnawing away at Ms supposed share, making terrible wry faces. With no heart or stomach foi a like unsavoury meal, his adversary beheld with amazement the progress made, and not till Goldsmith had devoured all but the very last morsel, did he take sudden courage, open his mouth, and "fling his own piece down his throat in a moment." This had the seeming effect of a sudden triumph over the challenger, which made the kitchen ring with laughter ; and WiUiam, less distressed with his real sufferings, now that all was over, than elated by his fancied victory, took upon him to express sympathy for tlia OttAt. vi.] PECKHAM SCHOOL AND Gfi0B-S(rREEi SS defeated usher, and really wondered why he had not, like nimself, swallowed so nauseous a morsel aU at once. ' ' Why truly," replied the uaher, with undisturbed gravity, " my bit of candle, William, •'was no other than a bit of very nice Cheshire cheese, and " therefore, William, I was unwilling to lose the reUsh of it." Nor were these the only stories related of the obscure usher al Doctor Milner's sohooL . Others were told, though less distinctly remembered, having less mirth and more pathos in their tone ; but the general picture conveyed by Miss MUner's recollections was that of a teacher as boyish as the boys he taught. With his small salary, it would seem, he was always in ad- vance. It went for the most part, Miss Milner said, on the day he re- ceived it, in relief to beggars, and in sweetmeats for the younger class. Her mother would observe to him at last: "You had better, Mr. Gold- " smith, let me keep your money for " you, as I do for some of the young "gentlemen ;" to which he would good-humouredly answer, "In " truth, madam, there is equal need." AU this, at the same time, is very evidently putting the best face upon the matter, as it was natural Miss Milner should. But in sober fact, and notwithstanding the tricks on William, not- withstanding these well-remembered childish or clownish games, and a certain cheerfulness of temper even in gravest things, it was Goldsmith's bitterest time, this Peckham time. He could think in after years of his beggary, but not of his slavery, without shame. " Oh, that is all a holiday at Peckham,'' said an old friend very innocently one day, in a common proverbial phrase ; but Goldsmith reddened, and asked if he meant to affront him. Nor can we fail to recall the tone in which he afterwards alluded to this mode of life. When, two years later, he tried to persuade people that a schoolmaster was of more importance in the state than to be neglected and left to starve, he described what he had known too well. "The usher," he wrote, in the sixth nimiber of the Bee, "is generally the laughing-stock of the school. Every trick is ' played upon him ; the oddity of his manners, his dress, or his " language, is a-fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself now " and then cannot avoid joining in the laugh, and the poor wretch, " eternally resenting this Ul-usage, lives in a state of war with all "the family. This is a very proper person, is it not, to give 66 OLIVER OqLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TTftfKR. [book i, •• children a relish for learning 1 They must esteem learning very " much, when they see its professors used with such ceremony ! " So,- too, and with more direct reason, was it understood to refer to the Peckham discomforts, when he talked of the poor usher obliged to sleep in the same bed with the French teacher, "who " disturbs him for an hour every night in papering and filleting his "hair ; and stinks worse than a carrion with his rancid pomatums, "when he lays his head beside him on the bolster." Who will not think, moreover, of George Primrose and his cousin ? " Ay," cried he, " this is. indeed a very pretty career that has been chalked " out for you. I have been an usher at a boarding-school myself; " and may I die by an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be ' ' under-tumkey in Newgate. I was up early and late : I was " browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, "worried by the boys." Finally, in the only anecdote that rests on other safe authority than Miss Milner's, there is quite suificient reason in fact, for adoption of the same tone. Mr. Samuel Bishop, whose sons have had distinction in the church, was a Peckham scholar, and the story is told as it was received from one of the sons. " When amusing his younger "companions during play-hours with the flute, and expatiating on' "the pleasures derived from music, in addition to its advantages in "society as a gentlemanlike acquirement, a pert boy, looking at "his situation and personal disadvantages with something of "contempt, rudely replied to the effect that he surely could not " consider himself a gentleman : an offence which, though followed " by chastisement, disconcerted and pained him extremely. " That the pain of this period of his life, which even at its time of pressure we have seen relieved by the love of jest and game, could also on occasion be forgotten in what a happy nature found better worth remembering, may be gathered from the same authority. When the despised usher was a celebrated man, young Bishop, walking in London with his newly-married wife, met his old teacher. Goldsmith recognised him instantly, as a lad he had been fond of at Peckham, and embraced him with delight. His joy increased when Mr. Bishop made known his wife ; but the introduction had not unsettled the child's image in the kind man's heart. It was stiU the boy before him ; stiE Master Bishop ; the lad he used to cram with fruit and sweetmeats, to the judicious horror of the Milners. " Come, my boy," he said, as his eye fell upon a basket- woman standing at the corner of the street, " come, Sam, I am " delighted to see you. I must treat you to something. What " shall it be ? WUl you have some apples ? Sam," added Gold- gmith, suddenly, "have you seen my picture by Sir Joshua " Reynolds ? Have you seen it, Sam ? Have you got an er.^aving 1 " MAP. VI.] PEOKHAM SCHOOL AND GR0B-STKEET. 67 Not to appear negligent of the rising fame of his old preceptor, saya the teEer of the story, " my father replied that he had not " yet procured it ; he -was just fumiBhing Ms house, but had fixed " upon the spot the print was to occupy as soon as he was ready to "receive it.'.' "Sam," returned Goldsmith with some emotion, "if your picture had been published, I should not have waited an " hour without having it." But let me not anticipate those better times. He was still the Peckham usher, and humble sitter at Doctor Mibier's board, when it chanced that Griffiths the bookseller, who had started the Mcmthly Review eight years before, dined there one April day. Doctor MUner was one of his contributors ; there was opposition in the field ; Archibald Hamilton the bookseller, with the powerful aid of Smollett, had set afloat the Critical Review, — the talk of the table turned upon this, and some remarks by the usher attracted the attention of Griffiths. He took him aside : " Could he furnish a ' ' few specimens of criticism ? " The ofiier was accepted, and afterwards the specimens ; and before the close of April, 1757, Goldsmith was bound by Griffiths in an agreement for one year. He was to leave Doctor Milner's, to board and lodge with the bookseller, to have a small regular salary, and to devote himself to the Monthly Review. One sees something like the transaction in the pleasant talk of George Primrose. ' Come, I see you are a lad of spirit and some learning, what do you think ' of commencing author, like me 1 You have read in books, no doubt, of men ' of genius starving at the trade ; at present I'll show you forty very dull ' fellows about town that live by it in opulence. All honest, jog-trot men, 'who go on smoothly and dully, and write history and politics, and are "praised : men, sir, who, had they been bred cobblers, would all their lives 'have only mended shoes, but never made them.' Finding that there was no great degree of gentility affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved to accept his proposal ; and having the highest respect for literature, hailed the amdqiia mater of Cfrub-street with reverence. I thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before me. The difference of • fact and fiction here will be, that glory had nothing to do with the matter. Griffiths and glory were not to be thought of together. Tlie sorrowful road seemed the last that was left to him ; and he entered it. On this track, then, — taken by few successfully, taken happily by few, though not on that ac-oount the less, in every age, the choice of men of genius, — we see Goldsmith, in his twenty-ninth year, without liberty of choice, in sheer and bare necessity, calling after calling having slipped from him, launched for the first time. The prospect of unusual gloom might have the ardour of a more damped cheerful adventurer. 88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book i. Fielding had died in shattered hope and fortune, at what should have been his prime of life, three years before ; Tfithin the next two years, poor and mad, Collins was fated to descend to his early gi-ave j Smollett was toughly fighting for his every-day's existence ; and Johnson, within some hal^dozen months, had been tenant of a spunging-house. No man throve that was connected with letters, unless he were also connected with their trade and merchandise, and, like Eichardson, could print as well as write books. " Had "some of those," cried Smollett, in his bitterness, "who were pleased " to call themselves my friends, been at any pains to deserve the " character, and told me ingenuously what I had to expect in the " capacity of an author, when I first professed myself of that ' ' venerable fraternity, I should in all probability have spared myself " the incredible labour and chagrin I have since undergone." "I '' don't think," said Burke, in one of his first Londop letters to his Irish friends, written seven years before this date, "there is as " much respect paid to a man of letters on this side the water as " you imagine. . I don't find that Genius, the ' rathe primrose, wHcli forsaken dies, " is patronised by any of the nobility . . . writers of the first talents " are left to the capricious patronage of the public. After all, a " man will make more by the figures of arithmetic than the figures "of rhetoric, unless he can get into the trade wind, and then he "may sail seciu-e over Pactolean sands." It was, in truth, one of those times of transition which press hardly on all whose lot is cast in them. The patron was gone, and the public had not come ; the seller of books had as yet exclusive command over the destiny of those who wrote them, and he was difficult of access, — ^without certain prospect of the trade wind, hard to move. "The shepherd in Virgil," wrote Johnson to Lord Chesterfield, "grew at last acquainted with Love, and found hiTn a "native of the rocks." Nor had adverse circimistances been without their effect upon the literary character itself. Covered with the blanket of Boyse, and sheltered by the night-ceUar of Savage, it had forfeited less honour and self-respect than as the paid client of the ministries of Walpole and Henry Pelham. As long as its political services were acknowledged by offices in the state ; as long as the coarse wit of Prior could be paid by an embassy, or the delicate humour of Addison win its way to a secretaryship ; while Steele and Oongreve, Swift and Gay, sat at ministers' tables, and were not without weight in cabinet councils ; its slavery might not have been less real than in later years, yet all externally went well with it. Though even flat apostaoy, as in Pamell'scase, might in those days lift literature in rank, while OBAP. Tt.] PECKHAM school AWD GEUB'STREET. 69 unpurchaseable independence, as in that of Ve Foe, depressed it into contempt and ruin j though, for the mere hope of gain to be got from it, such nobodies as Mr. Hughes were vr irth propitiating by dignified public employments ; stUl, it was esteemed by the cro-wd, because not wholly shut out from the rank and consideration which worldly means could give to it. " The middle ranks," said Goldsmith truly, in speaking of that period, "generally imitate " the great, and applauded from fashion if not from feeling." But when another state of things succeeded ; when politicians had too much shrewdness to.despise the helps of the pen, and too Uttle intellect to honour its claims or influence ; when it was thought that to strike at its dignity, was to command its more complete subservience ; when corruption iu its grosser forms had become chief director of political intrigue, and it was less the statesman's office to wheedle a vote than the minister's business to give hard cash in return for it,- — literature, or the craft so called, was thrust from the house o£ commons into its lobbies and waiting-rooms, and ordered to exchange the dignity of the councU-table for the comforts of the great man's kitchen. The order did not of necessity make the man of genius a servant or a parasite : its sentence upon him simply was, that he must descend in the social scale, and peradventure starve. But though it could not disgrace or degrade him, it called a class of writers into existence whose degradation reacted upon him ; who flung a stigma on his pursuits, and made the name of man-of-letters the synonyme for dishonest hireling. Of the fifty thousand poimds which the Secret Committee found to have been expended by Walpole's ministry on daily scribblers for their daily bread, not a sixpence was received, either then or when the Pelhams afterwards followed the example, by a writer whose name is now enviably known. All went to the Guthries, the Amhersts, the Amalls, the Ralphs, and the Oldmixons ; and while a Mr. Cook was pensioned, a Harry Fielding solicited Walpole in vain. What the man of genius received, unless the man of rank had wisdom to adorn it by befriending him, was nothing but the shame of being confounded, as one who lived by using the pen, with those who lived by its prostitution and abuse. It was in yain he strove to escape this imputation : it increased, and it clove to him. To become .author was to be treated as adventurer : a man had only to write, to be classed with what Johnson calls the lowest of all human beings, the scribbler for party. One of Fielding's remarks, under cover of a grave sneer, conveys a bitter sense of this injustice. "An author, in a country "where there is no public provision for men of genius, is not " oblijred to be a more disinterested patriot than any other. Why 60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFK AND TIMES, t^oo^ l "is he, whoso livelihood is iu his pen, a greater monster in using "it to serve himself, than he who uses his tongue for the same "purpose?" Nor was the injustice the work of the vulgar or unthinking ; it was strongest in the greatest* of living statesmen. If any one had told William Pitt that a new man of merit, called Goldsmith, was about to try the profession of literature, he would have tiumed aside in scorn. It had been sufficient to throw doubt upon the career of Edmund Burke, that, in this very year, he opened it with the writing of a book. It was Horace WaJpole's vast surprise, four years later, that so sensible, a man as "young "Mr. Burke should not have worn oflf his authorism yet. He "thinks there is nothing sochamung as writers, and to be one. " He wUl know better one of these days." Such was the worldly account of literature, when, as I have said, deserted by the patron, and not yet supported by the public, it was committed to the mercies of the bookseller. They were few and rare. It was the mission of Johnson to extend them, and to replace the writer's craft, in even its worldliest view, on a dignified and honourable basis ; but Johnson's work was just begun. He was himself, as yet, one of the meaner workers for hire ; and though already author of the Dictionary, was too glad in this very year to- have Robert Dodsley's guinea for writing paragraphs in the London Chronicle. "Had you, sir, been an author of the "lower class, one of those who are paid by the sheet," remonstrated worthy printer Bowyer with an author who could pay, who did not need to be paid, and who would not be trifled with by the man of types. Of the lower class, tmlike that dignitary Mr. John Jackson, still was Samuel Johnson ; he was bat a Grub-street man, paid by the sheet, when Goldsmith entered Grub-street, periodical writer and reviewer. Periodicals were the fashion of the day. They were the means of those rapid returns, of that perpetual interchange of bargain anil sale, so fondly cared for by the present arbiters of literature ; anJ were now, universally, the favourite channel of literary speculation. Scarcely a week passed in which a new magazine or paper did not start into life, to perish or survive as might be. Even Fielding had turned from his Jonathan Wild the Great, to his Jacobite's Jowncd and True Patriot ; and, from his Tom Jones and Amelia, sought refuge in his Covemt Garden Jov/mal. We have the names of fifty-five papers of the date of a few years before this, regularly published every week. A more important literary venture, in the nature of a review, and with a title expressive of the fate of letters, the Grub Street Jowmal, had been brought to a close in 1737. Six years earlier than that, for a longer life, Cave issued the first number of the Gentleman's Magaaine, Griffiths, aided by llalpli, tHAP. VI.] PECKHAM SCHOOL AND GROB-S^EEET. 61 Kippis, Langhome, Grainger, and others, folio-wed with the earliest regular Beview which can be said to have succeeded, and in 1749 began, on whig principles, that publication of the Monthly which lasted till our own day. Seven years later, the tones opposed it with the Critical, which, with slight alteration of title, existed to a very recent date, more strongly tainted with high-church advocacy and quasi-popish principles than when the first number: sent forth under the editorship of Smollett in March 1756, was on those very grounds assailed. In the May of that year of Goldsmith's life to which I have now arrived, another Beview, the Vmversal, began a short existence of three years, its prin- cipal contributor being Samuel Johnson, at this time wholly de- voted to it. Such were a few of the examples that, if the least liberty of choice had been his, might have raised or depressed the sanguine heart of Oliver Goldsmith, when, under the watchful eye of Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths, now providers of his bed and board, he sat down in the bookseller's parlour in Paternoster-row somewhat sarcastically faced with the sign of The Dunciad, to begin his engagement on tke Mo-rstMy Beview. u. 1 IJ-ST TO l7fi«. BOOK THE SECOND. CHAPTEE I. REVIEWING FOE ME. AND MRS. GRIFFITHS. 1757. The means of existence, long sought, seemed thus to be found, when, in his twenty-ninth year, Oliver Goldsmith sat down to the precarious task-work of Author by Profession, m/ go He had exerted no control over the ciroumstance.j in which he took up the pen : nor had any friendly external aid, in an impulse of kindness, offered it to his hand. To be swaddled, rocked, and dandled into authorship ia the lot of more fortunate men : it was with Goldsmith the stem and last resouice of his struggle with adversity. As in the country-bam he would have played Scrub or Eichiird ; as he prescribed for the poorer than him- self at Bankside,.imtil worse than their necessities drove him to herd with the beggars in Axe-lane ; as in Salisbxuy-court he corrected the press .among Mr. Eichardson's workmen, on Tower- hiU doled out physio over Mr. Jacob's counter, and at Peckham dispensed the more nauseating dose to young gentleman of Doctor Milner's academy : he had here entered into Mr. Griffiths's service, and put on the livery of the Monthly Beview. He was man-of-letters, then, at last ; but had gratified no passion, and attained no object of ambition. The hope of great- ness and distinction, day-star of his wanderings and his privations, was at this hour, more than it had ever been, dim, distant, cold. A piactital scheme of literary life had as yet steuck no root in his mind ; and the assertion- of later years, that he was past thirty before he was really attached to literature and sensible that he had fuand his vocation in it, is no doubt true. What the conditions of his present employment were, he knew well : that if he had dared to p 66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES, ..ewk ii. indulge any hopes of finer texture, if he had shown the fragments of his poem, if he had produced the acts of the tragedy read to Richardson, Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths must have taien immediate counsel on the expenses of his board. He was there, as he had been in other places of servitude, because the dogs of himger wero at his heels. He was not a strong man, as I have said ; but neither was his weakness such that he shrank from the responsibi- lities it brought. "When suffering came, in whatever form, he met it with a quiet, manful endurance : no gnashing of the teeth, or wringing of the hands. Among the lowest of human beings he could take his place, as he afterwards proved his right to sit among the highest, by the strength of his affectionate sympathies with the nature common to all. And so sustained through the scenes of wretchedness he passed, he had done more, though with Htfcle consciousness of his own, to achieve his destiny, than if, tran- BCending the worldly plans of wise Irish friends, he had even clambered to the bishops' bench, or out-practised the whole college of physcians. The time is at hand in his, history, when all this becomes clear. Outside the garret- window of Mr. Griffiths, by the light which the miserable labour of the Monthly Sevieiv will let in upon the heart-sick labourer, it may soon be seen. Stores of observation, of feeling, and experience, hidden from himself at present, are by that light to be revealed. It is a thought to carry vis through this new scene of suffering, with new and unaccustomed hope. Goldsmith never publicly avowed what he had written in the Montldy Review ; any more than the Boman poet talked of the mUlstone he turned in his days of hunger. Men who have been at the galleys, though for no crime of their own commiting, are wiser than to brag of the work they performed there. All he stated wa-s, that all he wrote was tampered with by Griffiths or his wife. Smollett has depicted this lady, in his letter " to the old "gentlewoman who directs the MontMy Review," as an antiquated feinale critic ; and when " iUiterate, bookselling" Griffiths de- clared unequal war against that potent antagonist, protesting that the Monthly Review was not written by "physicians without " practice, authors without learning, men without decency, gentle- " men without manners, and critics without judgment," Smollett retorted in a few broad unscrupulous lines on the whole party of the rival publication. "The Critical Review is not written," he said, " by a parcel of obscure hirelings, under the restraint of a " bookseller and his wife, who presume to revise, alter, and amend "the articles occasionally. The principal writers in the Critical " Review are unconnected with booksellers, unawed by Old women, "and independent of each other." Commanded by a bookseller, BHAP. I.] REVIEWING FOR MR. AND MRS. GRIFFITHS. 61 awed by an old woman, and miserably dependent, one of these obscure hirelings desired and resolved, as far as it was possible, to remain in his obscurity ; but a copy of the Monthly which belonged to Griffiths, and in which he had privately marked the authorship of most of the articles, withdraws the veil. It is for no purpose that Gold- smith could have disapproved, or I should scorn to assist in calling to memory what he would himself have committed to neglect; The best writers can spare much ; it is only the worst who have nothing to spare. The first subject I may mention first, though it takes us back a little. It was the specimen-review which had procured Goldsmith his engage- ment ; and if the book was famished from the bookseller's stores, it was probably the least common-place of all they contained. This' was the year (175^), in which, after six Centuries of neglect, the great, dark, wonderful field of northern fiction began to be explored. Professor MaUet of Copenhagen had translated the Edda, and directed attention to the "remains" of Scandinavian poetry and mytho- logy ; and Goldsmith's first efibrt in the MonMy Beview was to describe the fruits of these researches, to point out resemblances to the inspiration of the East, and to note the picturesqueness and sublimity of the fierce old Norse imagination. "The learned " on this side the Alps," he began, " have long laboured at the " antiquities of Greece and Eome, but almost totally neglected " their own ; like conquerors, who, while they have made inroads "into the territories of their neighbours, have left their own " natural dominions to desolation." This was a lively interruption to the ordinary Monthly dulness, and perhaps the Percys, and intelligent subscribers of that sort, opened eyes a little wider at it. It was not long after, indeed, that Percy first began to dabble in Hwnia Verses from the Icelcmdic ; before eight years were passed he had published his famous EeUques ; and in five years more, during intimacy Vfith the writer of this notice of MaUet, he produced his translation of Mallet's Northern Antiquities. In aU this there was probably no connection ; yet it is wonderful what a word in season from a man of genius may do, even when the genius is hireling tmd obscure, and labouring only for the bread it eats. 65 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ii. More common-place was the respectable-looking thin duodecimo ■with which Mr. GiifSths's workman began his next month's labour, but a duodecimo which at the time was making noise enough for 97ery octavo, quarto, and folio in the shop. This was Di/uglas, a Tragedy, as it is acted at the Theatre Moyal im, Covent-garden. It was not acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, because Garrick, who shortly afterwards so complacently exhibited hims elf in Agis, in the Siege of Aquileia, and other ineffable dulness from the same hand (wherein his quick suspicious glance detected no Lady Bandolphs), would have nothing to do with the character of Douglas. "What would come with danger from the full strength of Mrs. Gibber, he knew might be safely left to the enfeebled powers of Mrs. Woffington ; whose Lady Kandolph would leave him no one to fear but Barry at the rival house. But despairing also of Covent-garden when refused by Drury-lane, and crying plague on both their houses, to the north had good parson Home returned, and, though not till eight months were gone, sent back his play en- dorsed by the Scottish capital There it had been acted ; and from the beginning of the world, from the beginning of Edinburgh, the like of that play had not- been known. The gentlemen who became afterwards the Poker Club made their ecstades felt from Hunter- square to Grub-street and St. James's, for no rise in the price of claret had yet imperilled the continuance of those social gatherings. Without stint or measure to their waimth the cooling beverage flowed ; and bottle after bottle (at eighteenpence a quart) dis- appeared in honour of the Scotti^ Shakespeare, whom the most illustrious of the Pokers at once pronounced better than the English, because free from " unhappy barbarism ;" — ^yes, because refined from the unhappy barbarism of our southern Shakespeare, and purged of the licentiousness of our poor London-starved Otway. It was veritably David Hiune's opinion, and still stands in the dedication to the Four Dissertations he was bringing out at the time, that "Johnny Home" had all the theatric genius of those two poets so refined and purged. But little was even a philo- sopher's exaltation, to the persecution of a presbytery. No man better than Hume knew that. The first volume of his Jlistcry had lain hopelessly on Millar's shelves, after sale of forty-five copies in a twelvemonth, when, on inquisitorial proceedings of the General Assembly against Lord Kames and himself, the public in turn became inquisitive and began to buy. And, surely as the History of Hume must even puffery of Home have lan- guished, but for that resolve of the presbytery to eject from his pulpit a parson who had written a play. It carried Douglas to London ; secured a nine nights' reasonable wonder ; and the noise of the carriages on their way to Covent-garden to see the Nerval CHAP. 1.] EfiVlEWlNG FOR MR. AND MES. GUlFFITfiS. fiS of silver-tongued Bariy, were now giving sudden headaches to David Garrick, and strange comparisons of silver tongues to the hooting of owls. But out of reach of every influence to raise or to depress, unless it be a passing thought now and then to his own tragic fragments, sits the critic with the thin duodecimo before him. The popular stir affects even quiet Gray in his cloistered nook of Pembroke Hall ; but the sharp, clear, graceful judgment now lodged and boarded at The Dunciad, shows itself quite un-affected. "When "the town," it began, " by a tedious succession of indifferent per- " formances, has been long confined to censure, it will naturally " wish for an opportunity of praise." That is, as I understand it, the town, sick of Doctor Brown's AtheUta/n, and JBarba/rossa, of Mr. Whitehead's Creusa, of Mr. Crisp's Virginia, of Mr. Glover's Boadicea, of Doctor Francis's Eugenia; of Mr. Aaron Hill's Merope, of the Begulus of Mr. Havard, and the Mahomet of Mr. MiUer, on which lean fare it has had perforce to diet itself for several seasons, turns to anything of the reasonable promise of a Douglas, with disposition to enjoy it if it can. But the more marked. Goldsmith felt, was the critical foUy that coiild obtrude such a work as " perfect," in proof of which he made brief but keen mention of its leading defects ; whUe to those who would plead in arrest particular beauties of diction, he directed a remark which seems to belong to a subtler style of criticism than his own. " In " works of this nature, general observation often characterises more "strongly than a particular criticism could do ; for it were an easy " task to point out those passages in any indifferent author where " he has excelled himself, and yet these comparative beauties, if we "may be allowed the expression, may have no real merit at all. " Poems, like buildings, have their point of view ; and too near a " situation gives but a partial conception of the whole." Southey, not knowing the writer, said that all this, was malignant, but really no such spirit is apparent in it. Very good-naturedly does Goldsmith close with quotation of two of the best passages in the poem, emphatically marxlng vrith excellent taste five lines of allusion to the wars of Scotland and England. Gallant in strife, and noble in 'beu' ire, The Battle is their pastime. They go forth Gay in the morning, as to Summer sport : When evening cornea, the glory of the morn, The youthful ■warrior, is a clod of clay. If Boswell, on Johnson's challenge to show any good lines out of Douglas, had mustered sense and discrimination to offer these, the Doctor could hardly have exploded his emphatic pooh ! Goldsmith 7i OLIVER aOliDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book n, differed little from Johnson in the matter, it is true : but his pooh was' more polite. A Scottish Homer in due time followed- the Shakespeare : Mr. Griffiths submitting to his boarder, in a very thick duodecimo. The ^pigomad, A Poem in Nine Boohs. Doctor WHkie's laboured versification of his adventures of the descendants of the Theban warriors, got into Anderson's collection, the editor being a Scotch- man : though candid enough to say of it, that " too antique to " please the unlettered reader, and too modem for the scholar, it was "neglected by both, read by few, and soon forgotten by aU." Yet this not very profound editor might have been more candid, and told us that his sentence was stolen and adapted from the Monthly Review. After discussion of the claims justly due and always conceded to a writer of genuine learning. Goldsmith re- marked : " On the contrary, if he be detected of ignorance when " he pretends to learning, his case will deserve our pity : too "antique to please one party, and too modem for the other, he is " deserted by both, read by few, and soon forgotten by all, except " his enemies." Pa-haps, if his friends had forgotten him, "Wilkie might have profited. "The Epigoniad," continued Goldsmith, " seems to be one of those new old performances ; a work that " would no more have pleased a peripatetic of the academic grove, " than it will captivate the imlettered subscriber to. one of our " circulating libraries." Nevertheless the Scottish clique made a stand for their rough Homeric doctor. Smith, Eobertson, and Hume were vehement in laudation ; Charles Townshend ( " who," writes Hume to Adam Smith, "passes for the cleverest fellow in "England") said aye to all their praises ; and when, some months afterwards, Hume came up to London to bring out the Tudor volumes of his Sistory, he published puffs of WiUde, under assumed signatures, both in the CriUcal Seview and in various magazines, and reported progress to the Edinburgh circle. It was somewhat "nphiU work," he told Adam Smith ; and with much mortification hinted to Eobertson that the verdict of the Monthly Beview (vulgarly interpolated, I should mention, by Griffiths MmseU) would have upon the whole to stand. ^ " However," he adds, in his letter to Bobertson, " if you want a little flattery to "the author (which I own is very refreshing to an author), you may "tell him that Lord Chesterfield said to me he was a great poet. " I imagine that Wilkie will be very much elevated by praise from " an EngUsh earl, and a knight of the garter, and an ambassador, " and a secretary of state, and a man of so great reputation. Eor I " observe that the greatest rustics are commonly most affected with " such circumstances." It is to be hoped he was, and proportionally forgetful of low abuse from obscure hirelings in bookseUers' garrets OBAP. I.] REVIEWING FOR MR. ANl; MRS. GRIFFITHS. 71 "An Irish gentleman," Hume in another letter told Adam Smith, "wrote lately a very pretty treatise on the Sublime." This Irish gentleman had indeed written so pretty a treatise on the Sublime, that the task-work of our critic became work of praise. "When I was begumiug the world," said Johnson in his old age to Fanny Bumey, "and was nothing and nobody, the joy of my life "was to fire at all the established wits." Perhaps it is a natural infirmity when one is nothing ajid nobody, and when Goldsmith became something and somebody his £riends still charged it upon him. They may have had some reason, for he was never subtle, and seldom even reliable, in literary judgmonts ; but as yet, at any rate, the particular weakness does not appear. A critic of the pro- founder sort he never was ; indeed criticism of that order was little known, and seldom practised in his day ; and he seems to have had even less than falls to the lot of most men of letters, of the clear insight and keen relish so essential to it. But as it is less the want of depth, than the presence of envy, which it has been the fashion to urge against him, it wiU become us in fairness to observe that from the latter vice, at least, he is here, in the gajret of Griffiths, tolerably free : whether it is to seize him in the drawing-room of Reynolds, will be matter of later inquiry. He has no pretension yet to enter himself brother or craftsman of the guild of literature, and we find him in his censures just and temperate, and liberal as well as candid in his praise : glad to give added fame to established wits, as even the youths Bonnell Thornton and George Colman were beginning already to be esteemed ; and eager, in such a case as Burke's, to help that the wit should be established. In the same number of the Review he noticed the collection into four small volumes of the Gon/rtoissew, and the appearance in its three- shilling pamphlet of A PIMosophical Enqmry mto the Origm of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, The Cotmoissewr he honoured with the title of friend of society, wherein reference was possibly intended to the defective side of that lectureship of society, to which the serious and resolute author of the Rambler had been lately self-appointed perpetual professor. " He rather converses," said Goldsmith, "with the ease of a cheerful companion, than " dictates, as other writers in this class have done, with the " afiected superiority of an Author. He is the first writer since "Bickerstaff who has been perfectly satirical yet perfectly good- "natured ; and who never, for the sake of declamation, represents " simple foUy as absolutely criminal. He has solidity to please the "grave, and huinour and wit to allure the gay." Our author by compulsion seemed here to anticipate his authorship by choice, and with indistinct yet hopeful glance beyond his Dunciad and ita deities, perhaps turned with better faith to Burke's essay on the 72 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book n. BemiUful. His criticism was elaborate and -well-studied ; lie objected to many parts of the theory, and especially to the materialism on which it founded the connection • of objects of pleasure with a necessary relaxation of the nerves ; but these objections, discreet and well-considered, gave strength and relish to its praise, and Burke spoke to many of his friends of the pleasure it had given him. And now appeared, in three large quarto volumes, followed within sis months by a fburth, the Complete Sistory of EngUmd, ded/wxA from the Descent of Julius Cmsar to the Treaty of Aix la Ghapelle m 1748. Contammg the Transaciions of One Thousand ■Eight Hundred cmd Three Yea/rs. By T. Smollett, M.D. The wonder of this performance had been its incredibly rapid produc- tion : the author of Ba/ndom and Piclde having in the space of fourteen months scoured through those eighteen centuries. It was a scheme of the London booksellers to thwart the success of Hume, which promised just then to be too considerable for an undertaking in which the craft had no concern. His Commonwealth volume, profiting by religious outcry against its author, was selUng vigorously; people were inquiring for the preceding Stuart volume; and Paternoster-row, alarmed for its rights and properties in standard history books, resolved to take the field before the promised Tudor volumes could be brought to market. They backed their best man and succeeded. The Complete Sistory, we are told, "had a very disagreeable effect on Mr. Hume's per- "formance." It had also, it would appear, a very disagreeable effect on Mr. Hume's temper. "These things are very tempo- "raiy," he writes to Miliar. "A frenchman came to me," he writes to Robertson, "and spoke of translating my new volume of "history : but as he also mentioned his intention of translating "Smollett, I gave him no encouragement to proceed." It had besides, it may be added, a very disagreeable effect on the tempers of other people. Warburton heard of its swift sale while his own Divine Legation lay heavy and quiet at his publisher's ; and " the " vagabond Scot who writes nonsense," was the character vouch- safed to Smollett by the vehement, proud priest. But Goldsmith keeps his temper, notwithstanding Smollett's great and somewhat easily earned good fortune : and in this, as in former instances, there is no disposition to carp at a great success, or quarrel with a celebrated name. His notice has evident marks of the interpolation of Grifiiths, though that worthy's more deadly hostility to Smollett had not yet begun ; but even as it stands, in the Eeview which -had so many points of personal and political opposition to the subject of it, it is manly and kind. The weak places were pointed out with gentleness, while Goldsmith strongly seized on what he OHAP. 1.] REVIEWING FOE MK. AND MRS. GRIFFITHS. 73 felt to bo the strength, of Smollett. " The style of this Historian," he said, "is in general clear, nervous, and flowing ; and ■we think "it impossible for a reader of taste not to be pleased with the "perspicmty and elegance of his maimer." For the critic's handling in lighter matters, I will mention what he said of a book by Jonas Hanway. This was the Jonas of whom Doctor Johnson affirmed that he acquired some reputation by travelling abroad, but lost it all by travelling at home : not a witticism, but a sober truth. His book about Persia was excellent, and his book about Portsmouth indiflFerent. But though an eccentric, he was a very benevolent and earnest man ; and though he made the common mistake of thinking himself even more wise than he was good, he had too much reason, to complain, which h« was always doing, of a general want of earnestness and seriousness in his age. His larger schemes of benevolence have connected his name with the Marine Society and the Magdalen, both of which he originated, as well as with the FoimdUng, which he was active in improving ; and to his courage and perseverance in smaller fields of usefulness (his determined contention with extravagant vails to servants not the least), the men of Goldsmith's day were indebted for liberty to use an umbrella. Gay's pleasant Trivia, and Swift's masterly description of a City Shower, commemorate its earlier use by poor women ; by "tuck'd-up sempstresses" and " walking- " maids ;" but with even this class it was a winter privilege, and woe to the woman of a better sort, or to the man whether rich or poor, who dared at any time so to invade the rights of coach- men and chairmen. But Jonas steadily underwent the staring, laughing, jeering, hooting, and bullying ; and having punished some insolent knaves who struck him with their whips as well as tongues, he finally established a privilege which, when the Journal des Dibats gravely assured its readers that the king of the barricades (that king whose throne has since been biunt at the top of fresh barricades on the site of the BastiUe) was to be seen walking the streets of Paris with an umbrella under his arm, had reached its culminating point and played a part in state affairs. Excellent Mr. Hanway, having settled the use of the umbrella, made a less successful move when he would have written down the use of tea. This is one of the prominent subjects in the Jowrney from Portsmouth : the book which Griffiths had now placed in his workman's hands. Doctor Johnson's review of it for the Literary Magazine is widely known, and Goldsmith's deserved notoriety as well. It is more kindly, and as effectively, written. He saw what allowance could be made for a writer, however mistaken, who "jthows great goodness of heart, and an earnest con'iem for tha .74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIUES. [book n. "welfare of his country." Where the book was at its worst, the man might be at his best, he very agreeably undertakes to prove. " The appearance of an inn on the road suggests to our Philoso- "pher an eulogium on temperance; the confusion of a disap- " pointed landlady gives rise to a Letter on Resentment ; and the "view of a company of soldiers furnishes out m*.terials for an "Essay on War." As to the anti-souchong mania, Goldsmith laughs at it; and this was doubtless the wisest way. "He," exclaimed Jonas ia horror, "who should be able to drive three "Frenchmen before him, or she who might be a breeder of such a "race of men, are to be seen sipping their Tea ! . . . What a wild " infatuation is this ! . . . The suppression of this dangerous "custom depends entirely on the example of ladies of rank in this " country . . . Some indeed have resolution enough in their own " houses, to confine the use of Tea to their own table, but their " number is so extremely small, amidst a numerous acquaintance " I know only of Mrs. T. . . . whose name ought to be written out "in letters of gold." "Thus we see," is Goldsmith's conmient xipon this, " how fortunate some folks are. Mrs. T. ... is praised "for confining luxury to her own table : she earns fame, and saves " something in domestic expenses !" In subsequent serious expostulation with Mr. Hanway on some medical assumptions in his book^ the reviewer lays aside his humble patched velvet of Bankside, and speaks as though with nothing less invested than the president's gold-headed cane: after which he closes with this piece of quiet good-sense. "Yet after all, why so violent an "outcry against this devoted article of modem luxury? Every "natipn that is rich hath had, and will have, its favourite "luxuries. Abridge the people in one, they generally run into "another; and the reader may judge which will be most con- " ducive to either mental or bodily health, the watery beverage of " a modem fine lady, or the strong beer, and stronger waters, of " her great-grandmother 1" This paper had appeared in July, and in the same number there was also a clever notice from the same hand of Dobson's translation of the first book of Cardinal de Polignac's Latin poem of Anti-lMcretms : the poem whose ill success stopped Gray in what he playfully called his Master Tommy Lucretius (" De Prin- " dpiis Cogitandi"). The cardinal's work I may mention as a huge monument of misapplied learning and not a little vanity ; the talk of the world in those days, now forgotten. It was the work of a life ; could boast of having been corrected by Boileau and altered by Louis the Fourteenth ; and was kept in manuscript so long, and so often, with inordinate self-complacency, publicly recited from by the author in a kind earnest of what the world was one CHAP. I.J. KE VIEWING FOR MR. AND MES. GKUTITHS. 75 day to expect, that some listeners with good memories (Le Glare among them) stole its best passages, and published them for the world's earlier benefit as their own. This drove the poor cardinal at last to premature deUrery, and an instalment of thirteen thou- sand lines appeared ; of which certainly one line, Eripuitgue Jovi fulmen, Phceboque sagittas (which the worthy cardinal had himself stolen irom Marcus Manilius), haying since suggested Franklin's epitaph, Eripuit cado /idmen, sceptrumque tyrannis, has a good chance to live. To the August number of the Eeview, among other matters. Goldsmith contributed a lively paper on those new volumes of Voltaire's Universal History which so delighted Walpole and Gray; but in the September number, where he remarks on Odes by Mr. Oray, I find opinions which place in lively contrast the obscure Oliver and the brilliant Horace. Walpole called himself a Whig, in compliment to his father; but except in very rare humours he hated, while he envied, aU _ things popular. "I am " more humbled," was his cry, when thirsting for every kind of notoiiety, "I am more humbled by " any applause in the pre- "sent age, than by hosts "of such critics as Dean "MiUes." He was very steady in his fondness for Gray (though Gray ap- pears never to have quite thrown aside the recollec- tion of their early dis- agreement), because there was that real indifference to popular influences in the poet, which the wit and fine gentleman was anxious to have credit for. This liking he proclaimed on all occasions ; had written the short advertise- ment which prefaced the first edition of the Ekgy ; had himself taken the risk of publishing, four years before, " a fine edition of "six poems of Mr. Gray, with prints &om designs of Mr. R. " Bentley ;•"' and when he heard, in the July of this year, that Gray had left his Cambridge retreat for a visit to Dodsley the bookseller, he managed, as ho says himself, to " snatch" away the new Odes to confer grace on the newly started types at Strawberry- hilL These were the Ba/rd and the Progress of Poesy ; two noble p]?oductions, it must surely be admitted, whatever of cavil can be 76 OLIVER GOLDSMlTfl'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book il. urged against them for the -want of olearness or of ease ; though not to be admired after the manner of Walpole, who never praises without showing his dislike of others, much more than his love of Gray. "You are very particular, I can tell you," he says to Montague, "in liking Gray's Odes: but you must remember that "the age likes Akenside, and did like Thomson! can the same "people like both ? Milton was forced to wait tiU the world had " done admiring Quarles." It was a habit of depreciation too much the manner of the time. Even the enchanting genius of Collins struck no responsive chord in Gray himself ; nor had the Elegies of Shenstone, the ImagmaUon of Akenside, or even the Castle of Indolence itself, found always grateful welcome from the learned idleness of the poet of Pembroke Hall. But Goldsmith, for the present, was not to this manner bom ; and though he might perhaps more freely have acknowledged the splendour of Gray's imagination and the deep humanity of his feeling, his exquisite pathos, the melancholy grandeur of his tone, his touching thoughts and most delicately chosen words, — ^yet he was at least not disposed, when Mr. Griffiths laid Messra. Dodsley's shilling quarto before him, to any comparison or test less fair than his own feeling of the objects and aims of poetry. And this he stated with a strength and plainness which marks with personal interest what was said of Gray. Portions of a poem he had him- self already written, fragments of exquisite simplicity ; and in what the tone of this criticism exhibits, we see what will one day give unity and aim to those poetical attempts, and raise them into enduring structures. We observe the gradual development of settled views ; the better defined thoughts which the rude begin- nings of literature are breeding in him ; the rich upturning of the soil of his mind, as Mr. Griffiths passes with his harrow. The toils and sufferings of the past are now not only yielding fruit to him. but teaching him how it may be gathered. The lesson is very simple, but of inappreciable value, and the reverse of Horace Walpole's. It is to study the people, whom Walpole would disregard ; to address those popular sympathies, which he affected to despise ; to speak the language of the heart, of which he knew not much ; and before all things study, what so little came within the range of his experience, the joys and the sorrows of. the poor. It is the lesson which Roger Ascham would have taught two hundred and fifty years before — to think as a wise man, but to speak as the common people. We cannot without some regret behold talents so capable of giving pleasure to all, exerted in efforts that at best can amuse only the few ; we cannot behold this rising Poet seeking fame among the learned, without hinting to him the same adTice that Isocrates used to give his Scholars, Study tht CHAP. I.] REVIEWING FOR MR. AND MRS. GRIFFITHS. 7r People, This study it is that has conducted the great Masters of antiquity up to immortality. Pindar himself, of whom our modern Lvrist is an imitator, appears entirely guided by it. He adai>ted his works exactly to the dispositions of his countrymen. Irregular, enthusiastic, and qui(i in transition, — ^he. wrote for a people inconstant, of warm imaginations, and exquisite sensibility. He chose the most popular subjects, and all his allu- sions are to customs well-known, in his days, to the meanest person. Admirable rebuke to those who seize the fonn, but not the spirit, of an elder time, and mistake the phrase which passes in a century, for the heart which is young for ever. The poetical genius of which Goldsmith is already conscious, was in its essential character of a lower grade than that of Gray : but the exquisite uses to which he will direct it, and the wise and earnest purpose which will shape and control it, are to be read, as it seems to me, in this excellent piece of criticism. Mr. Gray, continued Goldsmith, wants the Greek writer's advantages. He speaks to a people not easily impressed with new ideas ; extremely tenacious of the old ; with difficulty warmed ; and as slowly cooling again. How unsuited, then, to our national chara<;ter is that species of poetry which rises upon us with unexpected flights ; where we must hastily catch the thought, or it flies from us, and the reader must largely partake of the poet's enthusiasm, in order to taste his beauties I , . . Mr. diafa Odes, it must be confessed, breathe much of the spirit of Findar ; but then they have caught the seeming obscurity, the sudden transition, and hazardous epithet of his mighty master ; all which, though evidently intended for beauties, will pro- bably be regarded ss blemishes by the generality of his readers. In short, they are in some measure a representation of what Findar now appears to be, though perhaps not what he appeared to the States of GJreece, when they rivalled each other in his applause, and when Fan himself was seen dancing to his melody, Kothing could be happier than this last allusion. Of the capabilities of Gray's genius, misdirected as he thus believed it to be, it is satisfactory to mark Goldknith's strong appreciation. He speaks of him, in the emphatic line of the Chwrchyard Elegy, as one whom the muse had marked for her own. He grieves that "such a genius" should not do justice to itself, by trusting more implicitly to its own powers ; and quotes passages from the Bard to support his belief that they are as great "as anything of that "species of composition which has hitherto appeared in o\u: ' ' language, the Odes of Dryden himself not excepted. " Certainly to the two exceptions therefore, which, while Goldsmith wrote. Gray was describing to Hurd ("my Mends tell me that the Odes do not " succeed, and write me moving topics of consolation on that " head : I have heard of nobody but an actor and a doctor of " divinity that profess their esteem for them"), might with some reason have been added the p6or monthly critic of The Dunciad. 78 . OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. Ldook ii. I wish I could say, that, in later and more successful days, he resisted with equal good taste and good sense the influence of Johnson's habitual and strange dislike to one of the most amiable men and delightful writers to be met with in .our English literature. CHAPTEK II. MAKING SHIFT TO EXIST. 1757—1758. With the number of the Monthly Beview which completed the fifth month of Goldsmith's engagement with Mr. and ml la Mrs. Griffiths, his labours suddenly closed. The circum- stances were never clearly explained ; but that a serious quarrel had arisen with his employer, there is no reason to doubt. Griffiths accused him of idleness ; said he affected an independence which did not become his condition, and left his desk before the day was done ; — ^nor would the reproach appear to be groundless, if the amount of his labour for Griffiths were to be measured by those portions only which have been traced ; but this would be simply absurd, f6r the mass of it imdoubtedly has perished. For himself Goldsmith retorted, that from the bookseller he had suf- fered impertinence, and from his wife privation ; that Mr. Griffiths • withheld common respect, and Mrs. Griffiths the most ordinary comforts ; that they both tampered with his articles, and, as it suited their ignorance or convenience, wholly altered them ; and finally, that no part of the contract had been broken by himself, he having always worked incessantly every day from nine o'clock till two, and on special days of the week from an earlier hour imtil late at night. Proof of the most curious part of this counter- statement, as to interpolation of the articles, was in the possession of his first biographers ; and as it now appears, from a published letter of Doctor Campbell to Bishop Percy, was at the last moment, in fear of abuse from reviewers, suppressed. But notwithstanding the quarrel, and Goldsmith's departure from the house, Griffiths retained his hold. Later events will show this ; and that probably some small advance was his method of effecting it. It enabled him to keep up the»appearance of civility when Goldsmith left his door ; and to keep back the purpose of injury and insult till it could fall with heavier effect. The oppor> tunity was not lost when it came, nor did the bookseller's malica end with the writer's death. " SwperinUnd the Monthly Review ! " tried Griffiths, noticing, in the number for August l'r7'4, a brief OHAP. n.] MAKING SHIFT TO EXIST. 79 • memoir of Goldsmith profeBsing to have been -written from personal knowledge, in which his connection with the work was so described. " We are authorised to say that the author is very much mistaken " in his assertion. The Doctor had hia merit as a man of letters ; "but alas ! those who knew him must smile at the idea of such a "superintendent of a concern which most obviously required some "degree of prudence, as well as a competent acquaintance with " the world. It is, however, true that he had, for a while, a "seat at our board ; and that, so far as hia knowledge of books " extended, he was not an unuseful assistant." And so, without this belauded prudence, without this treasure of a competent acquaintance with the world, — ^into that wide, friendless, desolate world, the poor writer, the not unuseful assistant, was launched again. How or where he Uved for the next few months, is matter of great uncertainty. But his letters were addressed to George's, the Temple-exchange CoflFee-house near Temple-bar, where the waiter he celebrates in the third number of his Bee took charge of them ; the garret where he wrote and slept is supposed to have been in one of the courts near the neighbouring Salisbury-square ; Doctor Kippis, one of the Monthly Reviewers, "was impressed by "some faint recollection of his having made translations from the "French, among others of a tale from Voltaire ; " and the recollec- tion is made stronger by one of his autographs formerly in Heber's collection, which purports to be a receipt from Mr. Ralph Griffiths for ten guineas, probably signed a day or two before he left the Monthly, for translation of a book entitled Memoirs of my Lady B. Another writer in the Review, Doctor James Grainger, to whom his residence at the sign of The Dunciad had made him known, and of whom the translation of Tibullus, the Ode to Solitude, the ballad of Bryan and Pereene, and the poem of the Suga/r Come, have kept a memory very pleasant though very limited, made the same coffee-house his place of call, and often saw Goldsmith there. The month in which he separated from Griffiths was that in which Newbery's lAt&ra/ry Magmitie lost Johnson's services j but this seems the only ground for a surmise that those services were replaced by Goldsmith's. The magazine itself shows little mark of his hand, tmtil his admitted connection with it some months later. Toiling thus through an obscurity dark as the life itself, the inquirer finds on a sudden a glimpse of Ught, which for an instant places biTTi in that garret near Salisbury-square. Its inmate sits alone in wretched drudgery, when the door opens, and a raw-lookiag country youth of twenty stands doubtfully on the doleful thresh- hold. Goldsmith sees at ouce his ybungest brother Charles ; but Claries cannot bring himself to see, in the occupier of this misera- 80 OLIYKR. GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. t*""* " We dwelling, the brother on whose supposed success he had already buUt his own ! Without education, profession, friends, or resource of any kind, it had suddenly occuired to this enterprising Irish lad, as he lounged in weary idleness round Ballymahon, that a» brother Oliver had not been asking for assistance lately, but was now a settled author in London, perhaps he had gotten great men for his friends, and a kind word to one of them might be the making of his fortune. Full of this he scrambled to London as he coidd, won the secret of the house from the Temple-exchange waiter to whom he confided his relationship, and found the looked-for , architect of wealth and honour here ! " All in good time, my dear 1 " boy," cried Oliver joyfully, to check the bitterness of despair ; " all in good time : I shall be richer by and by. Besides, you see, " I am not in positive want. Addison, let me tell you, wi'ote his " poem of the Campaign in a garret in the Haymaiket, three stories " high ; and you see I am not come to that yet, for I have only got " to the second story." He made Charles sit and a iswer questipns about his Irish friends ; but at this point the light is again with- drawn, and for some two months there is greater darkness than before, Charles (who certainly had no lack of the adventurous spirit, and so far resembled OUver, that at the close of a long life of great vicissitude he said he had met with no such friend in adversity as his flute) quitted London in a few days, suddenly and secretly as flBAP. It,] MAKINa SHIFT TO EXIST. 81 he had entered it, and shortly sailed, in a humble tsapacity it is said, for Jamaica : whence he did not return till after four-and- thirty years, to tell this anecdote, and to be described by Malone as not a little like his celebrated brother, even in person, speech, and manner. The next clear view of Oliver is from a letter to his , brother-in-law HodsAj, with the date of "Temple-exchange " Coffee-house (where you may direct an answer), Deo. 27, 1767 ;" fortunately kept. The miserable year had brought no happier Christmas to Goldsmith ; but he writes with a manly cheerfulness, which offers no selfish affiront to the unselfish spirit of the season. Some unsuccessfvd efforts of this Hodson to raise a subscription in answer to the supplication for Irish aid during the travel abroad, would seem to have been mentioned by Charles ; and gratitude, ioi a little made Goldsmith grateful, prompted the letter. He begins by remiuding his kinsman that his last letters to Ireland, and to him in particular, of the date of four years ago, were left unanswered. My brother Charles, however, informs me of the fatigue you were at in soliciting a suhscriptlon to assist me, not only among my Mends and rela- tions, but acquaintances in general. Though my pride might feel some re- pugnance at being thus relieved, yet my gratitude can suffer no diminution. How much am I obliged to yon, to them, for such generosity, or (why should not your virtues have their proper name ?) for such charity to me at that juncture. . . My not receiving that supply was the cause of my present esta- blishment at London. Ton may easily imagine what difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations, money, or impu- dence ; and that in a country where being bom an Irishman was sufficient to keep me unemployed. Many in such circumstances would have had recourse to the friar's cord, or the suicide's halter. But, with all my follies, I had principle to resist the one, and resolution to combat the other. I suppose you desire to know my present situation. As there is nothing in it at which I should blush, or which mankind could censure, I see no reason for making it a secret ; in short, by a very little practice as a physician, and a very little reputation as a poet, I make a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us to the gates of the Muses than poverty ; but it were well if they only left us at the door. The mischief is, they sometimes choose to give us their com- pany at the entertainment ; .and Want, instead of being gentleman usher, often turns master of the ceremonies. Thus, upon hearing I write, no doubt you imagine I starve, and the name of an author naturally reminds you of a garret. In this particular I do not think proper to undeceive my friends. But whether I eat or starve, live in a first floor or four pair of stairs high, I still remember them with ardour, nay my very country comes in for a share of my affection. This glance at the gloomy aspect of Ms present fortunes would be less pathetic to me if it had been less playful. His Irish friends had shown the charitable wish, however unavailing ; and he would not trouble friendly eyes with needless exhibition of his sufferings, or make grim Want the master of other than somewhat cheerful teremonieB. Lightly and quickly, therefore, he passes from the G 82 OLIVER aoLDSMlTfl'S LIFE AND DIMES. [Boofi li. subject, to that unaccountable fondness for Ireland already men- tioned in connection ■with this letter. What little pleasures he had ever tasted in London, he says, Irish memories had soured. Signora Columba had never poured out for him all the mazes of melody at the opera, that he did not sit and sigh for Lissoy fireside, and Peggy Golden's song of Johnny Armstroiig's Last Good Night. If I climb Eampstead Hill, than where Nature never exhibited a more magnificent prospect, I confess it fine ; but then I had rather be placed on the little mount before Lishoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon in nature. Before Charles came hither, my thoughts sometimes found refuge from severer studies among my friends in Ireland. I fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I find it was the rapidity of my own motion, that gave an irSaginary one to objects really at rest. No alterations there. Some friends, he tells me, are still lean, but very rich ; others very fat, but still very poor. Nay, all the news I hear from [of] you is that yon sally out in visits among the neighbours, and sometimes make a migration from the blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish that you and she, and Lishoy, and Ballymahon, and all of you, would fairly make a migration into Middlesex : though, upon second thoughts, this might be attended with a few inconveni- ences ; therefore, as the mountain will not come to Mahomet, why, Mahomet shall go to the mountain. Poet and Physician, — ^the ragged livery of Grub-street under one high-sounding name, and wretched fee-less patients beneath the other ! He was the poet of Hogarth's print, which the com- mon people then hailed with laughter at every print-shop ; he was again, it would seem, the poor physician of the patched velvet among hovels of Bankside ; and yet it was but pleasant colouring for the comfort of brother-in-law Hodson, when he said that with both he made a shift to live. With even more, he failed to attaiu that object of humble ambition. tJi q'q In February, 1758, two duodecimos appeared with this most explanatory title : The Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned to the Galleys of Frcmce for his Religion. Written by himself. Comprehending an account of the various distresses he suffered in slavery, and his constancy in supporting almost every cruelty that bigoted zeal could inflict, or human nature sustaui. Also a description of the Gfalleys, and the service in which they are employed. The whole interspersed with anecdotes relative to the general history of the times for a period of thirteen years, during which the author continued in slavery till he was at last set free at the intercession of the Court of Great Britain. Translated from the Original,Just published at the Hague, by James Willington. James Willington was in reality Oliver Goldsmith. The property of the book belonged to Grifiiths, who valued one name quite as much as the- other ; and the position of the translator appears in the subsequent assignment of the manuscript, at no small profit to Grifiiths, by the Paternoster-row bookseller to bookseller Dilly of caAP. 11. J MAKIHa SHIFT TO EXIST. 83 the PoTiltry, for the sum of twenty guineas. But though the trans- lator's name might pass for WiUington, the writer could only write as Goldsmith ; and though with bitterness he calls himself "the "obscure prefacer," the preface is clear, graceful, and characteristic, as in blighter days. The book cannot be recommended, he says, as a grateful entertainment to the readers of reigning romance, for it is strictly true. " No events are here to astonish ; no unex- "pected incidents to surprise ; no such high-finished pictures, as " captivate the imagination and have made fiction fashionable. " Our reader must be content with the simple exhibition of truth, " and consequently of nature ; he must be satisfied to see vice " triumphant and virtue in distress ; to see men punished or " rewarded, not as his wishes, but as Providence has thought proper "to direct ; for all here wears the face of sincerity." Then, with a spirit that shows how strongly he entered into the popular feeling jf the day, he contrasts popery and absolute power with the rational religion and moderate constitutionalism of England ; glances at the scenes of dungeon, rack, and scaffold through which the naiTa- tive will pass ; and calls them but a part of the accumulated wretchedness of a miscalled glorious time, "while Louis, sumamed "the Great, was feasting at Versailles, fed with the uicense of " flattery, or sunk in the lewd embraces of a prostitute." But why stood " James WiUington " on the title page of this book, iastead of " Oliver Goldsmith," since the names were both unknown ? The question will not admit of a doubtful answer, though a braver I could wish to have given. At this point there is evidence of despair. Not without well-earned knowledge had Goldsmith passed through the task-work of the Monthly Review : faculties which lay unused within him, were by this time not unknown ; and a stronger man, with a higher constancy and fortitude, might with that knowledge have pushed resolutely on, and, conquering the fate of those who look back when their objects are forward, found earlier sight of the singing tree and the golden water. But to hiTn it seemed hopeless to climb any further up the desperate steep ; over the dark obstructions which the world is glad to interpose between itself and the best labourers in its service, he had not as yet risen high enough to see the glimmering of light beyond r even lower, therefore, than the school-room at Doctor Milner's, from which he had been taken to his literary toU, he thought him- self now descended ; arid in a sudden sense of misery more intold' rable, might have cried with Edgar, gods ! who is't can say " I am at tte worat ?" f am worse than e'er I iixu. 84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. ^book ii. He returned to Doctor Milner's ; — if ever, from thence, again to return to literature, to embrace it for choice and with a braver heart endure its worst necessities. There came that time ; and when, eighteen months after the present, date, he was writing the Bee, he thus turned into pleasant fiction the incidents now described. ■ I was once induced to show my indignation against the puUic, iy discon- tinuing my endeavours to please ; and was bravely resolved, like Kaleigh, to vex them by burning my manuscripts in a passion. Upon reoolleetion, how- ever, I considered what set or body of people would be displeased at my rash- ness. The sun, after so sad an accident, might shine next morning as bright as usual ; men might laugh and sing .the next day, and transact business as before, and not a single creature feel any regret, but myself. . . . Instead of having Apollo in mourning, or the Muses in a fit of the spleen ; instead of having the learned world apostrophising at my untimely decease ; perhaps all Grub-street might laugh at my fall, and self-approving dignity might never be able to shield me from ridicule. Worse than ridicule had he spared himself, with timely aid of these better thoughts ; but they came too late. He made his melancholy journey to Peckham, and knocked at Doctor Milner's door. The schoolmaster was not an unkind or unfriendly man, and would in any circumstances, there is little doubt, have given Gold- smith the shelter he sought. It happened now that he had special need of him: sickness disabling himself from the proper school- attendance. So, again installed poor usher, week passed over week as of old, with suffering, contempt, and many forms of care. Milner saw what he endured ; was moved by it ; and told binn that as soon as health enabled himself to resume the duties of the school, he would exert an influence to place his usher in some medical appointment at a foreign station. He knew an East India director, a Mr. Jones, through whom it might be done. Before all things it was what Goldsmith fervently desired. And now, with something like the prospect of a settled future to bear him up against the Tincongenial and uncertain present, what leisure he had for other than school labour, he gave to a literary project of his -own designing. This was natural : for we cling with a strange new fondness to what we must soon abandon, and it is the strong resolve to separate which most often has made separation impossible. Nor, apart from this, is there groimd for the feeling of surprise, or the charge of vacUlating purpose. His daily bread provided hero, literature again presented itself to his thoughts as in his foreign wanderings; and to have left better record of himself than the garbled page of Grifflths's Beview, would be a comfort in his exUe. Some part of his late experience, so dearly bought, sho-_M be freely told ; with it could be arranged CHAr. II.] MAKING SHIFT TO EXIST, 85 and combined, what store of literaxy fruit he had gathered in his travel ; and no longer commanded by a bookseller, or over- awed by an old woman, he might frankly deliver to the world some wholesome truths as to the decay of letters and the rewards of genius. In this spirit he conceived the Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Ev/rope. And if he had reason bitterly to feel, in his own case, that he had failed to break down the barriers which encircled the profession of literature, here might a helping hand be stretched forth to the relief of others, still struggling for a better fate in its difficult environments. With this design another expectation arose, — ^that the publica- tion, properly managed, might give him means for the outfit lus appointment would render necessary. And he bethought him of his Ksh friends. The zeal so lately professed might now be exerted with effect, and without greatly plaguing either their pockets or his own pride. In those days, and indeed untU the Act of Union was passed, the English writer had no copyright in Ireland : it being a part of the independence of Irish booksellers to steal from EngHsh authors, and of the Irish parUament to pro- tect the theft ; just as, not twenty years before this date, that excellent native parliament had, on the attempt of a Catholic to recover estates which in the manner of the booksellers a Protestant had seized, voted "all barristers, solicitors, attorneys, and proctors "who should be concerned for him," public enemies! But that serviceable use might be made of the early transmission to Ireland of a set of English copies of the Enquiry, by one who had zealous private friends there, was Goldsmith's aot unreasonable feeling ; and he^ would try this, when the time came. Meanwhile he began the work ; and it was probably to some extent advanced, when, with little savings from the school, and renewed assurances of the foreign appointment, Doctor Milner released him from duties which the necessity (during the Doctor's illness) of flogging the boys as well as teaching them, appears to have made more intolerable to the child-loving usher. The reverend Mr. Mitibrd knew a lady whose husband had been at this time under Gold- smith's cane ; but with no very serious consequence. Escape from the school might not have been so easy, but for the lessening chances of Dr. Milner's recovery ha,ving made more permanent arrangements advisable. Some doubt has been expressed, indeed, whether the worthy schoolmaster's illness had not already ended fatally ; and if the kindness I have recorded should notrathez be attributed to his son and successor in the school, Mr. George Milner. But other circumstances clearly invalidate this, and show that it must have been the elder Milner's. In August 1768, liowever, GoMsniith again ha4 bidden hiiu adiei) ; and ouce more 88 OLIVER UOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book n. had secured a rospeotablo town iaddress for his letters, and, among the Graingers and Kippises and other tavern acquaintance, obtained the old facilities for correspondence with his Mends, at the Temple-exchange CoflFee-house, Temple-bar. CHAPTEB III. ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE FEOM LITERATURE. 1758. Gbaingbe, his friend Percy, and others of the Griffiths con- nection, were at this time busy upon a new magazine: Mt 30 ^®g™^ ''^i^'^ ^^^ present year, and dedicated to the " great ' " Mr. Pitt," whose successful coercion of the king made him just now more than ever the darling of the people. Griffiths was one of the publishing partners in The Gfrcmd Magamie oj Universal Intelligence a/nd Monthly Chronicle of our own Times ; and perhaps on this account, as well as for the known contributions of some of his acquaintance, traces of Goldsmith's hand have been sought in the work ; in my opinion without success. In truth the first number was hardly out when he went back to the Peokham school ; and on his return to London, though he probably eked out his poor savings by casual writings here and there, it is certain that on the foreign appointment his hopes continued steadily fixed, and that the work which was to aid him in his escape from lite- rature (the' completion of the Enqui/ry into the State of Polite Lea/rniMg, or, as he called it before pubUcatipn, the Essay' on the Present State of Taste and Literatwe) occupied nearly all his thoughts. He was again in London, and again working with the pen ; but he was no longer the bookseller's slave, nor was literary toil Lis impassable and hopeless doom. Therefore, in the confi- dence of swift liberation, and the hope of the new career that brightened in his sanguine heart, he addressed himself cheerily enough to the design in hand, and began solicitation of his Irish friends. Edward Mills he thought of first, as a person of some influence. He was his relative, had been his fellow collegian, and was a pros- perous, wealthy man. In a letter to hinn dated from the Temple- exchange Coffee-house, on the 'Tth of August, and published by Bishop Percy, after some allusion to his having given up the pursuit of law for the privacy of a country life, he continues, It seems you are contented to be merely an lappy man ; to te esteemed only by your aoquaintjnce — ^to cultivate your paternal acres — to take unmo- «HAP. III.] ATTEMPO; TO ESCAPE FEOM LITERATUBE. 87 lested a nap under one of yonr own ha-wtlionis, or in Mrs. Mills's bed- ' chamber, which even a poet must confess, is rather the most comfortable place of the two. Bnt however your resolutions may be altered with regard to your situation in life, I persuade myself they are unalterable with regard toyour friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken such entire possession ol that heart (once so susceptible of friendship) as not to have left a comer there for a friend or two ; but I flatter myself that even I have my place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our dispositions ; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean that of retaliation : for indeed you have more than youi share in mine. I am a man of few professions, and yet this very instant 1 cannot avoid the painful apprehension that my present professions (which speak not half my feelings) should be considered only a pretext to cover a request, as I have a request to make. No, my dear Ned, I know you are too generous to think so; and yon know me too proud to stoop to mercenary insincerity. I have a request it is true to make ; but as I know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without diffidence or confusion. It is in short this, I am going to publish a book in London, entitled An Essay on the present State of Taste amd Literature in Europe. Every work published here the printers in Ireland republish there, without giving the author the least con- sideration for his copy. I would in this respect disappoint their avarice, and have all the additional advantages that may result from the sale of my performance there to myself. The book is now printing in London, and I have requested Dr. Eadcliff, Mr. Lawder, Mr. Bryanton, my brother Mr. Henry Goldsmith, and brother-in-law Mr, Hodson, to circulate my proposals among their acquaintance. The same request I now make to you ; and have accord- ingly given directions to Mr. Bradley, bookseller in Dame-street Dublin, to send you a hundi'ed proposals. Whatever subscriptions pursuant to those pro- posals, you may receive, when collected, may be transmitted' to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the money, and be accountable for the books. I shall not, by a paltry apology, excuse myself for putting you to this trouble. Were I not convinced that you found more pleasure in doing good-natured things, than uneasiness at being employed in them, I should not have singled you out on this occasion. It is probable you would comply with such a re- quest, if it tended to the encouragement of any man of learning whatsoever ; what then may not he expect who has claims of family and friendship to enforce his ? What indeed may he not freely expect, who is to receive nothing ? Nevertheless, there is a worse fool's paradise than that of expectation. To teach our tears the easiest way to flow, should be no unvalued part of this world's wisdom ; hope is a good friend, even when the only one ; and Goldsmith was not the worse for expecting, though he, received nothing. Mr. Mills left his poor requests unheeded, and his letter unacknowledged. Sharking booksellers and starving authors might devour each other before he would interpose ; being a man, as his old sizar-relative deli- cately hinted, with paternal acres as well as boyish friendships to cultivate, and fewer thorns of the world to struggle with, than hawthorns of his own to sleep under. He lived to repent it certainly, and to profess great veneration for the distinguished writer to whom he boasted relationship ; but Goldsmith had no more pleasant hopes or friendly correspondences to fling away upon 88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ii. Mr. Mills of Boscouunon. Not that even this letter, as it seems to me, had been one of very confident expectation. Unusual effort is manifest in it ; a reluctance to bring unseemly fancies between the wind and Mr. Mills's gentility ; a conventional style of balance between the "pleasure" and the "uneasiness" it talks about ; in short, a forced suppression of everything in his owa state that may affront the acres and the hawthorns. Seven days afterwards he wrote to Bryanton, with a curious contrast of tone and manner. Even Bryanton had not inquired for him since the scenes of happier years. The afifectionate remem- berings of the lonely wanderer, as of the struggling author, he had in carelessness, if not in coldness, passed without return ; yet here heart spoke to heart, buoyant, imreserved, and sanguine. That sorrow lay beneath the greetings, was not to be concealed, else had the words which cheerily rose above it been perhaps less sincere ; but see, and make profit of it, — how, depressed by unavailing labours, and patiently awaiting the disastrous issue of defeat and flight, he shows to the last a bright and cordial happiness of soul,- unconquered and unconquerable. The letter, which, like that to Mills, is also dated from the Temple cofiee-house, was first printed by permission of Bryanton's son-in-law, the reverend Doctor Handcook of Dublin, and where the paper is torn or has been worn away by. time, there are several erasures that the reader will easily supply. Why in so long an absence was I never made a partner in your concerns ? To hear of your successes would have given me the utmost pleasure ; and a communication of your very disappointments, would divide the uneasiness I too frequently feel for my own. Indeed, my dear Bob, you don't conceive how unkindly you have treated one whose circumstances afford him few prospects of pleasure, except those reflected from the happiness of his friends. However, since ^you have not let me hear from you, I have in some measure dis- appointed your neglect by frequently thinking of you. Every day do I remember the calm anecdotes of your life, from the fireside to the easy- chair ; recall the various adventures that first cemented our friendship, — the school, the college, or the tavern ; preside in fency over your cards ; and am displeased at your bad play when the rubber goes against you, though not with all that agony of soul as when I once was your partner. Is it not strange that two of such like affections should be so much separated and so differently employed as we are ? You seem placed at the centre of fortune's wheel, and let it revolve never so &st, seem insensible of the motion. I seem to have been tied to the circumference, and .... disagree- ably round like an whore in a whirligig .... down with an intention to chide, and yet methinks .... my resentment already. The truth is, I am a . . . . regard to you; I may attempt to bluster, Anacreon, my heart is respondent only to softer affections. And yet, now I think on't again, I will be angry. God's curse, sir ! who am I ? Eh ! what am I ? Do you know whom you have offended ? A man whose character may one of these days be mentioned with profound respect in a German comment or Dutch dictionary ; whose name you will probably hear ushered in by a Dootissimui onAB. in.] ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE FROM LITERATDUE. 89 Doctissimorum, or heel-pieced witli a long Latin termination. Think how Qoldsmithing, or Glubblegurchius, or some such sound, as rough as a nutmeg- giater, will become me? Think of that !— God's curse, sir! who am I! I must own my ill-natured contemporaries hare not hitherto paid me those honours I have had such just reason to expect. I have not yet seen my face reflected in sill the lively display of red and white paints on any sign-posts in the suburbs. Your handkerchief weavers seem as yet unacquainted with my merits or my physiognomy, and the very snuff-box makers appear to have forgot their respect. Tell them all from me, they are a set of Gothic, bar- barous, ignorant scoundrels. There will come a day, no doubt it will — I beg you may live a couple of hundred years longer only to see the day — when the Scaligers and Daoiers will vindicate my chsu-aoter, give learned editions of my labours, and bless the times with copious comments on the text. You shall see how they will fish up the heavy scoundrels who disregard me now, or will then offer to cavil at my productions. How will they bewail the times that suffered so much genius to lie neglected. If ever my works find their way to Tartary or China, I know the consequence. Suppose one of your Chinese Owanowitzers instructing one of your Tartarian Chinanobacchhi — you see I use Chinese names to show my own erudition, as I shall soon make our Chinese talk like an Englishman to show his. This may be the subject of the lecture. Oliver Goldsmith flowrhhed in the eighteenth amd nimeteemih centuries. He lived to he an hwndred and three years old .... age may justly he styled the svm of ... . and the Confucms of Europe learned vxyrld, were anonymous, amd have probably been lost, because waited with those of others. The first avowed piece the world has of his is entitled an 'Essay on the present State of Taste a/nd Literature im, Ewrope,' — a ivorh well worth its weight in diamonds. In this he profowndly explains what lea/ming is, and what learning is not. In.this Tie ps:oves that blockheads are not men of. wit, and yet that men of wit aire actually blockheads. But as I choose neither to tire my Chinese Philosopher, nor you, nor myself, I must discontinue the oration, in order to give you a good pause for admiration ; and I find myself most violently disposed to admire too. Let me, then, stop my fancy to take a view of my future self ; and, as the boys say, light down to see myself on horseback. Well, now I am down, where the devil is It Oh Gods ! Gods ! here in a garret, writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk-score ! However, dear Bob, whether in penury or affluence, serious or gay, I am ever wholly tlune, Oliver Goldsmith. Give my-^no, not compliments neither, but something . . . most warm and sincere wish that you can conceive, to your mother, Mrs. Bryanton, to Miss Bryanton, to yourself; and if there be a favourite dog in the family, let me be remembered to it. "Id a garret, writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned "for a milk-score." Such -was the ordinary fate of letters in that age. There had been a Christian religion extant for now seventeen hundred and fifty-seven years ; for so long a time had the world been acquainted with its spiritual necessities and responsibilities ; yet here, in the middle of the eighteenth century, wag the eminence ordinarily conceded to the spiritual teacher, to the man who comes upon the earth to lift his fellow men above its miry ways, Hp is up in a garret, writing for bread he csvnnot get, and so OLIVKE aOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book li. dunned for a milk-score he cannot pay. And age after age, the prosperous man comfortably contemplates it, decently regiets it, and is glad to think it no business of his ; and ia that year of grace and of Goldsmith's suflfering, had doubtless adorned his dining-ioom with the Disirest Poet of the inimitable Mr. Hogarth, and invited laughter from easy guests at the garret arid the milk-score. Yet could they, those worthy men, have known the danger to even their worldliest com- forts then impending, per- haps they had not laughed so heartily. For were not these very citizens to be iu- debted to Goldsmith in after years, for cheerful hours, and happy thoughts, and fiincies that would smooth life's path to their children's children ? And now, without a friend, with hardly bread to eat, and uncheered by a hearty word or a smUe to help him on, he sits in his melancholy garret, and such fancies die within him. It is but an accident now, that the good Vicar shall be bom, that the Man in Black shall dispense his charities, that Croaker shall grieve, Tony Lumpkin laugh, or the sweet soft echo of the Deserted ViMage come for ever back upon the heart, ia charity, and kindness, and sympathy with the poor. For despair is in the garret, and the poet, over- mastered by distress, seeks only the means of flight and exile. With a day- dream to his old Irish playfellow, a sigh for the "heavy scoun- " drels" who disregard him, and a wail for the age to which genius is a mark of mockery ; he turns to that first avowed piece, which, being also his last, is to prove that "blockheads are not men of " wit, and yet that men of wit are actually blockheads." oaip. III.] ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE FROM LITERATURE. 91 A proposition wlucli men of wit have laboured at from early times, have proved in theory, and worked out in practice. " How " many base men," shrieked one of them in. Elizabeth's day, who felt that his wit had but made him the greater blockhead, " how many " base men, that want those parts I have, do enjoy content at will, " and have wealth at command ! I call to mind a cobbler, that ia " worth five hundred pounds ; an hostler, that has built a goodly " inn ; a carman in a leather pilche, that has whipt a thousand "pounds out of his horse's tail : and I ask if I have more than " these. Am I not better born ? am I not better brought up ? " yea, and better favoured ! And yet am I for ever to sit up late, " and rise early, and contend with the cold, and converse with " scarcity, and be a beggar 1 How am I crossed, or whence is this "curse, that a scrivener should be better paid than a scholar!" Poor Nash ! he had not even Goldsmith's fortitude, and his doleful outcry for money was a lamentable exhibition, out of which no good could come. But the feeling in the miserable man's heart, struck at the root of a secret discontent which not the strongest man can resist altogether ; and which Goldsmith did not affect to repress, when he found himself, as he says, ' ' starving in those streets where " Butler and Otway starved before him." The words are in a letter, written the day after that to Bryanton, bearing the same date of Temple-exchange Coffee-house, and sent to Mrs. Lawder, the Jane Contarine o| his happy old Kilmore time, to whom he signs himself her " ever affectionate kinsman." Mr. Mills afterwards begged this letter of the Lawders, and from the friend to whom he gave it. Lord Carleton's nephew, it was copied for Bishop Percy by Edmond Malone. As in those already given, the style, with its simple air of authorship, is eminently good and happy. The assumption of a kind of sturdy independence, the playful admission of well-known faults, and the incidental slight confession of sorrows, have graceftll relation to the person addressed, and the terms on which they stood of old. His uncle was now in a hopeless state of living death, from which, in a few months, the grave released him ; and to this the letter affectingly refers. If you slould ask, why in an interval of so many years you never heard from me, permit me, madam, to ask the same question. I have the best excuse in recrimination. I wrote to Kilmore from Leyden in Holland, from Louvain in Flanders, and Rouen in France, but received no answer. To what could I attribute this silence but to displeasure or forgetfulness ? Whether I was right in my conjecture I do not pretend to determine ; but this I must iigenuously own, that I have a thousand times in my turn endeavoured to forget them, whom I could not but look upon as forgetting me. I have attempted to blot their names from my memory, and, I confess it, spent whole days in efforts to tear their image from my heart. Could I have succeeded, you had not now been troubled with this renewal of a discontinued corre- 92 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it BpoDcUiloe ; but. as every effort the restless make to procure sleep serves but to keep tliem waking, all my attempts contributed to impress what I would forget, deeper on my imagination. But this subject I would willingly turn from, and yet, 'for the soul of me,' I can't till I have said all. I was, madam, when 1 discontinued writing to Kilmore, in such circum- stances, that all my endeavours to continue yourregai-ds might be attributed to wrong motives. My letters might be looked upon as the petitions of a beggar, and not the offerings of a friend ; while all my professions, instead of being considered as the result of disinterested esteem, might be ascribed to venal insincerity. I believe indeed you had too much generosity to place them in such a light, but I could not bear even the shadow of such a suspicion. The most delicate friendships are always most sensible of the slightest invadon, and the strongest jealousy is ever attendant on the warmest regard. I could not — I own I could not — continue a correspondence ; for every acknowledgment for past favours might be considered as an indirect request for future ones, and where it might be thought I gave my heart from a motive of gi'atitude alone, when I was conscious of having bestowed it on much more disin- terested principles. It is true, this conduct might have been simple enough, but yourself must confess it was in character. ■ Those who know me at all know that I have always been actuated by different principles from the rest of mankind, and while none regarded the interest of his friend more, no man on earth regarded his own less. I have often affected bluntness to avoid the imputation of flattery, have frequently seemed to overlook those merits too obvious to escape notice, and pretended dkregard to those instances of good nature and good sense which I could not fail tacitly to applaud ; and all this lest I should be ranked amongst the grinning tribe, who say ' very true ' to all that is said, who fill a vacant chair at a tea-table, whose narrow souls never moved in a wider circle than the circumference of a guinea, and who had rather be reckoning the money in your pocket than the virtue of your breast. All this, I say, I have done, and a thousand other very silly though very disin- terested things in my time, and for all which no soul cares a farthing about me. Grod's curse, madam ! is it to be wondered that he should once in his life forget you, who has been all his life forgetting himself! However, it is probable you may one of those days see me turned into a perfect hunks, and as dark and intricate as a mouse-hole. I have already given my landlady orders for an entire reform in the state of my finances. I declaim against hot suppers, drink less sugar in my tea, and check my grate with brickbats. Instead of hanging my room with pictures, I intend to adorn it with maxims of frugality. Those will make pretty furniture enough, and won't be a bit too expensive ; for I shall draw them all out with my own hands, and my landlady's daughter shall frame them with the parings of my black waistcoat. Each maxim is to be inscribed on a sheet of clean paper, and wrote with my best pen : of which the following will serve as a specimen. Zooh sharp : Mmd the main chance; Money is money now; If you, have a thousa/nd pomids you cam, put your hands by your sides, and say you are worth a thousand pounds every day of the year : Take a farthing from a hundred, and it mU he a hv/nd/red no longer. Thus, wMch way soever I turn my eyes, they are sure to meet one of those friendly monitors ; and as we are told of an actor who hung his room round vrith looking-glass to correct the defects of his person, my apartment shall be famished in a peculiar manner, to correct the errors of my mind. Faith I Madam, I heartily wish to be rich, if it were only for this reason, to isay without a blush how much I esteem you ; but, alas I I have many afetiguo lo encounter before that happy time comes, when your poor old limple friend ojay again give a loose to the luxuriance of bis nalare, sitting by Kilmor* CHAP. IV.] BSCAPE PKEVMTED. 93 fire-side, recount the variotis adrentures of a hard-fouglit' life, laugh over the follies of the day, join his flute to your harpsichord, and forget that ever he starved in those streets where Butler and Otway starved before him. And now I mention those great names — My uncle ! — he is no more that soul of fire as when once I knew him. Newton and Swift grew dim with age as well as he. But what shall I say ? — his mind was too active an inha- bitant not to disorder the feeble mansion of its abode ; for the richest jewels soonest wear their settings. Yet who but the fool would lament his condition ! He now forgets the calamities of life. Perhaps indulgent heaven has given him a foretaste of that tranquillity here, which he so well deserves hereafter. But I must come to business ; for business, as one of my maxims tells me, must be minded or lost. I am going to publish in' London, a book entitled The Present State of Taste and Literature in Europe. The booksellers in Ireland republish every performance there without makiog the author any consideration. I would, in this respect, disappoint their avarice, and have all the profits of my labour to myseK. I must therefore request Mr. Lawder to circulate among his friends and acquaintances a hundred of my proposals, which I have given the bookseller, Mr. Bradley in Bame-street, directions to send to him. ... I would be the la£t man on earth to have my labours go a-begging ; but if I know Mr. Lawder (and sure I ought ta know him), he will accept the employment with pleasure. All I can say — if he writes a book, I will get him two hundred subscribers, and those of the best wits in Europe. In none of these letters, it will be observed, is allusion made to the expected appointment. To malce jesting boast of a visionary- influence with two hundred of the best wits in Europe, was pleasanter than to make grave confession of himself as a wit taking sudden flight from the scene of defeat and failure. It was the old besetting weakness. But shortly after the date of the last letter, the appointment was received. It was that of medical officer to one of the factories on the coast of Coromandel ; was forwarded by Doctor MUner's friend Mr. Jones, the East India director ; and the worthy schoolmaster did not outlive more than a few weeks this honest redemption of his promise. The desired escape was at last eflected, and the booksellers might look around them for another drudge more patient and obedient than Oliver Goldsmith. CHAPTEE IV. KCAPE PREVENTED. 1753. It was now absolutely necessary that the proposed change ia Goldsmith's life should be broken to his Irfah friends ; and he wrote to his brother Henry. The lettor (which con-^j gg_ tained also the design of a heroi-comical poem at which he had been occasionally working) is lost ; but some passages of one of nearly the same date to Mr. Hodson have had a better fortune. H OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIPE AND TIMES. [book ii. It began with obvious allusion to some staid and rather gratuitous reproach from the prosperous brothe»-iu-law. You cannot expect regulaiity in one who is rogulivr in nothing. Nay, Wol'« I forced to love you hy rule, I daro venture to eay .hat I could novor do it sinoorely. Take me, thon, with all my faults. Let mo writo when I please, for you see I say what 1 please, and am only thinking aloud when writing tb you. I suppose you have heard pf my intention of going to the Bast Indlei. The place of my destination is one of tho factories on the coast of Ooromandel, and I go in quality of physician .and surgeon ; for which tho company has signed my warrant, which has already cost mo ten pounds. I must also pay BOl. for my passage, and ten pounds for my sea stores : and tho other incidental expenses of ray equipment will amount to 002, or 702, more. The salary is hut trifling, namely 1002, per annum ; but the other advantages, if a person be prudent, are considerable. The praotioo of tho place, if I am rightly informed, generally amounts to not less than one thouoand pounds por annum, for which the appointed {jhysioian has an exclusive privilege. This, with the advantages resulting from trade, and the high interest whieh money bears, viz, 202. per cent, are the inducements which persuade mo to undergo the fatigues of sea, the dangers of war, and the still greater dangers of the climate J which induce me to leave a place whore I am every day gaining friends and esteem, and whore I might enjoy all tho convonioncos of life. The same wealcnoas whioli indulged itself with iine olothos wlnai the opportunity offered, is that which prompts those flne words in an hour of such diro extremity. Of tho "friends and ostoora " ho was gaining, of the " conveniences of life " that were awaiting him to enjoy, these pages have told, and have more to tell : but why, in the confident hope of brighter days, dwell on tlio darkness of the past, or show the squalor that still surrounded him 1 Of already sufficiently low esteem were wit and intellect in Ireland, to give purse-fed ignorance another triumph over them, or again needlessly invite to himself the contempts and sneers of old. Yet, though the sadness he almost wholly suppressed while the appoint- ment was but in expectation, there was at this moment loss reason to indulge, he found it a far from successful effort to seem other than he was, even thus ; and it marked with a somewhat painful distraction of feeling and phrase this letter to Mr. Hodson, I am certainly wrong not to be contented with what I already possesi, trifling as it is ; for should I ask myself one serious question, — What is it I want ?— What can I answer 1 My desires aro as capricious as tho big-bellied woman's, who longed for a piece of her husband's nose. I have no eortaiaty, it is true ; but why cannot 1 do aa some men of more merit, who have lived on more precarious teims T Scarron used jestingly to call himself the marquis of Quenault, which was the name of the bookseller that employed him ; and why may not I assort my privilege and quality on the same pretensions ! Yet apon deliberation, whatever airs I give myse^ on this side of tho water, n y dignity, I fancy, would be evaporated before I reached the other. I know yon have in Ireland a very indifferent idea of a man who writes for broad ; though Swift and Steele did so in tho earliest part of their lives. You Imagine, I suppose, that every author by profession lives in a garret, wears shabby cfiAf . IT.] BSCAf E FBETEKTSD. 9S rJwttlm, and conTeraes with tiie meanest eompaiif , Yet I do not belieTe tlioe is one an^ mitez', vho lias aHUties to tianslate a Frendi uorel, that does not keep better compaiiy, wear finer doaths, and Utb more gsiteeOy, than manj vho pride tiionselTes for nothing else in Ireland. 1 omf es it again, mj d£ar San, that nothing bnt the vildest ambition conld prevail on me to leare the enjoyment oi tiie refined crnvcTsation which I am sometimes sdniitted to parteke in, {or Tmcertain fjrtone, and palfay shew. Toa cannct eonoeiTe how I am sometimes divided. To leare all that is dear t« me ^res me pain : bnt when I cmader, I may possibly aeqaire a genteel ind^ien- denee for life ; when I tiiink of that dignity which plulosophy <*1gniia^ to raise itself above contempt and ridicole ; when I Siink thus, I eagerly Ijiig to embrace ereiy opportnnity of separating myself &om tiie rnlgar as mneh in my drcrnnKtances, as I am already in my sentiments. I am going to publish a book, for an acconnt of which I refer yon to a letter which I wrote to my brother Goldsmith. Circnlate for me among yonr aoqaaintands a hnndred prsposa]^ which I have given orders may be sent to yon ; and n, in pnr- snance of snch circulation, yon should receive any snbsoriptions^ let them, when collected, be transmitted to Mr. Stadley, who will give a recdpt for the sane. . . I know not how my draire of sedng Ireland, which had go long slqi^ has again revived with so mnch aidonr. So weak is my temper, and so unsteady, that I am frequently tempted, particalu'ly when low-spirited, to return home and leare my fortune, thou^ just banning to look kinder. Bnt it Ediall net be. In fire or six years I hope to indulge these transports. I find I want constitutirai, and a strong steady disposition, which alone makes mm great. I will however correct my £inlts, since I am conscious of them. Wiih sncli professions weakne^ contmaes to indulge itself and &i]lts are peipetnated. Snt some allowance are dne. Of the Irish sodeiy he knew so trell, uid so often sarcastically painted, these Irish fidends were clearly rery notable spedmens, with whom small indeed was his chance of decent consideration, if a garret, shabby dothes, and conversation with' the meanest company, were set hopelessly forth as his inextricable doom. The error lay in ^TiDg faith of any kind to sach external aid, and so weakening the help that rested in himself ; for when the claim of ten ponnds for his apprantment-wairant came npon him, it fonnd him less pre- pared because of yagne expectations raised on these letters to MiUs and the Lawders. Bnt any delay mi^^t be fatal ; and in that condition of extremity, whose "wants," alas, are anything bnt " capririous,'' he bethooght him of the Critical Beview, and went to its propietor, Mr. Archibald Hamilton. Soon after he left Griffiths he had written an article for his rival, which appeared in November 1757 ; and as his contribntions then stopped where they began, I am di^)Osed toconnect both his joining at the time so suddenly, and as suddenly quitting, the CriHad Beview, with a, letter whicb Smollett published in that same November number " To the Old Gentlewoman who directs " the Monthly." For though Goldsmith might not object to avenge some part of his own quarrel under cover of that of Smollett, he would hardly have relished the too broad allusion in which 9(J OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [njos « ••'goody*' and "gammer" Griffiths were reminded that "though "we never visited your gsurets, we know what sort of Doctors "and authors you employ as journeymen iu your manufacture. "Did you in your dotage mistake the application, by throwing "those epithets at us which so properly belong to your own "understrappers?" But, whatever may have caused his secession then, now he certainly applied again to Hamilton, a shrewd man, who had just made a large fortune out of Smollett's History, and, though not very liberal in his payments, already not unconscious of the value of Griffiths's discarded writer. The result of the interview was the publication, in the new-year number, of two more papers by Goldsmith, apparently in continuation of the first. All three had relation to a special subject ; and, as connected with such a man's obscurest fortunes, have an interest hardly less than that of writings coimected with his fame. An author is seen in the effulgence of established repute, or discovered by his cries of struggling distress. By both "you shall know him." Ovid was the leading topic in all three. His Fasti, translated by a sUly master of a Wandsworth boarding-school, named Massey ; his Epistles, translated by a pedantic pedagogue named Barrett (a friend of Johnson and Cave) ; and an antidote to his Art of Love, in an ^rt of Fleasing by Mr. Marriott ; were the matters taken in hand. The Art of Pleasing was treated with playful contempt, and Mr. Massey's FaMi fared still worse. Here Goldsmith closed a series of vmspaiing comparisons of the original with his trans- lator, by asking leave " to remind Mr. Massey of the old Italian "proverb " (JZ tradattores tradatore) " and to hope he will never "for the future traduce and injure any of those poor ancients who "never injured him, by thus pestering the world with such trans- "lations as even his own schoolboys ought to be whipped for." Nor with less just severity was the last of these unhappy gentlemen rebuked. With lively power Goldsmith dissected the absur- dities of Mr. Barrett's version of poor ill-treated Ovid's Epistles ; showed that the translator was a bad critic, and no poet; and passed from lofty to low in his illustrations with amusing effect. Giving two or three iastances of Mr. Barrett's skill in "paren- "thetically clapping one sentence within another," this, pursued Goldsmith, " contributes not a little to obscurity ; and obscurity, "we all know, is nearly allied to admiration. Thus, when the "reader begins a sentence which he finds pregnant with another, "which stai teems with a third, and so on, he feels the same "surprise which a countryman does at Bartholomew fair. Hocus '' shows a bag, in appearance empty ; slap, and out come a dozen "new laid eggs; slap again, and the number is doubled; but " what is his amazement, when it swells with the hen that laid BHAP. IV.] ESCAtE PBETEKiTED. 5J "them!" The poetry and criticism disposed of, the scholarship shared their fete. Mr. Barrett being juaster of the thriving grammar-school of Ashford in Kent, and having the consequence and pretension of a so-called learned man, we are not going, said Goldsmith, " to permit an ostentation of learning pass for merit, ' ' nor to give a pedant quarter upon the score of his industry alone, " even though he took refuge behind Arabic, or powdered his hair "with Hieroglyphics." In the garret of Griffiths, he would hardly have conceded so much; and since then, the world had not been teaching him literary charity. These Ovid translations had not unnaturally turned his thoughts upon the master of the art ; on him who was the fether of authorship by profession ; and the melancholy image which arose to a mind so strongly disposed to entertain it then, of great "Dryden ever poor," and obliged by his mieeries to suffer fleeting performances to be " quartered on the lasting merit of his "name," did not the more entitle to any mercy which truth could not challenge for them, these gentlemen of a more thriving pro- fession who had thrust themselves uninvited and unqualified on the barren land of authorship. "They may be good and useful " members of society," he said, " without being poets. The regions " of taste can be travelled only by a few, and even those often find " indifferent accommodation by the way. Let such as have not got "a passport &om nature be content with happiness, and leave the " poet the unrivalled possession of his misery, his garret, and his "fame." So will truth force its way, when out of Irish hearing. The Mends, the esteem, and the conveniences, of the poet's life, are briefly summed up here. TTia misery, his garret, and his feme. With part of the money received from Hamilton he moved into new lodgings : took " unrivalled possession " of a fresh garret, on a first floor. The house was number twelve. Green Arbour-court, Old Bailey, between the Old Bailey and the site of Fleet- market : and stood in the right hand comer of the court, as the wayfarer approached it from Farringdon-street by an appro- priate access of "Break-neck-steps." Green Arbour-court is now gone for ever ; and of its loiserable wretchedness, for a little time replaced by the more decent comforts of the stabling and lofts of a waggon office, not a vestige remains. The houses, crumbling and tumbling in Goldsmith's day, were fairly rotted down some twenty years since ; and it became necessary, for safety sake, to remove what time had spared. But Mr. Washington Irving saw them first, and with reverence had described them, for Goldsmith's sake. Hirough alleys, courts, and blind passages ; traversing Fleet-market, and thence turning along a narrow street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps; H 88 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book il. he made good his toilsome way up iato Green Arbour-court. He found it a small square of taU and miserable houses, the very intestines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery that fluttered from every window. "It " appeared," he says in his Tales of a TrcmeUer, "to be a region " of washerwomen, and hues were stretched about the little square, "on which clothes were dangling to dry." The disputed right to a wash-tub was going on when he entered ; heads in mob-caps were protruded from every window ; and the loud clatter of vulgar tongues was assisted by the shrill pipes of swarming children, nestled and cradled in every prooreant chamber of the hive. The whole scene, in short, was one of whose unchanged resemblance to the scenes of former days I have since found curious corroboration, in a magazine engraving of the place nigh half a century old. Here were the taJl faded houses, with heads out of windtfw at every story ; the dirty neglected children ; the bawling slipshod women ; in one comer, clothes hanging to dry, and in another the cure of smoky chimneys announced. Without question, the same squalid, squalling colony, which it then was, it had been in Goldsmith's time. He would compromise with the children for occasional cessation of their noise, by occasional cakes or sweet- meats, or by a tune upon his flute, for which all the court assembled ; he wojild talk pleasantly with the poorest of his neighbours, and was long recollected to have greatly enjoyed the CHAP. IV.] ESCAPE PREVENTED. ug talk of a working watchmaker in the court ; every night, he would risk his neck at those steep stone stairs ; every day, for his clothes had become too ragged to submit to daylight scrutiny, he would keep within his dirty, naked, unfurDished room, with its single wooden chair and window bench. And that was Goldsmith's home. On a certain night in the beginning of November 1758, his ascent of Break-neck-steps must have had unwonted gloom. He had learnt the failure of his new hope : the Coromandel appoint- ment was his no longer. In what way this mischance so unexpectedly occurred, it would now be hopeless to enquire ; no explanation could be had from the dying Doctor Miluer ; none was given by himself; and he always afterwards withheld allusion to it, with even studious care. It is quite possible, though no authority exists for the assertion, that doubts may have arisen of his competence to discharge the duties of the appointment, and what followed a few months later will be seen to give warrant for such a, siumise ; but even supposing this to have been the real motive, there is no ground for suspecting that such a motive was alleged. The most Hkely supposition would probably be, that failure in getting together means for his outfit with sufficient promptitude, was made convenient excuse for transferring the favour to another. That it was any failure of his own courage at the prospect of so long an exUe, or that he never proposed more by his original scheme than a foreign flight for two or three years, has no other or better foundation than the Hodson letter : on which authority it would also follow, that he remained contented with what he already possessed, subdued his capricious wants, and turned to tho friends, the esteem, the refined conversation, and all the con- veniences of life, which awaited him in Green Arbour-court, with a new and virtuous resolve of quiet thankfulness. Alas ! far difierent were the feelings with which he now ascended Break-neck-steps ; far different his mournful conviction, that, but to flee from the misery that surrounded him, no office could be mean, no possible endurance hard. His determination was taken at once : probably grounded on the knowledge of some passages in tha life of Smollett, and of his recent acquaintance Grainger. He would present himself at Surgeons' Hall for examination as a hospital mate : an appointment sufficiently undesirable, to be found always of tolerably easy attainment by the duly qualified. But he must have decent clothes to present himself in : the solitary suit in which he crept between the court and the ooflee- house, being only fit for service after nightfalL He had no resource but to apply to Griffiths, with whom he had stiU some small existing connection, and from whom his recent acceptance at the Critical, increasing his value with a vulgar mind, might help ICO OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [soot n, in exacting aid. The bookseller, to whom the precise temporary purpose for which the clothes were wanted does not seem to have been told, consented to famish them on certain conditions. Gold- smith was to write at once four articles (he had given three to the Criticai) for the Monthly Remew. Griffiths would then become security with a tailor for a new suit of clothes ; which were either to be returned, or the debt for them discharged, within a given time. This pauper proposal acceded to,. Goldsmith doubtless returned to Green Axbour-court with the four books under his arm. They were : Some Enguiries Concerning the First Inhabitants of Europe, by a member of the Society of Antiquaries, known after- wards as Francis Wise, and Thomas Walton's friend ; Anselm Bayly's Introduction to Languages; the Pentalogia of Doctor Burton ; and a new Translation of Cicero's Tuscvlan Disputations. The notices of them thus extorted made due appearance, as the first four articles of the Monthly Review for December 1^58 ; the tailor was then called in, and the compact completed. Equipped in his new suit, and one can well imagine with what an anxious, hopeful, quaking heart. Goldsmith offered himself for examination at Surgeons' Hall (the new building erected six years before in the Old Bailey), on the 21st December. "The beadle " called my name," says Roderick Random, when he found himself in similar condition at that place of torture, "with a voice that "made me tremble as much as if it had been the sound of the last "tnmipet : however there was no remedy : I was conducted into " a large haH, where I saw about a dozen of grim faces sitting at " a long table, one of whom bade me come forward in such an " imperious tone, that I was actually for a minute or two bereft of "my senses." Whether the same process, conducted through a like memorable scene, bereft poor Goldsmith altogether of his, cannot now be ascertained. AU that is known, is told in a dry extract from the books of the College of Surgeons. ^'At a Court " of Examiners held at the Theatre 21st December, 1758. Present " — ^the names are not given, but there is a long list of the candidates who passed, in the midst of which these occur : "James Bernard, "mate to an hospital. OUver Goldsmith, found not quaMfiedfor " ditto." A mmotir of this rejection long existed, and on a Wnt from Maton the king's physician, the above entry was found. A' harder sentence, a more cruel doom, than this at the time must have seemed, even the Old Bailey has not often been witness to ; yet, far from blaming that worthy court of examiners, should we not rather feel that much x>raise is due to them 1 That they really did their duty in rejecting the short, thick, dull, ungainly, over-anxious, over-dressed, simple-looking Irishman who presented CHAP, y.] DISCIPLINE OP SOEEOW. 101 himself that memorable day, can hardly, I think, be doubted ; but unconsciously they also did a great deal more. They found him not qualified to be a surgeon's mate, and left liim qualified to heal the wounds and abridge the sufferings of all the worid. They found him querulous with adversity, given up to irresolute fears, too much blinded with failures and sorrows to see the divine uses to which they tended still; and from all this, their sternly just decision resolutely drove Tiitn back. While the door of the surgeons' hall was shut upon him that day, the gate of the beautiful mountain was slowly opening. Much of the valley of the shadow he had still indeed to pass ; but eveiy outlet save the one was closed upon him, it was idle any longer to strike or struggle against the visions which sprang up in his desolate path, and as he so passed steadily if not cheerily on, he saw them fade and become impalpable before him. Steadily, then, if not cheerily, for some months more ! "Sir," said Johnson, "the man who has " vigour may walk to the East just as well as to the West, if he "happens to turn his head that way." So, honour to the court of examiners, I say, for that whether he would or would not they turned back his head to the East ! The hopes and promise of the world have a perpetual springtime there ; and Goldsmith was hereafter to enjoy them, briefly for himself, but for the world unceasingly. CHAPTEE V. DISCIPLINE OF SOEEOW. 1756—1759. It was four days after the rejection at Surgeons' Hall, the Christmas day of 1758, when, to the ordinary filth and noise of number twelve in Green Arbour-court, there was ^j. gj^ added an unusual lamentation and sorrow. An incident had occurred, of which, painful as ^ ^;-c-,'c ^ t^ matter v^w^t of ■taawHi m lus JfoMos tf Cuw^c tk >c? * .^ eaaUed &:::alk^ to pat it fiortk «i& » lojal Emse, gnoned is ceio^ieEitiQe of ike fiet &n IKKtor &n vlcii lad "i^^Rseated to kis lE^isijf dait 2i£ k^ beea ^ ^m^T laboar xai **tafBDse ia. vziib^ tioee lao^k'' st^adj-gaae oo-ike satdd^r side of iki^s, ke sctcims to kare iaiaed viik tea^end aad geatka - ikoa^ds. In ike fe^ asMber c^ fee JBWttA J B ay aii«w «-»tas ike tyamgof iketafe-aMA coBi aiaod li^ rios; ieHBuae keroiBe (Aavefia DazBelV, and ike ^«st aamble asai geaJi'Mialy of H? kero^ (Sr Lagnedoi; G^wtws) : i«r,iko«^ Sr lAHDodiK s aaad, vise ikoc^]^ kave made kin so ; aad ia ike ki^a to ''Ksaaeify erik vkkk &e fanr caxoMt xeatk, to d^ati " fiaad aad iressaa, to atnee i^soleaee^ to MOKJtff pnde, to dfe- •■ocsaiaap ^aader, *o disgrai* iBEioiosty, sad to siigaaise ia- '"giaiiiBdeL,'^ ke sianbl^ ikinag^ kk odd adveatav^. Tkeie is a p!€!^3i« ia coHDecii^ T^his allBBee of SmoOeti aad G< ikai mider kiiai »aiij and SKse geaial -rissd.^m vkkk ^led m mefiow rsy? oa 3dai&e«- Braaiifaks. Xor vex« Ae srrTi,^^^ o^^ed fioia CHi\«r aaworti^ of kis ftkafs fc lajoBrtil.-t. Sde ky sde vilk tike Idad^ est- s-^'^^ xi-Q^^fT. a^f«aied soaaeof Asmi^ jgreeajjle of Ae£^8n|s vkkk v-ene afiersxrtis v^-pabiisked virk &eir viiter^ name ; aad naaay vkkk vere aev^ ooaaeeted vhk ii^ vaiil ^If a cemiarv after ike '■ii6a'''s deaik. Herc llr. B^marole Mi into ikasBoat^ Hea^ reTezw x& Sisb^eg^ ^ £a!l cc kiadfy lebobe to nadfacriBiiaaiiBg jsaears of ike ps^:. Hoe ike ^akby mas in $l James's ^^zfc (GdMsruth, Uke Jvstioe Woodoodt, kvel a -n^iJsaxJ^i Kcooatod hif sizvdlii^ adveaftans, vidi a rhiacAy iutdistarbed W porerfy ; and, vi& his Ifany-Aadrev, Bajaae^ aad 'vnij^. UagVd aT Gairicjc ia kis ^orx- Here joonaey ^'^^ made to die Fooatun ia wkoae valcxs 9eiKie and geaias milled, aitd by vkose siie tihe ta,vdkr fonnd JakasQH and G^aj^ (a pi^it did not {-roT-e so !) giii]^ aad leem'^ imu. III.] OViefeTtKBS PEOM SkOLtEtT AND MR. NEWBEET. 145 ' feme. And here, above all, the poor, hearty, wooden-legged bft^'gar, ftrnt cluuTned ttie world with a ijhilofiophy of content and cheer- fulne«» which no misfortune could tixHAna. Thijs was he who had io»t hi» leg and the u«e of hi» hand, and had a wound in his breaat which wa« troublenome, and wai» obliged to beg, but with these eroeiAionH blessed lu« stars for knowing no reat m to complain : some had lost both legs and an eye, but thank Heaven it was not so bad with him. This was he who remarked that people might say this and that of being in gaol, but when he was found guilty of being poor, and was sent to Newgate, he found it as agreeable a lilace as ever ho was in, in all his life ; who fought the >'rench in six jiitchcd battles, and verily believed, that, but for some good reason or other his captain would have given him promotion and mode him a corporal : who was beaten cruelly by a boatswain, but the boatswain did it without considering what he was about : who slept on a bed of boards in a French prison, but with a warm bknket about hira, because, as he remarked, ho always loved to lie well : and to whom, when ho came to sum up and balance his life's adventures, it occurred that had ho had the good fortune to luivo lost his leg and the use of his hand on board a king's ship and not a privatonr, ho should have had hi« sixijonce a week for the rest of his days ; but that was not his chance ; oho man was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle: " however, blessed bo God, I enjoy good health." This was as wise philosophy as OcmcUde's, at which Evuropo was then laughing heartily ; and it is worth mention that from the country- men of Voltaire this little essay should first have derived its fome. So popular ill Franco was the "humble optimist," as his translator called him, that he is not unlikely to have visited even the halls of Les D&Mcs ; to be read there, as everywhere, with mirth upon the face and tenderness at the heart ; perhaps to reawaken recollections of the ungainly wandering scholar. Of upwards of twenty essays thus oontiibuted to Smollett's magazine, few woro republished by Goldsmith ; but from other causes, certainly, than lack of merit. One was a criticism of two lival singers, two Folly Feaohums then dividing Yauxhall, so pleasantly worded that neither could take offence ; but of temporary interest chiefly. Another was a caution against violent courtships, from a true story in the family of his uncle Contarine ; perhaps thought too private for reappearance in more permanent form. A third (not reproduced, it may be, lest the wooden-legged philo- sopher should lose in popularity by a companion less popular than hinuelf) described, as a contrast to the happiness of the maimed and luckless soldier, the miseries of a healthy half-pay officer of unexpected fortune, unable to bear the transition f^om moderate 146 OLIYER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. book m. to extraTagant means, and randered so insensible by nniued indul- gences tihat be bad come to see Falslaff irithout a smile, and- tbe Orphan mthout emotion. A fourth was a little histoty of seduction, basty, abrupt, and not very real ; but in ■wbich the bero boie such a general tbougb indistinct resemblance to the immortal family of the Primroses, as to have fitly merged and been forgotten in their later glory. The last of these detached essays which I shidl mention for the present, did mot appear in the £nm the plan, " ' the humour, and the execution, I can venture to say that it " 'dropped from the pen of the ingenious Doctor ' Every " one was pleased with the performance, and I was particularly " gratified in hearing all the sensible part of the company give " orders for the British Magazine." So said the not less anonymous or ingenious Doctor, in that venture of good Mr. Newbery's which started but twelve days after SmoUetf s, and in which also had been enlisted the services of the Green Arbour-court lodger. War is the time for newqiapeors ; and the inventive head which planned the Universal Chronide, with the good taste that enlisted Johnson is. its service, now made a bolder effort in the same direction. The first number of Th« CHAP. 111-3 OVEETtTEES FEOM SMOLLETT AND ME. KJEWBEEY. 147 FvbUc Ledger was published on the 12th of January, 1760. Nothing less than a Daily Newspaper had the busy publisher of children's books projected. But a daUy newspaper was not an appalling specnlatior, then. Not then, morning after morning, cUd it throw its eye» of Argus over all the world. No universal command was needed for it then, over sources of foreign intelligence that might controul and govern the money transactions of rival hemispheres. There existed with it, then, no costly arts for TtiaTfiTig and marring fortunes ; cultivated to a perfection high as the pigeon's flight, swift as the courier's horse, or deep as the secret drawer of the diplomatist's bureau. Then, it was no more essential to a paper's existence, that countless advertisements should be scattered broadcast through its columns ; than to a city's business, that puffing vans shotdd perambulate its highways, and armies of placard-bearing paupers seize upon its pavements. Neither as a perfect spy of the time, nor as a full informer or high improver of the time, did a daily journal yet put forth its claims. Neither to prompt and correct intelligence, nor to great political or philanthropic aims, did it as yet devote itself. The triumphs or discomfitures of Freedom were not yet its daily themes. Not yet did it assume, or dare, to ride in the whirlwind and direct the storm of great political passions ; to grapple resistlessly with social abuses ; or to take broad and philosophic views of the world's con- temporaneous history, the history which is a-making from day to day. It was content with htimbler duties. It called itself a daUy register of commerce and intelligence, and fell short of even so much modest pretension. The letter of a Probus or a Manlius sufficed for discussion of the war ; and a modest rumour in some dozen lines, for what had occupied parliament during as many days. " We are un- " willing," said the editor of the Public Ledger (Mr. Griffith Jones, who wrote children's books for Mr. Newbery) in his first number, " to raise expectations which we may perhaps find ourselves unable " to satisfy : and therefore have made no mention of criticism or "literature, which yet we do not professedly exclude ; nor shall we "reject any political essays which are apparently calculated for the "public good." Discreetly avoiding, thus, all imdue expectation, there quietly came forth into the world, from Mr. Bristow's office "next the great toy-shop in St. Paul's-churchyard," the first number of the Fuhlic Ledger. It was circulated gratis : with announcement that all future numbers would be sold for two-pence half-penny each. The first four numbers were enlightened by Probus in politics and Sir Simeon Swift in literature ; the one defending the war, the other commencing the "Eanger," and both very mildly justi- fying the modest editorial announcements. The fifth number was 148 OLIVER GoLDSMltS'S LIFE ANl) (tlMES. [book tti. not so common-place. It had a letter (vindicating with manly assertion the character and courage of the then horribly unpoptilaJ: IVench, and hmnoroxlsly condemning the national English habit of abusing rival nations), trhich implied a larger spirit as it showed i. . livelier pen. The same hand again appeared in the next niimber but one ; and the correspondent of Green Arbour-court became entitled to receive two guineas from Mr. Newbery for his first week's contributions to the PiMic Ledger. His arrangement was to write twice in the week, and to be paid a guinea for each article. CHAPTER IV. THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 1^60. With the second week of his engagement on the Public Ledgef, Goldsmith had taken greater courage. The letter which 21 oi) appeared on the 24th of January, though without title or ntunbering to imply intention of continuance, threw out the hint of a series of letters, and of a kind of narrative as in the Lettres Persanes. The character assumed was that of a Chines? visitor to London : the writer's old interest in the flowery peoplo having received new strength of late, from the Chinese novel on which his dignified acquaintance Mr. Percy had been recently engaged. The second letter, stiU without title, appeared five days after the first ; some inquiry seems to have been made for their contiuuance ; and thence uninterruptedly the series went on. Not until somewhat advanced, were they even numbered ; they never received a title, until republished ; but they were talked of as the Chinese Letters, assumed the principal place in the paper, and contributed more than any other cause to its successful establish- ment. Sir Simeon Swift and his " Ranger," Mr. Philanthropy Candid and his "Visitor," struggled and departed as newspaper shadows are wont to do ; lien Chi Altangi became real, and lived. From the ephemeral sprang the immortal. On that column of ungainly-looking, perishable type, depended not alone the paper of the day, but a book to last throughout the year, a continuous pleasure for the age, and one which was all for time. It amused the hour, was wise for the interval beyond it, is still diverting and instructing us, and will delight generations yet unborn. At the close of 1760, ninety-eight of the letters had been published ; 'within the next few months, at less regular intervals, the series was brought to completion ; and in the following year, the whol» CHAP. IT.] THE CITIZEN OP THE WORLD. 149 were republished by Mr. Newbery " for the author," in two duodecimo volumes, but without any authos-'s name, as " The ' Citken of the World ; or. Letters from a Chinese Philosopher in " London to his BWend in the Bast." "Light, agreeable, summer reading," observed the British Magaxme, with but dry and laconic return for the Wow-wow. The Monthly Review had to make return of a different kind, Mr. Griffiths now decently resolving to swallow his leek ; and his pliant cur Mr. Kenrick, having taken his orders to abstain from bark or bite, and whine approbation and apology, thus, after remarking that the Chinese philosopher had nothing Asiatic about him, did his master's bidding in his master's name : " The public "have been already made sufficiently acquainted with the merit of "these entertaining Letters, which were first printed in The Ledger, " and are supposed to have contributed not a little towards the " success of that paper. They are said to be the work of the lively " and ingenious Writer of An Enqmry into the Present State of "Polite Learning in Ewrope; a Writer whom, it seems, we un- " designedly offended by some strictures on the conduct of many "of our modem Scribblers. As the observation was entirely "general, in its intention, we were surprised to hear, that this "Gentleman had imagined himself in any degree pointed at, as " we conceive nothing can be more illiberal in a Writer, or more " foreign to the character of a Literary Journal, than to descend " to the meanness of personal reflection. " Pity might be reasonably given to men humiliated thus, but Goldsmith withheld forgiveness. Private insults could not so be retracted ; nor could imputations which sink deepest in the simplest and most honourable natures, be thus easily purged away. Mr. Griffiths was left to the con- solation of reflecting, that he had himself eaten the dirt which it woxdd have made him far happier to have flung at the Citizen of the World. In what different language, by what different men, how highly and justly this book has since been praised, for its fresh original perception, its delicate delineation of Ufe and manners, its wit and humour, its playful and diverting satire, its exhilarating gaiety, and its clear and lively style, need not be repeated. What is to be said of it here, will have relation more to the character than to the genius of its writer. The steadier direction of his thoughts, and thg changing aspect of his fortunes, are what I would now turn back to read in it. One marked peculiarity its best admii'ers have failed to observe upon ; its detection and exposure, not simply of the foibles and follies which lie upon the surface, but of those more pregnant evils Tyhich rankle at th? heart, qf society. The occasions were frequent 150 OLIVEE QOLDSMITffS LIFE AHD TIMBS [book m. in fdiich tihe Chinese cttizeiL so lifted his yoice that uily in a kter generation conld he find his aadience ; and they were not few, in which lie has fitiled to find one eyen yet. He saw, in the Sns^an Empire, what by the best IgngHgT' statesman dnce has not been sufficiently guarded against, the natural enemy of the more western parts of Europe, " an enemy already possessed of great "strength, and, from the nature of the goTemment, every day "threatening to become more powerful" (Letter Ixiivii). He warned the aU-credulous and too-confident TgngliRb of their insecure tenure of the American colonies ; telling them, with a truth as prophetic, and which anticipated the Tigorous reasoning of Dean Tucker, that England wotdd not lose her tigour when those colonies obtained their independence. He unTeiled the social pretences, which, under colour of protecting femtde honour, are made the excuse for its Tiolation. He denounced that CTil system which left the magistrate, the country justice, and the sqrure, to punish transgressions in which they had themselves been the guiltiest transgressors. He laughed at the sordidness which makes penny shows of our public temples, turns Deans and Chapters into importimate "b^gars," and stoops to pick up half-pence at the tombs of our patriots and poets. He laughed at, even while he gloried in, the national Taunt of superiority to other nations, which gave fimcied freedom to the prisoner, riches to the beggar, and enlisted on behalf of church and state fellows who had ncTer profited by either. He. protested earnestly against the insufficient pretexts that availed for the spilling of blood, in the contest then raging between Erance and England. He inveighed against the laws which meted out, in so much gold or sdver, the price of a wife's or daughter's honour. He ridiculed the prevailing nostrums cmrent in that age of quacks ; doubted the graces of such betailing and bepowdering feshions, as then made beauty hideous, and sent even lads cocked-hatted and wigged to school ; and had sense and courage to avow his contempt for that prevailing cant of con- noisseiuship ("your Baffikdles, Corr^gios, and stuff") at which Beynolds shifted his trumpet. The abuses of church patronag did not escape him ; any more than the tendency to " superstition "and imposture " in the " bonzes and priests of aU religions." He thought it a fit theme for mirth, that holy men should be content to receive all the money, and let others do all the good ; and that preferment to the most sacred and exalted duties should wait upon the whims of members of parliament, and the wants of yoimger branches of the nobility- The incapacities and neglect thus engendered in the upper clergy, he also connected with that dis- regard of the lower, which left a reverend Trulliber \mdistuibed among his pigs, and a parson Adams to his ale in Lady Booby's CHAP. IT.] THE CITIZEN OP THE WORLD. 151 kitchea. Yet as little was he disposed to tolerate any false reaction from such indifference ; and at the ascetic sainte of the neir religions sect, which had risen to put down cheerfalness, and could find its only music in a choms of sighs and groans, he aimed the shafts of his wit as freely, as at the over-indulging, gormandising priests of the bishop's visitation-dinner, face to face with whom, gorged and groaning with excess, he brought the hungry beggar, &int with want, to ask of them the causes of his utter destitution, body and souL Nor did he spare that other dignified profession, which, in embarrassing what it professed to make clear, in retarding with cumbrous impediments the steps of justice, in reserving as a luxury for the rich what it pretended to throw open to all, in fencing round property with a multiplicity of laws and exposing poverty without a guard to whatever threatened or assaEed it, countenanced and practised no less a falsehood. Almost alone in that age of indifference, the Citizen of the World raised his voice against the penal laws which then, with wanton severity, disgraced the statute book ; insisted that the sole means of Tnaking death an effident, was to make it an infrequent, punishment ; and warned society of the crime of disregarding human life and the temptations of the miserable, by visiting petty thefts with penalties of blood. Ho who does not read for amusement only, may also find in these delightful letters, thus published from week to week, a comment of special worth on casiwl incidents of the time. There was in this yeja: a city-campaign of peculiar cruelty. A mob has indiscriminate tastes for blood, and after hunting an admiral Byng to death will as eagerly run down a dog. On a groundless cry of hydrophobia, dogs were slaughtered wholesale, and their bodies literally blocked up the streets. " The dear, good-natured, honest, "sensible creatures!" exclaimed Horace Walpole. "Christ! "How can anybody hurt them 1" But what Horace said only to his friend. Goldsmith said to everybody : pubUoly denotmoiag the cruelty, in a series of witty stories ridiculing the motives alleged for it, and pleading with eloquent warmth for the honest associate of man. Nor was this the only mad-dog-cry of the year. The yell of a Grub-street mob as fierce, on a false report of the death of Voltaire, brought Goldsmith as warmly to the rescue. With eager admiration, he asserted the claims of the philosopher and wit ; told the world it was its lusts of war and syoophan(y which unfitted it to receive such a friend ; set forth the independence of his hfe, in a country of Pompadours and an age of venal oppression ; declared (this was before the Galas family) the tenderness and humanity of his nature ; and claimed freedom of religious thought for Mm and aU men. "I am not displeased with my brother " because he happens to ask our father for favours in a different 162 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iil "maimer from me." As we read the Chinese Letters with this comment of the time, those actual days come vividly back to us. Earl Ferrers glides through them again, with his horrible passion and yet more ghastly composure. The theatres again contend with their Pollys and Macheaths, and tire the town with perpetual Beggars' Operas. Merry and fashionable crowdc repeople White Conduit and Vauxhall. We get occasional glimpses of even the stately commoner and his unstately ducal associate. Old George the Second dies, and young George the Third ascends the throne, Churchill makes his hit with the Bosciad ; and Sterne, having startled the town with the humour and extravagance of his Tristrcmi Shcmdy, comes up from country quiet to enjoy popularity. How sudden and decisive it was, need not be related. No one was so talked of in London this year, and no one so admired, as that tall, thin, hectic-looking Yorkshire parson. He who was to die within eight years, unheeded and untended, in a common lodging-house, was everywhere the honoured guest of the rich and noble. His book had become a fashion, and east and west were moved alike. Mr. Dodsley offered Tiim 650J. for a second edition and two more volumes ; Lord ralconberg gave him a curacy of 150i. aryear ; Mr. Reynolds painted his portrait ; and Warbiurton, not having yet pronounced him an " irrecoverable scoundrel," went round to the bishops and told them he was the English Babelais. " They had never heard of such a writer," adds the sly narrator of the incident. " One is invited to dinner where he dines," said Gray, " a fortnight beforehand : '' and he was boasting, himself, of dinner engagements fourteen deep, even while he declared the way to fame to be like that to heaven, through much tribulation, and described himself, in the midst of his triumphs, " attacked and " pelted from cellar and garret. " Perhaps he referred to Goldsmith, from whose garret in Green Arbour-court the first heavy blow was levelled at him ; but there were other assailants, as active though less avowed, in cellars of Arlington-street and garrets of Strawberry- hiU. Walpole may yet more easily be forgiven than Goldsmith in such a case. The attack in the CiUxen of the World was aimed, it is true, where the work was most vulnerable ; and it was not ill done to protest against the indecency and affectation, which doubt- less had largely contributed to the so sudden popularity, as they found promptest imitators : but the humour and wit ought s\u:ely to have been admitted ; and if the wisdom and charity of an uncle Toby, a Mr. Shandy, or a corporal Trim, might anywhere have claimed frank and immediate recognition, it should have been in that series of essays which Beau Tibbs and the Man in Black have belped to make immortaL Most charming are these two characters. Addiso9 would hare CHAP. IT.] THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. 153 admired, and Steele delighted in them. Finery and poverty, surliness and good-nature, were never brought together with more playful wit, or a more tender sweetness. Fielding's majestic major, who will hear of nothing less than the honour apd dignity of a man, and is caught in an old woman's bedgown wtrming his sick sister's posset, is not a nobler specimen of manhood than the one ; Steele's friend at the trumpet clnb, that very insignificant feUow but exceeding gracious, who has but a bare subsistence yet is always promising to introduce you into the world, who answers to matters of no consequence with great circumspection,, maintains an insolent benevolence to all whom he has to do with, and will desire one of ten times his substance to let him see him some- times, hinting that he does not forget him, is not more delicious in his vanity than the other. The country ramble of the Man in Black, wherein, to accompaniment of the most angry invective, he performs acts of the most exquisite charity ; where with harsh loud voice he denounces the poor, while with wistfiil compassionate face he relieves them ; where, by way of detecting imposture, he domineeringly buys a shiUing's worth of matches, receives the astonished beggar's whole bundle and blessing, and, intimating that he has taken in the seller and shall m^e money of his bargain, bestows them next moment on a tramper with an objurgation ; is surely never to be read unmoved. For Beau Tibbs, who has not laughed at and loved him, from the first sony glimpse of his faded finery ? Who has not felt, in the aiis of wealth and grandeur with which his amusing impudence puffs up his miserable poverty, that he makes out a title to good-natured cheerfulness and thorough enjoyment, which all the real wealth might have purchased cheaply ? What would his friends Lords Muddler and Crump, the Duchess of Piccadilly or the Countess of Allnight, have given for it ? Gladly, for but a tithe of it, might the lords have put up with his two shirts, and uncomplainingly the ladies assisted Mrs. Tibbs, and her sweet pretty daughter Carolina WUhelmina Amelia, in seeing them through the wash-tub. It is an elegant little dinner he talks of giving his friend, with bumpers of wine, a turbot, an ortolan, and what not : but who would not as soon have had the smart bottled-beer which was all he had to give, with the nice pretty bit df ox-cheek, piping-hot, and dressed with a little of Mrs. Tibbs's own sauce which " his grace" was so fond of ? It is supposed that this exquisite sketch had a living original in one of Goldsmith's casual acquaintance ; a person named Thornton, once in the army. This is not improbable, any more than that the beau's two shirts might have been copied from Goldsmith's own ; for everywhere iihroughout the Letters actual in(;i4ents appear, ancl the " fairy 154 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S UFE AND TIMES. book ni, "tale" of the prince and the white motise had an origfc. whimsical as the story itseIC, Mr. Newbery's two guineas a-week would seem to have attracted weekly levies, in a double sense, from Grub-street (when was there eyer a good-natured Irishman with five shillings in his pocket, and any lack of Irish hangers-on to share the spoil?), at which Pilkington, son of the notorious Laetitia, was most assiduous. But with other than his usual begging aspect, he appeared in Green Arbour-covirt one day ; for good luck had dawned on bim at last, he said, and his troubles were over.' A very small sum (and he ran about the rocm for joy of the announcement) was all he wanted to make his fortune. There was a great duchess who had the most surprising passion for white mice ; two she had procured already, and for yeaxs had been looking out for two more, which she was ready to offer the most extravagant price for. Aware of her grace's weakness, he had long ago implored of a friend going out to India to procure him, if possible, two white mice, and here they were actually arrived ; they were in the river at that moment, having come by an India- man, now in the docks ; and the small sum, to which allusion had been made, was aU that now stood between Jack Pilkington and independence for life ! Yes ; all he wanted was two guineas, to buy a cage for the creatures sufficiently handsome to be received by a duchess. But what was to be done, for Goldsmith had only half a guinea 1 The anxiotis client then pointed to a watch, with which his poor patron (indulging in a luxury which Johnson did not possess till he was sixty) had lately enriched himself ; deferen- tially suggested one week's loan as a solution of the difficulty; and carried it offi And though Goldsmith never again had tidings of either, or of the curious white liiice, till a paragraph iu the PiMic Ledger informed bim of certain equivocal modes whereby " Mr. P — Ik — g — on was endeavouiing to raise money," — yet a messenger, not long afterwards, carried to the poor starving creature's death-bed " a guinea from Mr. Goldsmith." The same journal (by the fevour of an old friend, Kenrick) described for the public at the same time an amusing adventure in "White-conduit gardens, of which no other than " Mr. G — d — ^th" himself was the hero. Strolling through that scene of humble holiday, he seems to have met the wife and two daughters of an honest tradesman who had done him some service, and invited them to tea ; but after much enjoyment of the innocent repast, ha discovered a want of money to discharge the bill, and had to undergo some ludicrous annoyances, and entertain his friends at other expense than he had bargained for, before means were found for his release. Another contemporary anecdote reverses this picture a little, and exhibits him reluctant paymaster, at the OHAP. rr.] THE CITIZEN OF THE WO&LD. 156 Chapter-coffee-honae, for ChurcHll's Mend Charles Lloyd, who in his careless way, without a sHUing to pay for the entertainment, invited him to sup with some Mends of Grub-street and left Tiim to pay the reckoning. A third incident of the same date presents him with a similar party at Blackwall, where so -violent a dispute arose about Trisbram 8ha/ndy at the dinner table, that personalities led to blows, and the feast ended in a fight. " Why, sir," said Johnson laughing, when Boswell told him some years later of a different kind of fracas in which their Mend had been engaged, "I believe it is the first time he has beat; he may have been " beaten before. This, sir, is a new plume to him." If the some- what doubtful surmise of the beating be correct, the scene of it was Blackwall ; and if (a surmise still more doubtful) the story BEawkins tells about the trick played off by BoubQiac, which like all such tricks tells against both the parties to it, be also true, this was the time when it happened. The "little" sculptor, as he is called in the Chinese Letters, being a familiar acquaintance, and fond of music, Goldsmith would play the flute for Tn'm ; and to such assumed delight on the part of his listener did he do this one day, that Boubiliac, protesting he must copy the air upon the spot, took up a sheet of paper, scored a few lines and spaces (the form of the notes being all he knew of the matter), and with random blotches pretended to take down the time as repeated by the good-natured musician ; while gravely, and with great atten- tion. Goldsmith, surveying these musical hieroglyphics, "said they "were very correct, and that if he had not seen hiTn do it, he " never could have believed his Mend capable of writing music "after him." Sir John Hawkins tells the story with much satis- faction. Exposure of an ignorant flute-player, with nothing but vulgar accomplishments of " ear" to bestow upon his Mends, yet with an innocent conceit of pretending to the science of music, gives great delight to pompous Hawkins, as a learned historian of crotchets and quavers. It seems more than probable, notwith- standing, that there is not a syllable of truth in the story, for the writer of an address " to the Philological Society of London " on Sir John Hawkins's Life of Johnson, published in May 1787, tells us that he was "acquainted with a gentleman who knew " Goldsmith well, and has often requested Tiim to play different " pieces from music which he laid before hiTti ; and this, "Goldsmith has done with accuracy and precision, while the " gentleman, who is himself musical, looked over him : a " circumstance utterly impossible, if we admit the foolish story "related by Sir John." So passed the thoughtless life of Goldsmith in his first year of success ; if so may be called the scanty pittemce which served to 156 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book m expose Ha foibles but not to protect him from their consequence. So may his life be read in these letters to the FvhUe Ledger ; and still with the comment of pleasure and instruction for others, though at the cost of suffering to himself. His habits as well as thouglta are in them. He is at the theatre, enjoying Gairick's Abel Drugger and laughing at all who call it " low ; " a little tired of Polly and Macheath ; not at all interested by the famous and fortunate tumbler, who, between the acts of tragedies as well as farces, balances a straw upon his nose ; and zig-zagging his way home after all is over, through a, hundred obstacles from coach-wheels And palanquin-poles, " like a bird in its flight through the branches "of a forest." He is a visitor at the humble pot-house clubs, whose follies and enjoyments he moralises with touching pleasantry. " Were I to be angry at men for being fools, I could here have " found ample room for declamation : but, alas ! I have been a " fool myself, and why should I be angry with them for being " something St) natural to every child of humanity." Unsparing historian of this folly of his own, he conceals his imprudence as little as his poverty ; and his kind heart he has not the choice to conceal. Everywhere it betrays itself. In hours of depression, recalling the disastrous fate of men of genius, and " mighty poets " in their misery dead ; " ia imaginary interviews with booksellers, laughing at their sordid mistakes ; in remonstrances with his own class, warning them of the danger of despising each other ; and in rarer periods of perfect self-reliance, rising to a lofty superiority above the temporary accidents around him, asserting the power and claims of men of letters, and denouncing the short-sightedness of statesmen. " Instead of complaining that writers are over- "paid, when their works procure them a bare subsistence, I "should imagine it the duty of a state, not only to encourage "their numbers but their industry." At the close of the same paper he rises into a pathetic eloquence while pleading for those who in that character have served and instructed England : "to "such I would give my heart, since to them I am indebted for its " humanity ! " And in another letter the subject is more calmly resumed, with frank admission that old wrongs are at length in the course of coming right. "At present, the few poets of " England no longer depend on the great for subsistence ; they have " now no other patrons but the public, and the public, collectively " considered, is a good and a generous master. It is, indeed, too "frequently mistaken as to the merits of every candidate for " favour ; but to make amends, it is never mistaken long. ... A "man of letters at present, whose works are valuable, is perfectly " sensible of their value. Every polite member of the community, "by buying what he writes, contributes to reward him. Th* Chap, tv.] tfHE CMzMN OP ftM^ WORtO. Ml " ridicule, therefore, of living in a garret, might have been wit "in the last age, but continues such no longer, because no "longer true." The quiet composure of this passage exhibits the healthiest aspect of his mind. Bookseller and public are confronted calmly, and the consequences fairly challenged. It is indeed very obvious, at the close of this first year of the Puhlie Ledger, that increasing opportunities of employment (to say nothing of the constant robbery of his ■writings by pirate magazine-men) were really teaching him his value, and suggesting hopes he had not earlier dared to entertain. He resumed hia coimection with the Lady's Magazine, and became its editor : publishing in it, among other writings known and unknown, what he had written of his Life of Voltaire ; and retiring from its editorship at the close of a year, when he had raised its circulation (if Mr. Wilkie's advertisements are to be believed) to three thousand three hundred. He con- tinued his contributions, meanwhile, to the British Magazine; from which he was not wholly separated till two months before poor Smollett, pining for the loss of his only daughter, went upon the continent (in 1763) never to return to a fixed or settled residence in London. He furnished other booksellers with occasional compilation-prefaces ; he compiled for Newbery, in four duodecimo volumes, A Poetical Dictionary, or the Beauties of the English Poets alphabeticoMy displayed (now a very rare book, but with a preface which pleasantly reveals his hand) ; and he gave some papers (among them a Idfe of Christ and Lives of the Fathers, re-published with his name, in shilling pamphlets, a few months after his death) to a so-called Christian Magazine, tmder- taken by Newbery in connection with the macaroni parson Dodd, and conducted by that villainous pretender as an organ of fashion- able divinity. It seems to follow as of course upon these engagements, that the room in Green Arbour-court should at last be exchanged for one of greater comfort. He had left that place in the later months of 1760, and gone into what were called respectable lodgings in Wine Office-court, Fleet-street. The house belonged to a relative of Newbery's, and he occupied two rooms in it for nearly two ypars. 158 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. Fbook hi. CHAPTER V. FELLOWSHIP WITH JOHNSON. 1761—1762. A ciRCUMSTAKCE flccurred in the new abode of which Goldsmith had now taken possession in Wiae Office-court, which m. go must have endeared it always to his remembrance ; but more deeply associated with the wretched habitation he had left behind him in Green Axbour-court, were days of a most forlorn misery as well as of -a manly resolution, and, round that beggarly dwelling (" the shades," as he used to call it in the more prosperous aftertime), and all connected with it, there crowded to the last the kindest memories of his gentle and true nature. Thus, when bookseller Davies tells us, after his death, how tender and compassionate he was ; how no unhappy person ever sued to biTTi for relief without obtaining it, if he had anything to give ; and how he would borrow, rather than not relieve the distressed, — ^he adds that " the poor woman with whom he had "lodged during his obscurity, several years in Green Arbour- " court, by his death lost an excellent friend ; for the Doctor " often supplied her with food from his own table, and visited her "frequently, with the sole purpose to be. kind to her." As little, in connection with Wine Office-court, was he ever likely to forget that Johnson now first visited him there. They had probably met before. I have shown how frequently the thoughts of Goldsmith vibrated to that great Grub-street figure of independence and manhood, which, in an age not remarkable for either, was undoubtedly presented in the person of the author of the English Dictionary. One of the last Chinese Letters had ' again alluded to the " Johnsons and SmoUetts " as veritable poets, though they might never have made a verse in their whole hves ; and among the earliest greetings of the new essay- writer, I suspect that Johnson's would be found. The opinion expressed in his generous question of a few years later ("Is there a man, sir, now, "who can pen an essay with such ease and elegance as Gold- " smith ?") he was not the man to wait for the world to help him to. Himself connected with Newbery, and engaged in like occu- pation, the new adventurer wanted his helping word and would be therefore sure to have it ; nor, if it had not been a hearty one, is Mr. Percy likely to have busied himself to bring about the present meeting. It was arranged by that learned divine ; and «HAl>. v.] FELLOWSHIP WITH JOHNSON. 159 tliis was the first time, be says, he had seen them together. The day fixed was the Slst of May 1761, and Groldsmith gave a sapper in Wine Office-conrt in honour of his visitor. Percy called to take up Johnson at Inner Temple-lane, and found him, to his great astonishment, in a marked condition-of studied neatness ; without his rusty brown suit, or his soUed shirt, his loose knee-breeches, his unbuckled shoes, or his old little shrivelled unpowdered wig ; and not at aU likely, as Miss Beynolds teUs us his fashion in these days was, to be mistaken for a beggar- man. He had been seen in no such respectable garb since he appeared behind Giarrick's scenes on the first of the nine nights of Irene, in a scarlet gold-laced waistcoat, and rix^ gold-laced hat. In feet, says Percy, " he had on a new suit of clothes, a new wig "nicely powdered, and everything about him so perfectly fURHimilar " from his usual habits and appearance, that his companion could "not help enquiring the cause of this singular transformation. " 'Why, sir,' said Johnson, ' I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very " ' great sloven, justifies his disregard of deanliness and decency " ' by quoting my practice ; and I am desirous this night to show " ' liim a better example.' " The example was not lost, as extracts from tailors' bills will shortly show ; and the anecdote, which oflFers pleasant proof of the interest already felt by Johnson for his new acquaintance, is our only record connected with that memorable supper. It had no Boswell-historian, and is gone into obKvion ; but the friendship which dates from it will never pass away. Writing to Percy about that supper when arranging the memoir which bears his name, Doctor Campbell says, " The anecdote of "Johnson I had recollected, but had forgot that it was at Gold- " smith's you were to sup. The story of the Vcdel de Chcmihre " will, as Lord Bristol says, fiU the basket of his absurdities ; and "really we may have a hamper full of them." Unfortunately the story of the Valet de Chambre has not emerged ; and to another anecdote, also unluckily lost, Campbell refers in a previous letter to Percy: "One thing, however, I could wish, if it met " your approbation, that I had before me some hints respecting "the affiur of Goldsmith and Perrot : it may without giving "oflFence, be related; at least so as to embellish the work, by "showii^ more of Goldsmith's character, which he himself has " fairly drawn : ' fond of enjoying the present, careless of the •' ' fatore, his sentiments those of a man of sense, his actions those " * of a fool ; of fortitude able to stand unmoved at the bursting of " 'an earthquake, yet of sensibility to be affected by the breaking " ' of a tea-cup.' " To which, in a later letter, this is added : "Tour " sketch of Sir BIchard Perrot will come in as an episode towards 180 OLIVER GOLDSMMffS Ll^fi AND tflMES. [i. k ifl. " the conclusion, with good effect ; but there, neither that nor "anything that can sully, shall appear as coming from you." So the Perrot anecdote is also lost, and the basket of absurdities by no means full ! " Farewell," says Milton, at the close of one of his early letters to his friend GUI, "and on Tuesday next expect me in London "among the booksellers." The booksellers were of little mark in Milton's days ; but the presence of such men among them began a social change, important to both, and not ill expressed in an incident of the days I am describing, when Horace Walpole met the wealthy representative of the profits of Paradise Lost at a great party at the Speaker's, while Johnson was appealing to public charity for the last destitute descendant of Milton. But from the now existing compact between trade and letters, the popular element could not wholly be excluded ; and, to even the weariest drudge, hope was a part of it. From the loopholes of Paternoster-row, he could catch glimpses of the world. Churchill had emerged, and Sterne, for a few brief years ; and but that Johnson had sunk into idleness, he might have been reaping a harvest more continuous than theirs, and yet less dependent on the trade. Drudgery is not good, but flattery and falsehood are vrorse ; and it had become plain to Goldsmith, even since the days of the EnquAry, how much better it was for men of letters to live by the labour of their hands till more original labour became popular with trading patrons, than to wait with their hands across, as Johnson contemptuously described it, till great men came to feed them. Whatever the call that Newbery or any other booksellei made, then, he was there to answer it. He had the comfort of remembering that the patron had himself patrons ; that something of their higher influence had been attracted to his Chinese Letters ; and that he was not slaving altogether without hope. His first undertaking in 1762 was a pamphlet on the Cock Lane Ghost, for which Newbery paid liim three guineas : but .ait 34 '''^li^tli6''> ''^th Johnson, he thought the impudent impos- ' ture worth grave enquiry ; or, with Hogarth, turned it to wise purposes of satire ; or only laughed at it, as Churchill did ; it is not quite certain that the pamphlet has survived to inform us. But if, as appears probable, a tract on the Mystery Beveal'd published by Newbery's neighbour, Bristow, be Goldsmith's three- guinea contribution, the last is the most correct surmise. It is however, a poor production. His next labour, which has been attributed to him on the authority of "several personal acquaint- " anoes," was the revision of a History of Mechlenhwrgh from the first settlement of the Vandals in that country, which the settlement of the young Queen Charlotte in this country was expected to efiAP. t.J FEttOWSHIP WiTfl JOfilS'SOlf. 161 make popular ; and for which, according to hia ordinary tates of payment, he would have received 201. This may have bten that first great advance "in a lump" which to his monied inexperience seemed a sum so enormous as to require the grandest schemes for disposing of it. For a subsequent payment of 101., he assisted Newbery with an Art of Poetry on a Nev) Plan, or in other words, a compilation of poetical extracts ; and concurrently with this, Mr, Newbery begged leave to offer to the young gentlemen and ladies of these kingdoms a Compendium of Biography, or a history of the lives of those great personages, both ancient and modem, who are most worthy of their esteem and imitation, and most likely to inspire their minds with a love of virtue ; for which offering to the juvenile mind, beginning with an abridgment of Plutarch, he was to pay Goldsmith at the rate of about eight pounds a volume. The volumes were brief, published monthly, and meant to have gone through many months if the scheme had thriven ; but it fell before Billy's British Pluta/reh, and perished with the seventh volume. Nor did it run without danger even this ignoble career. Ulnesa fell upon the compiler in the middle of the fifth volume. "D"' "Sir," he wrote to Newbery, "As I have been out of order for " some time past and am still not quite recovered, the fifth volume " of Plutarch's lives remains unfinished. I fear I shall not be able "to do it, unless there be an actual necessity and that none else " can be found. If therefore you would send it to Mr. Collier I "should esteem it a kindness, and will pay for whatever it may "come to. N. B. I received twelve guineas for the two Volumes. " I am. Sir, Your obliged humble serv', Oliver Goldsmith. Pray "let me have an answer." The answer was not favourable. Twelve guineas had been advanced, the two volumes were due, and Mr. Collier, though an ingenious man, was not Mr. Goldsmith. " Sir," returned the latter coldly, on a scrap of paper unsealed, and sent evidently by hand, "One Volume is done, namely the " fourth. When I said I should be glad Mi-. Collier would do the " fifth for me, I only demanded it as a favour ; but if he cannot " conveniently do it, tho' I have kept my chamber these three " weeks and am not yet quite recovered, yet I will do it. I send " it per bearer, and if the afiiair puts you to the least inconvenience "return it, and it shall be done immediately. I am, (fee. O. G. " The Printer has the Copy of the rest." To this, his good nature having returned, Newbery acceded ; and the book was finished by Mr. Collier, to whom a share of the pittance advanced had of course to be returned. These paltry advances are a hopeless entanglement. They bar freedom of judgment on anything proposed, and escape is felt to be impossible. Some days, some weeks perhaps, have been lostiji 162 OLIVEE CfOLDSMITH'S LIPB AND imSS. [book m. Mleaess or illness, and the fature becomes a mortgage to the past; erery honr has its want forestalled upon the laboBT of the Bucoeed- ing hour, and Gulliver Ues hound in lilliput. " Sir," said i ohuson, who had excellent experience on this head, "you may escape a "heavy debt, but aot a small one. Small debts are like small " shot ; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped "without a wound. Great debts are like camion, of loud noise "but little danger." Mention of Goldsmith's illness now frequently recurs. It originated in the habits of his London life, contrasting with the activity and movement they had replaced ; and the remedy prescribed was change of scene, if change of life was impossible. He is to be traced in this year to Tunbridge and Bath ; at the latter place he seems to. have been a frequent visitor, and I find him known to Mr. Wood, whose solid and tastefnl architeeture was then ennobling the city ; and one of Mr. Newbery's pithy acknowledgments is connected with those brief residences, where the imprdbua labor had not failed to follow him. " Beceiv'd from "Mr. Newbery at different times and for which I gave receipts "fourteen guineas which is in foil for the Copy of the life of Mr. "If ash. Oliver Goldsmith." The recent death of the celebrated Beau had suggested a subject, which, with incidents in its comedy of manners that reconmiended it to a man of wit in our own day, had some to recommend it to Goldsmith. The king of fashion had at least the oddity of a hero ; and sufficient haimlessness, not to say usefulness, to make biTn original among heroes and kings. It is a clever book ; and as one examines the arigLDal edition with its 234 goodly pages, still not uncommon on the book-stalls, it appears quite a surprising performance for fourteen guineas. No name was on the title page ; bat the writer, whose powers were so various and performance so felicitous " that he always seemed to do best "that which he was doing,'' finds it difficult not to reveal his name. The pre&ce was discerningly written. That a man who had diflfosed society and made manners more cheerful and refined, should have claims to attention from his own age, while his pains in pursning pleasure, and his solemnity in adjusting trifles, were a daim to even a smile &om posterity, was so set forth as to reassure the stateliest reader ; and if somewhat . thrown back by the biographer's bolder announcement in the opening of his book, that a page of Montaigne or Colley Gibber was worth more than the most grandiose memoirs of ' ' immortal statesmen already forgotten," he had but to remember after how many years of uninterrupted power the old Buke of Kewcastle had just resigned, to think that as grave a lesson might really await him in the reign of an old minister of fashion. CBAP. v.] FELLOWSHIP WITH JOHNSON. 163 In trutli the book is neither nninBtructive nor vmamusuig ; and it is difficult not to connect some points of the biographer's own history with its oddly mixed anecdotes of sillinesB and shrewdness, taste and tawdriness, blossom-coloxired coats and gambliag debts, vanity, carelessness, and good-heartedness. The latter qiaality iu its hero was foiled by a want of prudence, which deprived it of half its value ; and the extenuation is so frequently and so earnestly set forth in connexion with the feult, as, with what we now know of the writer, to convey a sort of uneasy personal reference. Eemem- bering, indeed, that what we know now was not only unknown then, but even waiting for what remained of Goldsmith's life to develop and call it forth, this lAft of Beau NasK is in some respects a curious, and was probably an unconscious, revelation of character. As yet restricted in his wardrobe, and unknown to the sartorial books of Mr. William Filby, he gravely discusses the mechanical and moral influence of dress, in the exaction of respect and esteem. Quite ignorant, as yet, of his own position among the remarkable men of his time, he dwells strongly on that class of impulsive virtues, which, in a man ptherwise distinguished, are more adapted to win friends than admirers, and more capable of raising love than esteem. A stranger still to the London whist table, even to the moderate extent in which he subsequently sought its excitement and relief, he sets forth with singular pains the temptation of a man who has "led a life of expedients and "thanked chance for his support," to become a stranger to pru- dence, and fly back to chance for those " vicissitudes of rapture "and angxiish" in which his character had been formed. With light and shade that might seem of any choosing but his, he exhibits the moral qualities of Nash, as of one whose virtues, in almost every instance, received some tincture from the foUies most nearly neighbouring them ; who, though very poor, was very fine, and spread out the little gold he had as thinly and fax as it would go, but whose poverty was the more to be regretted, that it denieil him the indulgence not only of his favourite foUies, but of hi:i favourite virtues ; who had pity for every creature's distress, but wanted prudence in the application of his benefits, and in whom this iU-oontroUed sensibility was so strong, that, unable to witness the misfortunes of the miserable, he was always borrowing money to relieve them ; who had, notwithstanding, done a thousand good things, and whose greatest vice was vanity. The self-painted picture will appear more striking as this narrative proceeds ; and it would seem to have the same sort of unconscious relation to the future, that one of Nash's friends is mentioned in the book to have gone by the name of The Good-natured Man. Nor should I omit the casual evidence of acquaintanceship between its hero and 164 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book hi. his biographer that occurs ia a lively notice of the three periods of amatory usage which the beau's long life had witnessed, and in which not only had flaxen bobs been succeeded by majors, and negligents been routed by bags and ramilies, but the modes of making love had varied as much as the periwigs. " The only way "to make love now, I have heard Mr. 2fash say, was to take no " manner of notice of the lady." Johnson's purchase of this book, which is charged to him in one of Newbery's accounts, shows his interest in whatever aflfected Goldsmith at this opening of their friendship. His book-purchases were never abundant ; though better able to afibrd them now than at any previous time, for the May of this year had seen a change in his fortunes. Bute's pensions to liie Scottish crew showing meaner than ever in Churchill's daring verse, it occurred to the shrewd and wary Wedderbume (whose sister had married the favourite's most intimate friend) to advise, for a sert-off, that Samuel Johnson should be pensioned. Of all the wits at the Grecian or the Bedford, Arthur Murphy, who had been some months fighting the North .Briton with the Auditor, and was now watchiug the Courts at Westminster preparatory to his first circuit in the following year, was best known to Bute's rising lawyer ; and Arthur was sent to Johnson. It was an "abode of wretched- "ness," said this messenger of glad tidings, describing on his return those rooms of Inner Temple- lane where a visitor of some months before had found the author of the Bambler and Basselas, now fifty- tliree years old, without pen, ink, or paper, "in poverty, "total idleness, and the pride of literature." Yet, great as was the poverty and glad the tidings, a shade passed over Johnson's face. After a long pause, "he asked if it was seriously intended." Undoubtedly. His majesty, to reward literary merit, and with no desire that the author of the English Dictionary should " dip his "pen in faction" (these were Bute's own words), had signified through the premier his pleasure to grant to Samuel Johnson three hundred pounds a year. "He fell into a profound medita- '"tion, and his own definition of a pensioner occurred to him." He was told that "he, at least, did not come within the defini- " tion ;" but it was not till after dinner with Murphy at the Mitre on the following day, that he consented to wait on Bute and accept the proffered bounty. To be pensioned with the fraudulent and contemptible Shebbeare, so lately pilloried for a Jacobite libel on the revolution of '88 ; to find himself in the same Bute-list with a Scotch court-architect, with a Scotch court-painter, with the infamous David Mallet, and with Johnny Home, must have chafed Sam Johnson's pride a little ; and when, in a few more months, as author of another English Dictionary, old Sheridan tho CHAP. Ti.] INTRODUCTIONS AT TOM DAVIES'S. 16S actor received two himdred a year (because hk theatre had suffered in the Dublia riots, pleaded Wedderbume ; because he had gone to Edinburgh to teach Bute's friend to talk English, said WUkes), it had become very plain to bim that Lord Bute knew nothing of literature. But he had compromised no independence in the course he took, and might afford to laugh at the outcry which followed. " I wish my pension' were twice as large, sir," he said afterwards at Davies'a, "that they might make twice as much "noise." But Davies was now grown into so much importance, and his shop was a place so often memorable for the persons who met there, that more must be said of both in a new chapter. CHAPTER VI. INTRODUCTIONS AT TOM DAVIES'S. 1762. Thomas Davies, ex-performer of Drury-lane, and publisher and bookseller of Russell-street, Covent Garden, had now (with his "very pretty wife") left the stage and taken wholly ^^ g'^ to bookselling, which he had recently, and for the second time, attempted to combine with acting. The Sosciad put a final extinguisher on his theatrical existence. He never afterwards mouthed a sentence in one of the kingly and heavy parts he was in the habit of playing, that Churchill's image of cur and bone did not confuse the sentence which followed ; his eye never fell upon any prominent figure in the front row of the pit, that he did not tremble to fancy it the brawny person of Churchill. What he thus lost in self-possession, Garrick meanwhile lost in temper ; ajid matters came to a breach, in which Johnson, being appealed to, took part against Garrick, as he was seldom disinclined to do. Pretty Mrs. Davies may have helped his incUnation here ; for when seized with his old moody abstraction, as was not unusual, in the bookseller's parlour, and he began to blow, and too-too, and mutter prayers to be delivered from temptation, Davies would whisper his wife with waggish humour, " You, my dear, are the " cause of this." But be the cayise what it might, the pompous httle bibliopole never afterwards lost favour ; and it became as natural for men interested in Johnson, or those who clustered round him, to repair to Davies's the bookseller in Bussell-street, as for any who wanted to hear of George Selwyn, Lord March, or Lord Carlisle, to call at Betty's the frviiterer in St, James's-street. 166 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TBIES. [book hi. A frequent visitor was Goldsmith ; his thick, short, clumsy figure, and his awkward though genial manners, oddly contrasting with Mr. Percy's, precise, reserved, and stately. The high-bred and courtly Beauolerc might deign to saunter in. Often would be seen there, the broad fat face of Foote, with wicked humour flashing from the eye ; and sometimes the mild long face of Bennet Langton, filled with humanity and gentleness. There, too, had Goldsmith met a raiM: visitor, the bland and gracious Reynolds, soon after his first introduction to him, a few months back, -in Johnson's chambers ; and there would even Warburton drive on some proud business of his own, in his equipage "besprinkled " with mitres," after caUingon Gairick iu Southampton-street. For Garrick himself, it was perhaps the only place of meeting he cared to avoid, in that neighbourhood which had so profited and been gladdened by his genius ; in which his name was oftener resounded than that of any other hximan being ; and throughout which, we are told, there was a fondness for him, that, as his sprightly figure passed along, "darted electrically from shop to shop." What the great actor said .some years later, indeed, he already seems to have fancied: that "he believed most authors who "frequented Mr. Davies's shop met merely to abuse him." Encouraged, meanwhile, by the authors, Davies grew in amusing importance j set up for quite a patron of the players ; affected the insides as well outsides of books ; became a critic, pronounced upon plays and actors, and discussed themes of scholarship ; inflicted upon everyone his experiences of the Edinburgh univer- sity, which he had attended as a.youth ; and when George Steevens called one day to buy the Oxford Homer, which he had seen tossing about upon his shelves, he was told by the modest bookseller that he had but one, and kept it for his own reading. Poor Goldsmith's pretensions, as yet, were small in the scale of such conceit : he being but the best of the essay writers, not the less bound on that account to unrepining drudgery, somewhat awkward in his manners, and laughed at for a careless simplicity. Such was the character he was first seen ia here, and he found its impressions always oddly mingled with whatever respect or consideration he challenged iu later Ufe. Only Johnson saw iato that hfe as yet, or could measure what the past had been to him ; and few so well as Goldsmith had reason to know the great heart which beat so gently under those harsh manners. The friendship of Johnson was his first reUsh of fame ; he repaid it with affection and deference of no ordinary kind ; and so commonly were they seen together, now that Johnson's change of fortune brought him more into the world, that when a puppet-caricature of the Idler was threatened this summer by the Haymarket Aristophanes, the CHAP. VI.] INTRODUCTIONS AT TOM DAVIES'S. 167 Citizen of tlie "World -was to be a puppet to. "WLat is the common price of an oak stick, sir?" asked Johnson, when he heard of it. "Sixpence," answered Davies. "Why then, sir, " give me leave to send your servant to purchase me a shilling "one. I'll have a double quantity; for I am told Foote means " to take me off, as he calls it, and I am determined the fellow " shall not do it with impunity.-" The Orators came out withou*^ the attraction promised ; attacking, instead, a celebrated DubUn printer, George Faulkner, who consoled himself (pending his prosecution of the libeller) by pirating the libel and seUing it most extensively ; while the satirist had the more doubtfiil consolation of reflecting, three yeais later, that his taking off of Faulkner's one leg would have been much more perfect, coxdd he have waited till the surgeon had taken off his own. This was the first dramatic piece, I may add, in which actors were stationed among the audience, and spoke from the public boxes. It had been suggested by a debating society called the Robin Hood, somewhat famous in those days, which used to meet near Temple-bar ; -with, which the connexion of Burke's earliest eloquence may serve to keep it famous still, since it had numbered among its members that eager Temple student, whose public life was now at last beginning with under-secretary Hamilton in Dublin ; and to which Goldsmith was introduced by Samuel Derrick, his acquaintance and countryman. Struck by the elo- quence and imposing aspect of the president, who sat in a large gUt chair, he thought nature had meant him for a lord chancellor. "No, no," whispered Derrick, who knew him to be a wealthy baker from the city, " only for a master of the roUs." Goldsmith was not much of an orator ; Doctor Kippis remembered him making an attempt at a speech in the Society of Arts on one occasion, and obliged to sit down in confusion ; but, tiU Derrick wedt away to succeed Beau ITash at Bath, he seems to have continued his visits, and even spoken occasionally ; for he figures in a flattering account of the members published at about this time, as " a good orator and candid disputant, with a clear head "and an honest heart, though coming but seldom to the society." The honest heart certainly was worn upon his sleeve, whatever his society might be. He could not even visit the three Cherokees, whom all the world were at this time visiting, without leaving the savage chiefs a trace of it. He gave them some " trifle" they did not look for ; and so did the gift, or the manner of it, please them, that with a sudden embrace they covered his cheeks with the oil and ochre that plentiftdly bedaubed their own, and left him to discover, by the laughter which greeted him in the street, the extent and fervour of their gratitude. 168 OLIVER aOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TBIES. [book la Not always such ready recipients, however, did Goldsmith find the objects of his always ready kindness. One of the members of this Robin Hood was Peter Annet, a man, who, though ingenious and deserving in other respects, became unhappily notorious by a kind of fanatic crusade against the Bible, for which (publishing weekly papers against the Book of Genesis) he stood twice this year in the pillory, and was now undergoing imprisonment in the King's Bench. To Annet's rooms in St. George's-fields we trace Goldsmith. He had brought Newbery with him to conclude the purchase of a chUd's book on grammar by the prisoner, hoping so to relieve his distress ; but, on the prudent bookseller objecting to a publication of the author's name, Annet accused him of cowar- dice, rejected his assistance with contempt, and in a furious rage bade him and his introducer good evening. Yet the amount of Newbery's intended assistance was so liberal as to have startled both Goldsmith and Annet, no less a sum than ten guineas being oifered for the child's grammar, though for the " completion of a "history of England" he had just given Goldsmith himself only two guineas. Which latter munificent payment was exactly contemporaneous with the completion of another kind of history, on more expensive terms, by paymaster Henry Fox ; from whom twenty-five thousand poimds had gone in one morning, at the formal rate of 2001. a vote, to patriotic voters for the Peace. There is reason to believe (from another of the bookseller's memoranda) that the two guineas was for " seventy-nine leaves " of addition to a school-history, comprising the reign of George the Second, and paid at the rate of eight shillings a sheet. This payment, with what has before been mentioned, and an addition of five guineas for the assignment and republication of the Chinese Letters (to which Newbery, as we have seen, appears to have assented reluctantly, and only because Goldsmith would else have printed them on his own account), are aU the profits of his ilrudgeiy which can be traced to hi'rri in the present year. He needed to have a cheerful disposition to bear him through ; nor was nature chary to him now of that choicest of her gifts. He had some bow of promise shining through his dullest weather. It is supposed that he memorialised Lord Bute, soon after Johnson's pension, with the scheme we have seen him throw out hints of, in his review of Van Egmont's Asiu ; and though Lord Dudley Stuart, who kindly examined all Lord Bute's papers for me, failed to find any trace of this memorial, nothing is more probable than that such a notion might have revived with him, on hearing Johnson's remark to Langton in connexion with his pension. "Had this h^ippeaed twenty years ago, I should have gone to ■' Constantinople to learn Arabic, as Pocock did." But what with onAF, Ti.] INTEODUCTIONS AT TOM DAYTEB'S. 169 Samuel Johnson might be a noble ambition, with little Goldy was but theme for a jest ; and nothing so raised the langh against him, a few years later, as Johnson's notice of the old fayontite project he was 'still at that time cUnging to, that some time or other, " when his circumstances should be easier," he would Ukb to go to Aleppo, and bring home such arts peculiar to the East as he might be able to find there. " Of all men Goldsmith is the " most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry ; for he is utterly "ignorant of such arts as we already possess, and consequently " could not know what would be accessories to our present stock " of mechanical knowledge. Sir, he would bring home a grinding " barrow, which you see in every street in London, and think that " he had famished a wonderful improvement." But brighter than these visionary fancies were shining for him now. There is little doubt, from allusions which would most natnraUy have arisen at the close of the present year, that, in moments snatched from his thankless and Ul-rewarded toil for Newbery, he was at last secretly indulging in a labour, which, whatever its effect might be upon his fortunes, was its own thanks and its own reward. He had begun the Vicar of Wakefield. Without encouragement or favour in its progress, and with little hope of welcome at the close of it ; earning meanwhile, apart from it, his bread for the day by a fuU day's labour at the desk ; it is his " shame in crowds, his solitary pride " to seize and give shape to its fancies of happiness and home, before they pass for ever. Most affecting, yet also most cheering! With everything before hi m in his hard life that the poet has placed at the Gates of HeU, he is content, for himself, to undergo the chances of them all, that for othei-s he may open the neighbouring Elysian Gate. Nor could the effort fail to bring strength of its own, and self- sustained resource. In all else he might be weak and helpless, dependant on others' judgment and doubtful of his own ; but there it was not so. He took his own course in that. It was not for Mr. Newbery he was writing then. Even the poetical fragments which began in Switzerland are lying still in his desk untouched. They are not to tell for so many pitiful items in the dradgery for existence. They are to " catch the heart, and strike for' honest " fame." He thought poorly, with exceptions already named in this narrative, of the poetry of the day. He regarded Churchill's astonishing success as a mere proof of the rage of faction ; and did not hesitate to call his satires lampoons, and his force turbulence. Fawkes and Woty were now compiling their Poetical Calendar, and through Johnson, who contributed, they asked if he would contribute ; but he declined. • Between himself and 170 OUYEB GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [,JtooK m. Fawkes, ■who was rector of a small Kentish village he had oc- casionally visited, civilitiea had jiassed ; but he Bhrunk from the poetical school of Fawkes and Woty, and did not hesitate to say so. He dined at the dose of the year at Davies's, in company with Robert- Dodaley, -where the matter came into discussion. " This ia not a poetical age," said Groldsmith ; " there is no poetry " produced in it." " Nay," returned Dodsley, " have you seen my " Collection ? Tou may not be able to find palaces in it, like "Dryden's Ode, but you have villages composed of very pretty houses, such as the Spleen." Johnson was not present ; but when the conversation -was afterwards reported to him by Boswell, he remarked that Dodsley had said the same thing as Goldsmith, only in a softer manner. Another guest, besides Dodsley, was present at Davies's dinner- table that day. A youth of two-and-twenty, the son of a Scottish judge and respectable old whig laird, urged to enter the law but eager to bestow himself- on the army, had come up at the end of the year from Edinburgh to see Johnson and the London wits, and not a little anxious that Johnson and the London wits should see him. Attending Sheridan's summer lectures in the northern city, he had heard wonderful things fiom the lecturer about the solemn and ponderous lexicographer, — ^what he said, and what he did, and how he would talk over his port wine and his tea untU three or four o'clock in the morning. It was in the natvire of this new admirer that port wine and late hours should throw a brighter halo over any object of his admiration ; and it was with desperate resolve to accomplish an introduction which he had tried and failed in two years before, that he was now again in London. But he had again been baffled. Johnson's sneer at Sheridan's pension having brought coolness between the old ftiends, that way there was no access ; and though Davies had arranged this dinner with the hope of getting his great Mend to come, his great friend had found other matters to attend to. James Boswell viras not yet to see Samuel Johnson. He saw only Oliver Groldsmith, and was doubtless much disappointed. Perhaps the feeling was mutual, if Oliver gave a thought to this new acquaintance ; and strange enough the dinner must have been. As. Goldsmith discussed poetry with Dodsley, Davies, mouthing his words and rolling his head at Boswell, delighted that eager and social gentleman with imitations of Johnson ; while, as the bottle emptied itself more fr«ely, sudden loquacity, conceited coxcombry, and officious airs of consequence, came as finely pouring forth from the youthful Scot. He had to tell them all he had seen in London, and all that had seen hiin , How Wilkes had said " how d'ye do" to him, and ChurchiU had shaken CHAP. VI.] INTEODUCTIONS AT TOM DATIES'S. 171 hands with him, Scotchman though he was ; how he had been to the Bedford to see that comical fellow Foote, and heard him dashing away at everybody and everything (" Have you had good " success in Dublin, Mr. Foote ? " " Poh ! damn 'em ! There was " not a shilling in the coimtry, except what the Duke of Bedford, " and I, and Mr. Bigby have brought away ") ; how he had seen Garrick in thq new farce of the Fwrmer's Betwm, and gone and peeped over Hogarth's shoulder as he sketched little David in the Farmer ; and how, above aU, he had on . another night attracted general attention and given prodigious entertainment in the Drury Lane pit, by extempore imitations of the lowing of a cow. " The " universal cry of the galleries," said he, gravely describing the incident some few years afterwards, "was, encore the cow ! encore " the cow ! In the pride of my heart I attempted imitations "of some other animals, but with very inferior effect." A Scotch friend was with him, and gave sensible advice. " My dear sir," said Doctor Blair, earnestly, " I would confine myself to the cow !'' or, as Walter Scott tells the anecdote in purer vernacular, " Stick to the cow, mon." Nor was the advice lost altogether: for BosweU stuck afterwards to his cow, in other words to what he could best achieve, pretty closely ; though Goldsmith, among others, had no small reason to regret, that he should also, doing the cow so well, still " with very inferior effect " attempt imita- tions of other animals. But little does Goldsmith or any other man suspect as yet, that within this wine-bibbing tavern babbler, this meddling, conceited, inquisitive, loquacious lion-hunter, this bloated and vain young Soot, lie qualities of reverence, real insight, quick observation, and marvellous memory, which, strangely assorted as they are with those other meaner habits, and parasitical self-'oomplacent absur- dities, will one day connect his name eternally vrith the men of genius of his time, and enable him to influence posterity in its judg- ments regarding them. They seem to have met occasionally before Boswell returned to Edinburgh ; but only two of Goldsmith's answers, to the other's perpetual and restless questionings, remain to indicate the nature of their intercourse. There lived at this time with Johnson, a strange, silent, grotesque companion, whom he had supported for many years, and continued to keep with him till death ; and Boswell could not possibly conceive what the claim of that insignificant Bobert Levett could be, on the great object of his own veneration. "He is poor and honest," was Goldsmith's answer, " which is recommendation enough for John- " son." Discovery of another object of the great man's charity, however, seemed difficult to be reconciled with this ; for here was a man of whom Mr. James Boswell had heard a Tery bad and 172 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES, [book. hi. Bhameful character, and, in almost the same breath, that Johnson had been kind to him also. " He is now become miserable," wao Goldsmith's quiet explanation, " and that ensures the protection " of JohnBon," CHAPTEK VII. . — * — HOGARTH AND REYNOLDS. 1762—1763. Newbbry's account-books and memoranda carry us, at the close of 1762, to a country lodging in Islington, kept by a stout .ait 34 ^^^ elderly lady named Mrs. Elizabeth Fleming, and in- " habited by Oliver Goldsmith. He is said to have moved here to be near Newbery, who had chambers at the time in Canon- bury-house or tower ; and that the publisher had looked out the lodgings for him, may be inferred from the fact that Mrs. Fleming was a friend of Mr. Newbery's, and, when he afterwards held the lease of Canonbury-house, seems to have rented or occupied part of it. But Goldsmith had doubtless also a stronger inducement in thus escaping, for weeks together, from the crowded noise of Wine Office-court (where he retained a lodging for town uses), to compara- tive quiet and healthy air. There were still green fields and lanes in Islington. Glimpses were discernible yet, even of the old time when the tower was Elizabeth's htmting seat, and the country all about was woodland. There were walks where houses were not ; neither terraces, nor taverns ; and where stolen hours might be given to precious thought, in the intervals of toilsome labour. That he had come here with designs of labour, more constant and imremitting than ever, new and closer arrangements with Newbery would seem to indicate. The publisher made himself, with certain prudent limitations, Mrs. Fleming's paymaster ; board and lodging were to be charged 50 J. a-year (the reader has to keep in mind that this would be now nearly double that amount), and, when the state of their accounts permitted it, to be paid each quarter by Mr. Newbery ; the publisher taking credit for these payments in hia Kterary settlements with Goldsmith. The first quarterly payment had become due on the 24th of March, 1763 ; and on that day the landlady's claim bf 12J. 10s., made up to HI. by " incidental expenses," was discharged by Newbery. It ■gj „g stands as one item in an account of his cash advances for the first nine months of 1763, which characteristically ex- hibits the relatiojis of baokwriter and bookseller. Mrs. Flenllng'* OfiAP. VII.] HOGARTfl AND REVNOLDS. 173 bills recur at their stated intervals ; and on the 8th of September there is a payment of 151. to William Klby the tailor. The highest advance in money is one (which is not repeated) of three guineas ; the rest vary, with intervals of a week or so between each, from two guineas to one guinea and half a guinea. The whole amount, from January to October 1763, is little more than 96f. ; upwards of 601. of which Goldsmith had meanwhile satisfied by " copies of different kinds," when on settlement day he gave his note for the balance. What these ' ' copies " in every case were, it is not so easy to discover. From a list of books lent to liim by Newbery, a com- pilation on popular philosophy appears to have been contemplated ; he was certainly engaged in the revision of what was meant to be a humorous recommendation of female government entitled Des- cription of MiUeniwn Hall, as well as in making additions to four juvenile volumes of Wonders of Nature and Art ; and he had yet more to do with another book, the System of Natural History by Dr. Brookes (the author of the Gazeiteer), which he thoroughly revised, and to which he not only contributed a graceful preface, but several introductions to the various sections, full of picturesque ajiimation. He was to have received for this labour "eleven " guineas ia fiiU," but it was increased to nearly thirty. He had also some share in the Martial JReview or General History of the late War, the profits of which Newbery (who published it, chapter by chapter, in a newspaper at Reading that belonged to him) had set apart for his luckless son-in-law. Kit Smart. In a memo- randum furnished by himself to the publisher, he claims three guineas for Preface to Universal History (a rival to the existing publication of that name, set on foot by Newbery and edited by Guthrie) ; two guineas for Preface to Rhetoric, and one for Preface to Chronicle, neither of these last now traceable ; three guineas for Critical and Monthly, presumed to be contributions to Newbery's magazines ; and twenty-one pounds on account of a History of England. A subsequent receipt acknowledges another twenty-one pounds " which with what I received before, is in fuU for the copy " of the History of England in a series of Letters, two volumes "ia]2mo." This latter book, which was not published till the following year, claims a word of description. Such of the labours of 1763 as had yet seen the light, were not of a kind to attract much notice. " Whenever I write anything," said Goldsmith, " I think the " public make a point to know nothing about it," So, remembering what Pope had said of the lucky lines that had a lord to own them, the present book was issued, doubtless with Newbery's glad concurrence, as a History of England in a series of Letters from a 174 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S IIPE AND TIMES. [=0°^ «"• Nobleman to his Son. It had a great success in that chaxacter ; passed through many editions ; and was afterwards translated into French by the -wife of Brissot, with notes by the revolutionary leader himself. The nobleman was supposed to be Lord Chester- field, so refined was the style ; Lord Orrery had also the credit of it ; but the persuasion at lagt became general that the author was Lord Lyttelton, and the name of that grave good lord is occasion- ally still seen affixed to it on the bookstalls. The mistake was never formally corrected : it being the bookseller's interest to continue it, and not less the author's as well, when in his own name he sub- sequently went over the same ground. But the authorship was not concealed from his friends ; copies of the second edition of the book were sent with his autograph to both Percy and Johnson ; and his friend Cooke tells us, not only that he had really written it in Ms lodgings at Islington, but how and in what way he did so. In the morning, says this authority, he would 'study, in Rapin, Oa/rte, Kennett's Complete History, and the recent volumes of Hume, as much of what related to the period on which he was engaged as he designed for one letter, putting down the' passages referred to on a sheet of paper, with remarks. He then walked out with a com- panion, certain of his friends at this time being in the habit of constantly calling upon him ; and if, on returning to dinner, his friend returned with him, he spent the evening convivially, but without much drinking (" which he was never in the habit of") ; finally taking up with him to his bed-room the books and papers prepared in the morning, and there writing the chapter, or the best part of it, before he went to rest. This latter exercise cost him very little trouble, he said ; for, having all his materials ready, he wrote it with as much facility as a common letter. One may clearly trace these very moderate " convivialities," I think, in occasional entries of Mrs. Fleming's incidental expenses. The good lady was not loath to be generous at times, but is care- ful to give herself the full credit of it ; and a not infrequent item in her biU is "a gentleman's dinner, nothing." Four gentlemen have tea, for eighteen-pence ; " wine and cakes" are supplied foi the same sum ; bottles of port are charged two shillings each ; and such special favourites are "Mr. Baggott" and one "Doctoi "Eeman," that three elaborate cyphers (01. Os. Od.) follow their teas as well as their dinners. Redmond was the latter's real jiame. He was a young Irish physician who had lived some years in Fiance, and was now disputing with the Society of Arts on some alleged discoveries in the properties of antimony. Among Mrs. Fleming's anonymous entries, however, were some that must have related to more distinguished visitors. The greatest of these I would iatroduce as he was seen one day OHAP. VII.] HOQAKTS AND KETNOLDS. 176 in the present yeax by a young and eager admirer, passing quickly throngh. Cranboum-alley. He migM have been on his way to Goldsmith. He was a bustUng, active, stout little man, dressed in a sky-blue coat. His admirer saw him at a distance, turning the comer ; and, running with all expedition to have a nearer view, came up with him in Castle-street, as he stood patting one of two quarrelling boys on the back, and, looking st&odfastly at the expression in the coward's face, was saying in very audible voice, " Damn him, if I would take it of him i at bim again ! " Sluemy or admirer could not under better circumstances have seen WiUiam Hogarth. He might see, in that little incident, his interest in homely life, his preference of the real in art, and his quick appre- hension of character ; his love of hard hitting, and his indomitable English spirit. The admirer, who, at the close of his own che- quered life, thus remembered and related it, was James Barry, of Cork ; who had followed Mr. Edmund Burke to London vrith letters from Doctor Sleigh, and whose birth, genius, and poverty soon made him known to Goldsmith. Between Goldsmith and Hogarth existed many reasons for sympathy. Eew so sure as the great, self-taught, philosophic artist, to penetrate at once, through any outer husk of disadvantage, to discernment of an honest and loving soul. Genius, in both, took side with the homely and the poor ; and they had personal foibles in common. No man can be supposed to have read the letters in the Public Ledger with heartier agreement than Hogarth ; no man so little likely as Goldsmith to suffer a sky-blue coat, or conceited, strutting, consequential airs, to weigh against the claims of the painter of Marriage dAa-Mode. How they first met has not been related, but they met frequently. In these last two years of Hogarth's life, admiration had become precious to hiTn ; and Goldsmith was ready with his tribute. Besides, there wast Wilkes to rail against, and Churchill to condemn, as well as Johnson to praise and love. " I'U tell you what," would Hogarth say : " Sam Johnson's conversation is to the talk of other men " like Titian's painting compared to Hudson's : but don't you teU "people, now, that I say so ; for the connoisseurs and I are at " war, you know ; and because I hate them, they thinV I hate "Titian— and let them !" Goldsmith and the connoisseurs were at war, too ; and this would help to make more agreeable that frequent intercourse, of which Hogarth has himself left the only memorial, A portrait in oil representing an elderly lady in satin with an open book before her, known by the name of " Goldsmith's Hostess," and so ex- hibited in London in the 1832 collection of the works of deceased Britisn artists, is the work of his penciL It involves no great 1?6 OLIVES GtOLDSMlTri'S LWE AUD TIMKS. [book Ifl. Btretoh of fancy to suppose it painted in the Islington lodgings, at some crisis of domestic pressure. Newbery's accounts reveal to us how often it was needful to mitigate Mrs. Fleming's impatience, to moderate her wrath, and, when money was not immediately at hand, to minister to her vanities. For Newbery was a strict accountant, and kept sharply withia the terms of his bargains ; exacting notes of hand at each quarterly settlement for whatever the balance might be, and objecting to add to it by new payments when it happened to be large. It is but to imagine a visit from Hogarth at such time. If his good nature wanted any stimiJus, the thought of Newbery would give it. He had himself an old grudge against the booksellers. He charges them in his autobio- graphy with "cruel treatment" of his father, and dilates on the bitterness they add to the necessity of earning bread by th« pen. But, though the copyrights of his prints were a source of certain and not inconsiderable income, his money at command was scanty ; and it would better suit his generous good-humour, as well as better servn his friend, to bring his easel in his coach some day, and enthrone Mra. Fleming by the side of it. So may the portrait have been painted ; and much laughter there would be in its progress, I do not doubt, at the very different sort of sitters and subjects whose coroneted- coaches were crowding the west side of Leicester-square. The good-humovir of Reynolds was a different thing frtm that of Hogarth. It had no antagonism about it. lU-humcnr with any other part of the world had nothing to do with it. It wa» CHAP, vu.] HOGARTH AND REYNOLDS. I7V gracious and diffused ; siagling out some, it might be, for special warmth, but smiling blandly upon all. He was eminently the gentleman of his time ; and if there is a hidden charm in his portraits, it is that. Hia own nature pervades them, and shines out from them still. He was now forty years old, being younger than Hogarth by a quarter of a century ; was already in the receipt of nearly six thousand pounds a-year ; and had known nothing but uninterrupted prosperity. He had moved from St. Martin's-lane into Newport-street, and from Newport-street into Leicester-square ; he had raised his prices from five, ten, and twenty guineas (his earliest charge for the three sizes of portraits), suc- cessively to ten, twenty, and forty, to twelve, twenty-four, and forty-eight, to fifteen, thirty, and sixty, to twenty, forty, and eighty, and to twenty-five, fifty, and a hundred, the sums he now charged ; he had lately built a gallery for his works ; and he had set up a gay gilt coach, with the four seasons painted on its panels. Yet, of those to whom the man was really known, it may be doubted if there was one who grudged him a good fortune, which was worn with generosity and grace, and justified by noble qualities ; while few indeed should have been the exceptions, whether among those who knew or those who knew him not, to the feeling of pride that an Englishman had at last arisen, who could measure himself successfully with the Dutch and the Italian. This was what Reynolds had striven for ; and what common men mijjht suppose to be his envy or self-sufficiency. Not with any sense of triumph over living competitors, did he listen to the praise he loved ; not of being better than Hogarth, or than Gains- borough, or than his old master Hudson, was he thinking con- tinually, but of the glory of being one day placed by the side of < Vandyke and of Eubens. Undoubtedly he must be said to have overrated the effects of education, study, and the practice of schools ; and it is matter of much regret that he should never have thought of Hogarth but as a moral satirist and man of wit, or sought for his favourite art the dignity of a closer alliance with such philosophy and genius. But the difficult temper of Hogarth himself cannot be kept out of view. His very virtues had a stubbornness and a dogmatism that repelled. What Reynolds most desired, — to bring men of their common calling together, and, by consent and union, by study and co-operation, establish claims to respect and continuance, — ^Hogarth had been all his life opposing ; and was now, at the close of life, standing of his own free choice, apart and alone. Study the great works of the great masters for ever, said Reynolds : There is only one school, cried Hogarth, and that is kept by Nature. "What was uttered on the one side of Leicester-square was pretty sxae to be contradicted on the N 178 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book hi. other ; and neither would make . tlie advance whicli might have reconciled the views of both. Be it remembered, at the same time, that Hogarth, in the daring confidence of his more astonishing genius, kept himself at the farthest extreme. "Talk of sense, " and study, and all that,'? he said to Walpole, " why, it is owing "to the good sense of the English that they have not painted " better. The people who have studied painting least are the " best judges of it. There's Beynolds,- who certainly has genius ; " why but t'other day he offered a hundred pounds for a picture " that I would not haiig in my cellar." Beynolds might have some excuse if he turned from this with a smile, and a supposed confir- mation of his error that the critic was himself no painter. Thus these great men lived separate to the last. The only feeling they shared in common may have been that kindness to Oliver Gold- smith, which, after their respective fashion, each manifested well. The one, with his ready help and robust example, would have strengthened him for life, as for a solitary warfare which awaited every man of genius ; the other, more gently, would have drawn him from contests and solitude, from discontents and low esteem, to the sense that worldly consideration and social respect might gladden even literary toil. While Hogarth was propitiating and painting Mrs. Fleming, Reynolds was founding the Literary Club. CHAPTER VIII. THE CLUB AND ITS FIRST MEMBERS. 1763. The association of celebrated men of this period universally known as the Literary Club, did not receive that uame till Mt, 35. ™^^y years after it was formed and founded ; ibut that Reynolds was its Romulus (so Mrs. Thrale said Johnson called him), and this year of ITGS the year of its foimdation, is unquestionable : though the meetings ^did not begin till winter. Johnson caught at the notion eagerly ; suggested as its model a club he had himself founded in Ivy-lane some fourteen years before, and which the deaths or dispersion of its members had now interrupted for nearly seven years ; and on 'this suggestion being adopted, the members, as in the earlier club, were limited to nine, and Mr. Hawkins, as an original member of the Ivy-lane, was invited to join. Topham Beauclerc and Bennet Langton were also asked, and welcomed earnestly; and, of course, Mr. Edmund Burke He had lately left Dublin and politics for a time, ana CHAP, vm.] THE CLUB AND ITS FIEST MEMBERS 179 returned to literature in Queen-Aime-street ; where a solid mark of his patron Hamilton's satisfaction had accompanied-him, in the shape of a pension on the Irish Establishment of 300J. a year. Perhaps it was ominous of the mischances attending this pension, that it was entered in the name of " William Birt :" the name which was soon to be_sD famous, having little familiarity or fame as yet. The notion of the club delighted Burke ; and he asked admission for his father-in-law, Doctor Nugent, an accomplished Boman Catholic physician, who lived with him Beauclerc in like manner suggested his friend Chamier, then secretary in the war-office. Oliver Groldsmith completed the number. But another member of the original Ivy-lane society, Samuel Dyer, making unexpected appearance from abroad in the following year, was joyfblly admitted ; and though it was resolved to make election difScult, and only for special reasons permit addition to their number, the limitation at first proposed was thus of course done away with. A second limitation, however, to the number of twelve, was defi- nitively made on the occasion of the second balloting, and wiU be duly described. The place of meeting was the Turk's-head tavern in Gerrard-street Soho, where, the chair being taken every Monday night at seven o'clock by a member in rotation, all were expected to attend and sup together. In about the ninth year of their existence, they changed their day of meeting to Friday ; and, some years later (Percy and MEdone say in 1775), in place of their weekly supper, they resolved to dine together once a fortnight during the meeting of parliament. Each member present was to bear his share of the reckoning : and conversation, from which politics only were excluded, was kept up always to a late hour. So originated and was formed that famous dub, which had made itself a name in literary history long before it received, at Garrick's funeral, the name of the Literary Club by which it is now known. Its meetings were noised abroad ; ihe fame of its conversations received eager addition firem the difficulty of obtaining admission to it ; and it came to be as generally understood that literature had fixed her social head-quarters here, as that politics reigned supreme at WUdman's or the Cocoa-tree. Not without advantage, let me add, to the dignity and worldly consideration of men of letters themselves. " I believe Mr. Fox will allow me to say," wrote the Bi^op of St. Asaph to Mr. WiUiam Jones, when the society was not more than fifteen years old, " that the honour of being " elected into the Turk's-head Club is not inferior to that of being "the representative of Westminster or Surrey. The electors are " cerfcunly more disinterested ; and I should say they were much " better judges of merit, if they had not rejected Lord Camden and " chosen me." Tet in those later days, when on the same night wTiijiisni-al yi»t. Tgiaa^ and fte~ hii mo Ur ana wdi which sparkle f r?i?]hJy thmngh Jts narrafive, we have all of us profitably amused the idle or i^e vacant hour ; from year to year we have had its tender or mirthfbl incidents, it s forms so homely in their beauty, its pathos and its comedy, given back to us from the canvas of our Widdies, JNewtons, and ijtothards, our LesUes, Madises, and Mulreadys : but not in those graces of style, or even in that home-cheri^ed gallery of familiar fac^, can the secret of its extraordinary fasci- nation be said to consist. It lies nearer the he art. A some- +hiT,jr wTiinTi Tiaa fni1T^|1 ifea way ili^e ■ WtiixTi ^ yhilp, it~amUSed, haS "^"4" U S Jiappier ; which, ^pntly iTiwft8iy'"0 't°°Jf '-nth fP'r_jiT^° o f t.hmi pht, ^a« JTiCTeased niir grnnH-lii i mniir a.nii n} |arile ^o^Btic_ngyeli^ Thong'h' TTOe'aait was variou s, ana mcefmin mtely CHAP. Mil.] THE riCAB OP WAKEFIELD. 235 a» w ell ag teoadly m arfced with j^^on, iiundent, and cliaracter, ihe aeld (elected by- RicBarSiOT, Fielding, S3~^moIIett ToFThe exercise of their genius and display of their powens, had hardly included this, Kor is it likely that Gtoldsmith woiild himself have chosen it, if his leading object had been to write a book. Baither as a reftige from the writing of books was this book undertaken. Si mple to Tery baldness are the materials employed ; — ba< he threw into the nudst of them his ownTnaipre ; his acfiiirScpeiienceytlK snflfering, disdpline, and sweefeinotion, of his cheqnered life ; and sd mal been, in light amusing fiction, no such scene as that where Doctor Primrose, surrounded by the mocking felons of the gaol into which his villanous creditor has thrown him, finds in even those wretched outcasts a common nature to appeal to, minds to instruct, sympathies to bring back to virtue, souls to restore and save. " In less than a fortnight I had formed them into some- " thing social and humane." Into how many hearts may this have planted a desire which had yet become no man's care ! Kot yet had Howard turned his thoughts to the prison, Bomilly was but a boy of nine years old, and EUzabeth Fry had not been bom. In Goldsmith's day, as for centuries before it, the gaol only existed as the portal to the gallows ; it was crime's high-school, where law presided over the science of law-breaking, and did its best to spread guilt abroad. This prison, argues Doctor Frimrpse, makes men g^ty where it does not find them so ; it encloses wretches for the commission of one crime, and returns them, if returned alive, fitted for the x>erpetration of thousands. With what conse- quence 1 New vices call for fresh restraints ;*" penal laws, which " are in the hands of the ridi, are laid upon the poor;" and all our paltriest possessions are hung round with gibbets. It scares men now to be told of what no man then took heed. Deliberate and foul nmrders were committed by the State. It was but four years 236 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iu. after tlois tha^ the govenunent which had reduced a young wife to beggary by pressing her husband to sea, sentenced her to death for entering a draper's shop in Ludgate-hill, tsiking some coarse linen oS the counter, and laying it down again as the shopman g»zed at her ; listened unmoved to a defence which might have penetrated stone, that inasmuch, since her husband was stolen from her, she had had no bed to lie upon, nothing to clothe her two baby children with, nothing to give them to eat, " perhaps she might " have done something wrong, for she hardly knew what she did ;" and finally sent her to Tyburn, with her infant sucking at her breast. Not without reason did Horace Walpole call the country "a shambles." Hardly a Monday passed that was not Black Monday at Newgate. An execution came roimd as regularly as any other weekly show ; and when it was that " shocking sight of "fifteen men executed," whereof BosweU makes more than one unc- tuous mention, the interest was of course the greater. Men, not otherwise hardened, found here a debasing delight. George Selwyn passed as much time at Tyburn as at White's ; and Mr. Boswell had a special suit of execution-black,- to make a decent appearance near the scaffold. Not imcalled for, therefore, though soKtary and as yet unheeded, was the warning of the good Doctor Primrose. Nay, not uncalled for is it now, though ninety years have passed. Do not, he said, draw the cords of society so hard, that a con- vulsion must come to burst them ; do not cut away wretches as useless before you have tried their utility ; make' law the pro- tector, not the tyrant of the people. You will then find that creatures, whose souls are held as dross, want only the hand of a, refiner ; and that " very little blood will serve to cement our " security." B«semblances have been found, and may be admitted to exist, between the reverend Charles Primrose and the reverend Abniham Adams. They arose from kindred genius ; and from the manly habit which Fielding and Goldsmith shared, of discerning what was good and beautiful in the homeliest aspects of humanity. In the parson's saddle-bag of sermons would hardly have been found this prison-sermon of the vicar ; and there was in Mr. Adams not only a capacity for beef and pudding, but for beating and being beaten, which would ill have consisted with the simple dignity of Doctor Primrose. But unquestionable learning, unsuspecting simplicity, amusing traits of credulity and pedantry, and a most Christian purity and benevolence of heart, are common to both these master-pieces of English fiction ; and are, in each, with such exquisite touch discriminated, as to leave no possible doubt of the originaUiy of either. Anything like the charge of imitation it preposterous, Fielding's friend, Toimg, sat for ijbe parson, as \9 caip. xili.] fTHB nOAB OP WAKEFIELD. 237 Goldsmith's father, Charles, we have seen the original of the vicar ; and as long as nature pleases to imitate herself, will such simple- hearted spirits reveal kindred with each other. At the same time and with peculiar mastery, art vindicates also in such cases her power and skOl ; and the general truth of resemblance is, after all, perceived to be much less striking than the local accidents of difference. Does it not well nigh seem incredible, indeed, com- paring the tone of language and incident in the two storins, that a space of twenty years should have comprised Joseph Andrews and the Vica/r of Wakefield. Little, it XDMst be confessed, had past experience in fiction, from the days of De Foe to these of Smollett, prepared the age for a simple novel of English domestic life. Least of jJl for that picture, so purely and delicately shaded, of the vicar, in his character of pastor, parent, and husband ; of his helpmate, with her motherly cunning and housewifely prudence, loving and respecting him, "but at the dictates of maternal vanity counter- ' ' plotting his wisest schemes ; " of both, with their childreu around them, their quiet labour and domestic happiness, — which Walter Scott declares to be without a parallel, in all his novel- reading, as a fire-side picture of perfect beauty. It may be freely admitted that there are many grave faults, many improbabilities, some even palpable absurdities, in the construction of the story. Goldsmith knew this. " There are an hundred faiilts in this " Thing," he said, in his brief advertisement to it ; " and an "hundred things might be said to prove them beauties. But it " is needless." (His meaning is, that to make beauties out of faults, be the proof ever so successfnl, does not mend the matter.) "A ' ' book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very " duU without a single absiirdity." He rested, with well grounded faith, on the vital reaUty of his characters. It is wonderful with what nice variety the family likeness of each Primrose is preserved, and how little the defects of the stoiy interfere with .any of them. Cajinot one see that there is a propriety, an eternal fitness, in even the historical fanuly picture ? Those rosy Flam- borough girls, who do nothing but flaunt in red top-knots, hunt the slipper, bum nuts, play tricks, dance country dances, and scream with laughter ; who have not the least idea of high life or hig^lised-Compajiy,_ or such fash itmab le" topics a3~ pictures,7tpte, Shakespe are, and the musical-g lasses, — ^how should it be possible for them tfl.hav '^^j "tiier.jtPjtion^OTttesirB"tlmr^ust tg"%e painted in their_ red jtopzfeots, each holding an orangel But~01ivia PiMnroseXj?ho,Jtfl.li§E. mother's knowledge, ;has7a^ea£Id^3o;Sy fiponevery subject, an d is v ery well skilled in controve rsy j_who 1mI]re^I3/tsEaGk^iIajid_^c^ai£s disputes in Tom Jone s, the 238 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book m. argument of man !Friday and his master in Mobinson Crusoe, and the dialogues in MeUgious CowrtsMp, — is it not somehow quite as much in character with the flighty vivacity of this ambitious little Livy, that she should wish to be drawn as an Amazon sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green Joseph richly laced with gold, a whip in her hand, and the young squire as Alexander the Great lying captive at her feet ; as it certainly suits the more sober simplicity and prudent good sense of her sister Sophy, to figure in the same composition as a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter can put in for nothing ? Mrs. Deborah Primrose triumph- ing in her lamb's-wool and gooseberry-wine, and claiming to be repre- sented as the Mother of Love with plenty of. diamonds in her hair and stomacher, is at first a little startHng ; but it admits of an excellent introduction of honest old Dick and chubby little Bill, by .way of Cupids ; and to what conceivable creature so much in need as Venus of conversion to monogamy, could the Vicar " in his gown " and band" have presented his books on the "Whistoniam contro- versy ? There remains only Mose s_to c omplete the master-piec e ; q^d^is n,ot_his_hat and white feather typical of both his arguments and his bargains, hi s saJe of B oEbiiT the colt"" and 'hd ti pm - chas gof the gross of greeii~^ectacles ? The simple, credulbus, genSous, 7iiiottensive"~fa miLy "7haE§j are common to all : 'bu1;~l3i~each~a separat e identity is yet as bro adly marked, as in^he~3imazoDpl3re— Venus, or the ShepherdesSj^of the imm5rtal~family"ptEt1Ife; StUl, from all that touches and diverts us in these harmless vanities of the delightful group, we return to the primal source of what has given this glorious little story its unequalled popularity. It is not that we enjoy a secret charm of. assumed superiority over the credulity and simplicity of almost every actor in it, but that the better secret is laid open to us of the real superiority of such credulous ways over much of what the world mistakes for its shrewdest wisdom. It is not simply that a happy fireside is depicted there, but that it is one over which calamity and sorrow can only cast the most temporary shade. In his deepest distress, the Vicar has but to remember how much kinder Heaven is to us than we are to ourselves, and how few are the misfortunes of nature's making, to recover his cheerful patience. There never was a book in which indulgence and charity made virtue look so ■ lustrous. Nobody is straight-laced ; if we except Miss Carolina WiLhelmina Amelia Skeggs, whose pretensions are suromed up in Burchell's noble monosyllable. " Virtue, my dear Lady Blarney^, "virtue is worth any price ; but where is that to be foimd?" " Fudge." When worldly reverses visit the good Doctor Primrose, they are of less account than the equanimity they cannot deprive hin^ of ; than the belief in good to which they only give wid^ CHAP, xni.] THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 239 scope ; {han the happiness which even in its worldliest sense thej ultimately strengthen, by enlarged activity and increased necessity for labour. It is only when struck through the sides of his children, that for an iustant his faith gives way. Mcst lovely is the pathos of that scene ; so briefly and beautifully told. The little family at night are gathered round a charming fire, teUing stories of the past, laying schemes for the future, and listening to Moses's thoughtful opinion of matters and things ts general, to the effect that all things, in his judgment, go on irery well, and that he has just been thinking, when sister Livy is married to Farmer WiUiams, they'll get the loan of his cyder-press and brewing-tubs for nothing. The best gooseberry-wine has been this night much in request. " Let us have one bottle more, Deborah, "my life," says the Vicar ; " and Moses, give us a, good. song. . . " But where is my darling Olivia ?" The terrible truth soon and suddenly appears, and the old man, struck to the heart, cannot help cursing the seducer ; but Moses is mindful of happier teach- ing, and with a loving simplicity rebukes his father. " I did not " curse him, child, did I '\ " " Indeed, sir, you did ; you curst "him twice." "Then may Heaven forgive me and him if I did." Charity resumes its place in his heart ; with forgiveness, happiness half visits him again ; by kindly patience, even Deborah's reproaches are subdued and stayed ; he takes back with most affecting tenderness his penitent child ; and the voices of all his children are heard once more in their simple concert on the honey- suckle bank. We feel that it is better than cursing ; and are even content that the rascally young squire should have time and hope for a sort of shabby repentance, and be allowed the intermediate comfort (it seems after all, one hardly knows why or wherefore, the most appropriate thing he can do) of "blowing the French horn." Mr. Abraham Adams has infinite claims on respect and love, nor ever to be forgotten are his groans over Wilson's worldly narrative, his sermon on vanity, his manuscript ^schylus, his noble inde- pendence to Lady Booby, and his grand rebuke to Peter Bounce : but he is put to no such trial as this of Doctor Primrose, which Rets before us, with such blended grandeur, simplicity, and pathos, the Christian heroism of the loving father, and forgiving ambassadoi of God to man. It was not an age of particular eamesjiness, that Hume and Walpole age : but no one can be in earnest himself without in some degree affecting others. "I remember a passage in the " Vicar of Wakefidd," said Johnson, a few years after its author's death, " which Goldsmith was afterwards fool enough to expunge. " I do not low a mom who is zealous for nothing." The words were little, since the feeling was retained ; for the very basis of 210 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIVE AND TIMES. toooK tit. the little tale was a sincerity and zeal for many things. This indeed it -was, ■which) -frhile all the world were admiring it for its mirth and sweetness, its bright and happy pictures, its simultaneous movement of the springs of laughter and tears, gave it a rarer value to a more select audience, and connected it with not the least memorable anecdote of modem literary history. It had been published little more than four years, when two Germans Tvhose names became afterwards world-famous, one a student at that time in his twentieth, the other a graduate in his twenty- fifth year, met in the city of Strasburg. The younger, Johann Wolfgang Goethe, a law-scholar of the University with a passion for literature, sought knowledge from the elder, Johann Gottfried Herder, for the course on which he was moved to enter. Herder, a severe and masterly though somewhat cynical critic, laughed at the likings of the young aspirant, and roused him to other aspiration. Producing a German translation of the Vicar oj Wakefield, he read it out aloud to Goethe in a manner which was peculiar to him ; and, as the incidents of the little story came forth in his serious simple voice, in one unmoved unaltering tone ("just as if nothing of it was present before him, but all was "only historical ; as if the shadows of this poetical creation did " not affect him in a life-like manner, but only glided gently by"), a new ideal of letters and of life arose in the mind of the listener. Years passed on ; and whUe that younger student raised up and re-established the literature of his country, and came at last, in his prime and in his age, to be acknowledged for the wisest of modem men, he never ceased throughout to confess what he owed to those old evenings at Strasburg. The strength which can conquer circumstance ; the happy wisdom of irony which elevates itself above every object, above fortune and misfortune, good and evU, death and Ufe, and attains to the possession of a poetical world ; first visited Goethe in the tone with which Goldsmith's tale is told. The fiction became to him life's first reality ; in country clergymen of Brusenheim, there started up vicars of Wakefield ; for Olivias and Sophias of Alsace, first love fluttered at his heart ; — and at every stage of his illustrious after-career, its impression still vividly recurred to him. He remembered it, when, at the height of his worldly honour and success, he made his written life (WahrTrnt und Dichtimg) record what a blessing it had been to him ; he had not forgotten it, when, some twenty years ago, standing at the age of eighty-one on the very brink of the grave, he told a Mend that in the decisive moment of mental development the Viear of Wdkefidd had formed his education, and that he had recently, with unabated delight, "read " the charming book again from begiiming to end, not a littla OHAP xm.] THE VIOAR OP WAKEPJELD. 241 " affected by the lively recollectioii " of how much he had been indebted to the author sevMty years before. •^ Goldsmith was unconscious of this exalted tribute. He died as ignorant of Herder's friendly criticism, as of the gratitude of Goethe. The little book silently forced its way. I find, up^m examination of the periodicals of the day, that no noise was ma.ie about it, no trumpets were blown for it. The St. Jame^s Chronicle did not condescend to notice its appearance, and the Moivfhly Remew confessed frankly that nothing was to be made of it. The better sort of newspapers as well as the more dignified reviews contemptuously left it to the patronage of Lloyd's Evenvng Post, the London Chronicle, and journals of that class ; which simply informed their readers that a new novel, called the Vica/r of Wakefield, had been published, that " the Editor is Doctor Gold- " smith, who has affixed his name to an introductory advertise- " ment," and that such and such were the incidents of the story. Several columns of the JEvenvng Post and the Chronicle, between the dates of March and April, were filled in this way with bald recital of the plot ; and with such extracts as the prison- scene, the account of the Primroses, and the brief episode of Matilda : but, in the way of praise or of criticism, not a word was said. Johnson, as I have remarked, took little interest in the story at any time but as the means of getting so much money for its author ; and believing that "Harry Fielden" (as he called him) knew nothing but the shall of Ufe, may be excused for thinking the Vica/r a. "mere fanciful performance." It would seem that none of the club indeed, excepting Burke, cared much about it ; and one may read, in the iVench letters of the time, how perfectly Madame Biccoboni agrees with her friend Garrick as to the little to be learned from it ; and how surprised the lively lady is that the Burkes should have found it pathetic, or be able to approve of its arguments in favour of thieves and outcasts. Admiration, nevertheless, gathered slowly and steadily around it ; a second edition appeared on the 6th of Jime, and a third on the 25th of August ; it reached its sixth edition in the year of its writer's death ; and he had lived to see it translated into several con- tinental languages, though not to know that the little story had been the chief consolation of a foreign prince in his English exile, and certainly not to receive from the booksellers the least addition to that original sorry payment, which Johnson himself thought "accidentally" less than it ought to have been. In the very month when the' second edition of the Vica/r of WakefiM was issued, a biU which Oliver Groldsmith had drawn upon Newbery, for fifteen guineas, was returned dishonoured. 242 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES [book in. CHAPTER XrV^ OLD DRUDGERY, AND A NEW VENTURE DAWNING. 1766. But if solid rewards seldom waited on even the happiest of Goldsmith's achievements, he never now lost comage and ^/ go hope, or showed signs of yielding in the struggle. He had always his accustomed resource, and went uncomplainingly to the old drudgery. Payne the bookseller gave him ten guineas for compiling a duodecimo volume of " Poems for Young Ladies. "In three parts : Devotional, Moral, and Entertaining." It was a respectable selection of pieces, chiefly from Pamell, Pope, Thomson, Addison, and CoUins ; with additions of less importance from less eminent hands, and some occasional verses which he supposed to be his friend Robert Nugenf s, but which were rejJly written by Lord Lyttelton. It has been assumed to be in this book "for young ladies" that two objectionable pieces by Prior were inserted ; but the statement, though sanctioned by Percy, is incorrect. It was in a more extensive compilation of Beauties of Mnglish Poetry Selected, published in the following year, and for the gathering together of which Griffin the bookseller gave him fifty pounds, that he made the questionable choice of the "Ladle" and " Hans Carvel," which for once interdicted from general reading a book with his name upon its title-page. This was unlucky : for the selection in other respects, making aUowance for a limited acquaintance with the earlier English poets, was a reasonably good one ; and in this, as well as in its preface and brief notices of the pieces quoted, though without any claim to originality or critical depth, was not undeserving of what he claimed generally for books of the kind as entitling them to fair reward. He used to point to them as illustrating, better than any other kind of compilations, " the art of profession " in author- ship. "Judgment," he said, "is to be paid for in such selections; "and a man may be twenty years of his life cultivating his ^'judgment." But he has also, with its help, to be mindful of changes in the public taste, to which he may himself have conv tributed. Kothing is more frequent than these, and few things BO sudden. Staid wives will shrink with abhorrence in their fortieth autumn, from what they read with delight in their twentieth summer ; and it was now even less than twenty years since that faultless "family expositor," Doctor Doddridge (as wfl CHAP.xiT.] OLD DRUDGERY, AND A NEW VENTURE. 243 learn from the letters of the holy divine), thought it no sin to read the Wife of Bath's Tale to young Nancy Moore, and take his share in the laugh it raised. Doctor Johnson himself had not forgotten those habits and ways of his youth ; and amazed Boswell, some ten years later, by asserting that Prior was a lady's book, and that no lady was ashamed to have it standing in her library. The Doctor could hardly have taken part iu the present luckless selection, however, since through all the summer and autumn months of the year he had withdrawn from his old haunts and friends, and taken refuge with the Thrales. For the latter, happening to visit him in Johnson's-court one day at the close of spring, found him on his knees in such a passion of morbid melancholy, beseech- ing God to continue to him the use of his understanding, and proclaiming such sins of which he supposed himself guilty, that poor sober solid Thrale was fain to " lift up one hand to shut his " mouth," and the worthy pair bore him off, by a sort of kindly force, to their hospitable home. With cheerfulness, health returned after some few months ; he passed a portion of the summer with them at Brighton ; and from that time, says Murphy, Johnson became almost resident in the family. " He went occasionally to "the club in Gerrard-street, but his head-quarters were fixed at ' Streatham. " Goldsmith had rightly foreseen how ill things were going with him, when not even a new play could induce him to attend the theatre. In his own attendance at the theatre he was just now more zealous than ever, and had doubtless "assisted" at some recent memorable nights there. When all the world went to see Eousseau, for example, including the King and Queen ; when their majesties, though Garrick exhibited all his powers in Lusignan and Lord Chalkstone, looked more at the philosopher than the player ; and when poor Mrs. Garrick, who had exalted him on a seat in her box (rewarded for her pains by his laughing at Lusignan and crying at Lord Chalkstone, not understanding a word of either), held him back by the skirts of his coat aU night, in continual terror that "the recluse philosopher" would tumble over the front of the box into the pit, from his eager anxiety to show himself,. — Goldsmith could hardly have stayed away. Nor is he Kkely to have been absent when the Drury-lane players (with many of whom, especially Mr. and Mrs. Yates, he had now formed acquain- tance) made the great rally for their rival fund ; and, in defiance of his outlawry, Wilkes unexpectedly showed himself in the theatre, more bent on seeing Garriok's Kitely than keeping faith with the ministry, to whom, through Burke, he had the day before pronused to go back to Paris more secretly and quickly than he ^iid come to London. Least of all could Goldsmith have been Zii OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ui absent when the last new comedy was played, of which al the town was taUdng still ; and which seems to have this year turned his thoughts for the first time to the theatre, with serious intention to try his own fortune there. The Clandestine Mtmrriage, the great success of the year, and foi the strength and variety of its character deservedly so, had been the joint work of Colman and Gairick ; whose respective shares in its authorship have been *much disputed, but now seem clear and ascertainable enough. The idea of the comedy originated with Colman, as he was lookiiig at the first plate in Hogarth's immortal series of Marriage a la Mode ; but he admits that it was Gkurick who, on being taken into counsel, su^ested that important alteration of Hogarth's "proud lord" into an amiable old ruin of a fop, descending to pin his noble decayed skirts to the frock of a tradesman's daughter, but stiU aspiring to the hopes and submit- ting to the toils of conquest, which gave to the stage its favonrite Lord Ogleby. These leading ideas determined on, rough hints for the construction and conduct of the plot, of which Colman's was made public by his son three-and-thirty yeats ago, and Ganick's did not see the light till the other day, were exchanged between the friends ; and from these it is manifest that, in addition to what Colman in his letters somewhat scantily admits to have been €tairick's contributions, — namely, the first suggestion of Lord Ogleby, his opening levee scene, and the fifth act which he closes with such handsome gallantry, — the practised actor had mapped out more clearly than Colman, though he may not have written all, the other principal scenes in which his chosen character was concerned. "What he submitted for the interview where the antiquated fop supposes Fanny to have fallen in love with him, will not only exhibit this, but hereafter help us to understand some disagreements between himself and Gtoldsmith. "Bride," he remarks, putting the actor always in place of the character, resolves to open her heart to Gkurick, and try to bring bim over to forgive them. "OTBrien consents, and l^ves her upon seeing " Garrick come smiling along. £nter Garrick, he smiling, and "taking every word from the girl as love to himself She " hesitates ; faulters ; which confirms bim more and more, till at " last she is obliged to go oflF abmptiy, and dare not discover what " she intended, which is now demonsiiation to Garrick, who is left " alone, and may show himself in all the glory of his character in " a soliloquy of vanity. He resolves to have the girl, and break "the hearts of the rest of the female world." Powell had to replace O'Brien, however, and King was substituted for Garrick, before the play was acted ; and out of the latter drcumstanca arose a coolness between the friends which will reappear in this fltJAP. xlT.J OLD DEtJDGBRT, AND A NE\V VfiSTHBE. 344 Barratire. Colmau thought Garrick's surrender of Lord Ogleby a capricious forfeiture of promise ; but though an exception to hia previous withdrawal from all new parts was certainly at first intended in this case, he exercised a sound discretion in changing that purpose. The new character was in truth little more than an enrichment of one of his own &rces, assisted by a faroe of his Mend Townley's ; and he could himself but have made Lord Ogleby an improved Lord Chalkstone. It was better left to ctn entirely new representative, and King justified his choice. Colman's sense of injury was, nevertheless, kept carefully alive by good-natured friends ; and when Garrick, some time after the play's production, and while the town were still crowding to see it, rrote in triumph to his coadjutor of the difficulties of the rival \ouse (" The ministry all to pieces ! Ktt, they say, and a new " arrangement. Beard and Co. going positively to sell their patent " for sixty thousand pounds. 'Tis true ; but, mum. We have not " yet discovered the purchasers. When I know, you shall know : " there will be the devil to do"), he little imagined what notions he was then infusing into Colman's busy discontented braia. The unexampled success of their comedy had seemed in truth to have as thoroughly reconciled them, as it had unsettled poor Goldsmith's thoughts, and driven them in the direction of the stage. It was not unnatural. The reputation of his later writings, bringing him into occasional better company, had tempted him to habits of greater expense, while it feiled to supply the means of keeping pace with them. TTjg accounts with Newbery were growing more and more involved ; an unpaid note for fifty pounds, which he had given in settlement three years ago, began to make threatening re-appearance ; his last draft upon the not unfriendly but cautious bookseller, though for only eleven guineas, had been dishonoured ; and ordinary modes of extrication appeared more difficult and distant than ever. There was hope in the theatre. Anxiety and pain he knew there would also be ; but he was not indisposed to risk them. They could never whoUy obscure the brighter side. No longer might the playhouse be called the sole seat of wit ; nor coidd it any more be said, as in Steele's days, to bear as important relation to the manners as the bank to the credit of the nation : but besides the tempting profits of an " author's nights," which, with any reasonable success, could hardly average less than from three to four hundred pounds, there was nothing to make the town half so fond of a man, even yet, as a successful play. It had been the dream, too, of his own earliest ambition ; and though his juvenile tragedy had gone the way of dreams, he had now a surer and not untried ground to build upon, of humour, character, and wit. He resolved to attempt a comedy. •iiS OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIUES. [book Hi. What, meanwhile, his leisure amusements were, since Johnson's withdrawal to the Thiales had limited their intercourse even at Gerrard-street, may be worth illustrating by occasional little anec- dotes of the time, though rather loosely told. He' had joined a card- club, at the Devil tavern near Temple-bar, where very moderate whist was played ; and where the members seem to have occupied the intervals of their favourite game with practical jokes upon himself. Here he had happened to give a guinea instead of a shilling, one night, to the driver of a coach (after dining with Tom Davies) ; and on the following night a fictitious coachman presented himself, to restore a guinea equally counterfeit. It was a trick to prove that not even the honesty of a hackney coachman would be too startling a trial for Goldsmith's credulity ; and, as anticipated, the gilded coin was taken with an overflow of simple thanlcs, and subsequent more solid acknowledgment of the supposed marvellous honesty. Other iacidents tell the same tale of credulous, imsuspeoting, odd simplioity. Doctor Sleigh of Cork had asked him to be Icind to a young Irish law-student heretofore mentioned, who had taken chambers near his own, who was known afterwards as a writer for the newspapers, as Poote's and Macklin's biographer, and, from the title of the most successful poem he published, as Conversation, Cooke ; and this yoimg student, invited to apply to him in case of need, was told with earnest regrets one day, in answer to a trifling appli- cation, that he was really not at that moment in possession of a guinea. The youth turned away in less distress than Goldsmith ; and, returning to his own chambers after midnight, found a difficulty in getting in. Goldsmith had meanwhile himself borrowed the money, followed with it too late, and thrust it, wrapped up in paper, half underneath the door. Cooke hurried next day to thank him, and tell him what a mercy it was some- body else had not laid hold of it. "In truth, my dear fellow," said Goldsmith, " I did not thLok of that." As Uttle did he trouble himself to think, when a French adventurer went to him towards the close of the year with proposals for a History of England in French ; which was not only to be completed in fifteen volumes at the cost of seven guineas and a half, and to be paid for in advance, but to have the efieot of bringing into more fWendly relations the men of letters of both countries. Goldsmith, though he had been fain but a few days before this, for the humble payment of two guineas, to write Newbery a "Preface t- "Wiseman's Grammar," had 40 mean notion of the dignity Oa literature in regard to such proposals as this French impostor's, and now indulged it at a thoughtless cost. Straightway he gave his name, impoverished himself by giving his last available guinea and, in "the Colonel Chevalier de Champignys" advertisements, CHAP. XV.] THB GBBAT WOfiLD AMD lOB EUIBBS. 247 josUing the names of crowned heads and ambassadois, figured aa the " Author of the Traveller." Fleasanter are the anecdotes which tell of his love for the young, and anxieiy to have fhem for his readers. It was matter of pride to one with as gentle a spirit and a heart as wise as his own, the late Charles I^mb, to remember that the old woman who taught him his letters, had in her own school-girl days been patted on the head by Goldsmith. Visiting where she stayed one day, he found her reading his selection of Poems for Toumg Ladies, praised her fondness for poetry, and sent her his own poem to encourage it. The son of Hoole, Ariosto's translator, remembered a similar incident in his father's house. Other amusing traits might be added, strongly resembling such as already have been told. Booksellers would get bim to recommend books, misguiding him as to the grounds of recommendation ; and though everybody had been laughing at the exaggerated accounts of Patagonians nine feet high, brought home by Commodore Byron's party. Goldsmith earnestly protested that he had talked with the carpenter of the commodore's ship (a "sensible, undeistanding "man, and I believe extremely filithJfcd "), and by bim had been assured, in the most solemn manner, of the truth of the relation. Not was it altogether romance, though the honest carpenter made the most of what he had seen. Even the last survey of those coasts, though it does not establish the assertions of Magalhaens and Byron, leaves it qtiite certaia that the Patagonians far exceed the hei^t of ordinary men, and that the believers in this possibility were not nearly such fools as the majority too readily supposed. CHAPTEE XY. THB GREAT WORLD AND ITS RULERS. 1766. Thb eleventh year of Goldsmith's London struggle was now ■wming to a close, amid strange excitement and change, which may only here be so fax pursued as to exhibit its re- ^^ „g action on literature and its cultivators. What Garrick had reported of the ministry in the summer, was in the main correct. Though S had not broken to pieces, the King had exploded it ; and there was Pitt and a new "arrangement." The word was not ill chosen. Changes of ministry were now brought about without the conflict of principles or party, and by no better means than might be used for " arrangement" of the royal bed-chamber. 248 OLIVMR GOLDSMITH'S IIPE AND TIMES. [book hi. Lord Rockingham had hardly taken office when the Duke of Cumberland's death left him defenceless against palace intrigues ; and their busy fomentors, the " king's friends" whom Burke has gibbetted in his Thoughts on Discontents, very speedily destroyed him. His Stamp Act repeal bUl, his America trading bUl, his resolution against General Warrants, and his Seizure of Papers' bill, were the signal for royal favour to every creeping placeman who opposed them ; and on the failure of the latter bill Grafton threw up his office, saying Pitt alone could save them. Pitt's fame as well as peace would have profited, had he consented to do that. But against his better self, the King's appeals had enlisted his pride; he had not strength, amid faUing health, to conquer the impulse of vanity ; he did not see that the real object aimed at, was no aUiauce of the throne with the people, but subordination of everything, includ- ing the great houses, to the throne ; and in an evil hour he consented to be Prime Minister, with the title of the Earl of Chatham. Kockingham retired, with hands as clean as when he entered office, without asking for honour, place, or pension for any of his friends, and with that phalanx of friends unbroken. It was in vain that Chatham attempted to separate the party from its chief. This was steadily resisted. Savile, Dowdeswell, Lord . John Cavendish, the Duke of Eichmond, the Duke of Portland, Fitzherbert, and Charles Yorke (Burke could only refuse future office, he had none to resign), persisted in resigning office ; and the only important members cf the late administration who remained, were the two whom Cumberland had induced to join it, General Conway (with whom William Burke remained as under- secretary) and the Duke of Grafton. With these, though strongly opposed in views as well as temper, were now associated two men of remarkable talents, personal adherents of Chatham ; Lord Camden as Chancellor, and Lord Shelburne as a Secretary of State : the latter a young but not untried statesman, nor alone distinguished for political ability, but also for such rare tastes and independent originality of character, that men of science and letters, such men as even Goldsmith, had come to regard him as a friend. The next ingredient in the strange compound was Charles Townshend, at once perhaps the cleverest and undoubtedly the most dangerous man in the whole kingdom. Admi- rably did Horace Walpole remark that his good humour turned away hatred from him, but his levity intercepted love. He was made Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, with the lead of the House of Commons ; and his opinions no man knew, save that they were simply the opinions of the House of Commons. He had with equal ability advocated every shade of opinion, as the majority had with equal impartiality voted ; and certainly no man, for his brief reign, was ever so fljLip. XV.] THE GfiEAT WOELD AND WS fitfLESS. 249 popular in it, or so nearly approaclied to itself in the ertravagance of his inconsistencies. But a man is not remembered in history for his mere predominance there ; and he who exactly suits that audience, and " hits the house between wind and water," may be found to have lost a nobler hearing, and to hare missed much worthier aims. Little spoken of indeed as Charles Townshend now is, it seems necessary to call to mind, when any modem writer pauses at his once famous name, that as well in the copious abundance of his faults as in the wonderful brilliancy of his parts he had far outstripped competition ; and must have ranked, even beyond the circle of his contemporaries, for the most knowing man of their age, but for his ignorance of " common truth, common " sincerity, common honesty, common modesty, common steadiness, " common courage, and common sense." Wanting these qualities, and having every other in surprising abiindance, he most thoroughly completed the charm of powerful trouble which Chatham was now preparing ; and in which every shade of patriot and courtier, king's-friend and republican, tory and whig, treacherous ally and open enemy, were at length most ingeniously united. Nobody knew anybody in this memorable cabinet, and all its members hated each other. Soon did even its author turn sullenly away from the monstrous prodigy he had created, and leave it to work its mischief unrestrained. Poor Conway first took the alarm, and got the Duke of Grafton to urge the necessity of having some one in the lower house, on whom real reliance could be placed. There will be "a strong " phalanx of able personages against us," he said ; " and among " those whom Mr. Conway wishes to see support him is Mr. Burke, "the readiest man on all points perhaps in the whole house." Burke had been a member little more than six months when this was written ; yet, even among the men who thus felt his usefulness, there was as little idea of recognising his claim to an ofiSce of any uuportance, as of offering to make him prime minister. His own wish had been, as soon as it became certain that the Hocking- hams must resign, to obtain an appointment which happened then to be vacant, and to have held which, however quickly surrendered, would have increased his parliamentary consideration ; but he failed in the attempt, and was styled, by the vehement Bishop of Chester, nothing short of a "madman" to have made it. "Here " is an Irishman," wrote Colonel Lee in the following month to the Prince Royal of Poland, " sprung up in the House of Commons, "who has astonished every body by the power of his eloquence, "and his comprehensive knowledge in aU our exterior and " internal politics, and commercial interests. He wants nothing ■ ' but that sort of dignity annexed to rank and property in England, 260 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book hi. "to make him the most considerable man in the lower house." Wanting that, however, he wanted all, so far as office was concerned. Well might Walpole say that the narrowness of his fortune kept him down. The great families disowned him. Not many weeks after this letter was written, the amiable but irresolute Oonway himself (from whose service, greatly to his honour, William Burke soon afterwards retired, and was replaced by David Hume), irritated by his predominance, jeered at him in public debate as "an Irish adventurer:" though, within a. month, seventy-seven Lancaster merchants had publicly thanked him for his strenuous efforts to relieve the burdens on trade and commerce ; and Grafton had even gone so far as to urge upon Chatham, that he looked upon it he was a most material man to gain, even at the price of some office a trifle higher than that of a lordship at the Board of Trade. The attempt was made, and failed ; and it was well that it did so. It was well that when America again was taxed, Burke should have beeii free to enter his protest against it ; that when the public liberties were again invaded, Burke shoidd have had the power to defend them ; that when the elective franchise was trampled under foot, and five several free elections were counted void, Burke, amidst even some defection of his friends, should have had the freedom, as he had the courage, to proclaim the consti- tution violated, and allegiance endangered ; that when Townshend began to make public ridicule of his colleagues, and raise the laugh of the House of Commons against the Graftons and Oonways, Burke should have met him with a wit as keen as his own, and a laugh more likely to endure ; and that throughout those counter- intrigues into which the palace intrigues now drove the great families, which would have shamed the morality of the highway, and which engaged the three "gangs" of the Bedfords, the Temple- Grenvilles, and the Court, in a profligate and desperate conflict of venality, rapacity, and falsehood, Burke and the Bockinghams should have held aloof, and escaped contamination of the baseness that so rode at the top of the world. What chance had quiet literature of attention or success, amid such scenes and struggles as thus disgraced and lowered the pubUc men of England ? What hope of Ijearing or consideration could fall to its professors from the class that should have led the nation, when, instead of leading it, they were but offering it high examples of venality and falsehood 1 What possibility now existed of any kind of reward for those who had dignified their calling, and snatched it from the servitude it had so long lain imder 1 By such labours as Johnson's had been, and as Goldsmith's con- tinued to be, they had provided for another generation of writers, if not for themselves, surer friends and better paymasters than OHAP. XV.] THE GREAT WORLD AND ITS RULERS. 251 eitlier patron or publisher ; nor was it possible for men of letters again to become, what Sir Eobert Walpole made and would have kept them. Never again with abject servility, as Goldsmith pithily expresses it, could they importuue his Grace, Nor ever cringe to men in place, Nor undertake a dirty job. Nor draw the quill to write for Bob ; but what had been the effect of the change on Walpole's successors, the ministers and governors of the nation ? Had they stooped to pick up the hack-livery which the Goldsmiths had flimg down, and put it on to serve themselves ? It seemed so. No other interest did they appear to take in the condition or the uses of literature, but as a vast engine of libel, available only for the sordid traffick- ing, shameless corruption, and servile submission, which in turn ruled aJl the factions. George' GrenviUe had used it, to assail Conway and the Eockinghams ; two new-made deans had resorted to it, to uphold their patron Grafton ; parson Scott had made a fire- brand of it, to fling destruction at the enemies of Sandwich ; Lord Temple had not scrupled to employ it, for the purpose of blacken- ing his brother and his brother-in-law ; and it had helped the unblushing Bigby to show, by jovial abuse of everybody aU round, how entirely and exclusively he was his Grace the Duke of Bed- ford's, her Grace the Duchess's, and the whole House of Wobum's. Every month, every week, had its periodical calumny. The un- wieldy column of quarto and octavo, the light squadron of pamphlet and flying sheet, alike kept up the fire. " Faction only " fills the town with pamphlets," wrote Johnson soon after this date, " and greater subjects are forgotten in the noise of discord." " Politics and abuse," confesses one who stood behind the scenes, " have totally corrupted our taste. "We might as well be given "up to controversial divinity. Nobody thinks of writing a line "that is to last beyond the next fortnight ;" or of listening, he might have added, to a line so written. The same authority, a politician and man of rank, left an account of the literature of the day, in which half a line is given to Goldsmith as "the correct " author of the TrcmeUer," another to Smollett as a profligate hire- ling and abusive Jacobite writer, and a third to Johnson as a limiber of mean opinions and prostituted learning : but in which Mrs. Macauley's History is compared to Eobertson's, Mr. Bichard Bentley's PaivioUsm held next in merit to the Dunciad, and Mr. Dabymple's JRodondo counted hardly inferior to Hud/ibras ; in which Mi'. Hoole is discovered to be a poet, and an elegant five shilling quarto which had appeared within the last few months 'vrith the title of the New Bath Guide, is proclaimed to have 252 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIME3. [book ni, (Iistiiiguish.ed and marked out its writer from, all other men, foi possession of the easiest wit, the most genuine hmnour, the mosi inoffensive satire, the most unaffected poetry, and the most har- monious melody in every kind of metre. Is not the fashion as well as faction of the time thus reflected to us vividly 1 Now, of these admired ones, aU excepting Chris- topher Austey are forgotten ; nor is it likely that even Anstey would have been noticed with anything but a sneer, if, besides being a scholar and a wit, he had not also been a member of par- liament. Beyond the benches of the houses too, or the gossip of St. James's, this influence reached. It was social rank which had helped Anstey, for this poem of the New Bath Gmde, to no less a sum than two hundred pounds ; it was because Goldsmith had no other rank than as a man of letters, depressed and at that tims very slowly rising, that his Traveller had obtained for him only twenty guineas. Even David Hume, though now accepted into the higher circles, undisturbed any longer by the "factious barba- " rians," and somewhat purified of late from history and philosophy by employment as under secretary of state, had not lost that painful sense of the social differences between Paris and London which he expressed twelve months before the present date. "If a " man have the misfortune in London to attach himself to letters, " even if he succeeds, I know not with whom he is to live, nor " how he is to pass his time in a suitable society. But in Paris, a " man that distinguishes himself in letters, meets immediately "with 'regard and attention." He complains in another letter that the best company in London are in a flame of politics ; and he declines an introduction to Mr. Percy because it would be impracticable for him to cultivate his friendship, as men of letters have in London no place of rendezvous, and are indeed "sunk and " forgot in the general torrent of the world." Only one such man there was who would not be so sunk and forgot ; his own unluckily chosen prot^g^ Bousseau. That horrible English habit of in- difference, Jean Jacques conceived to be a conspiracy to destroy him, for how could he live without being talked about ? He had first indicted Hume, therefore, as the leader of the conspiracy, and brought him forward to answer the indictment in the St. Jamx^i ChroTmle ; and next had fallen foul of Horace Walpole as Hume's supposed vicious instrument. Bishop Warburton crying out with delight to see " so seraphic a madman " attack " so insufferable a "coxcomb." Nothing of a literary sort, indeed, made so much noise or amusement at the close of the year as the mad libels of Rousseau, and the caricatures made of them : unless it were the newspaper cross -readings, which, with the witty signature of Fa/pyrms Gwrsor (a real name, which made its aptness so whimsical), CHiP. XVI.] COVENT-GARDEN AND DKUEY-LANE. 253 Caleb Whitefoord published in December ; wherein the public were iuformed that " this morning the Rt. Hon. the Speaker was con- " victed of keeping a disorderly house," that "Lord Chatham took "his seat and was severely handled by the popiilace," and that " yesterday Doctor Jones preached at St. James's and performed " it with ease in less than fifteen minutes," with other as sur- prising items of information, at which the town is described to have wept with laughter. Goldsmith envied nothing so much, we are assured, as the authorship of this humourous, sally j and would gladly have exchanged for it his own most successful writings. Half sad, half satirical, perhaps he thus contrasted its reception with theirs. The young German student to whom allusion has been made, speaking from his judgment of the book that so enchanted him, had thought its author must have reason " thankfully to acknow- " ledge he was an Englishman, and to reckon highly the advantages " which his country and nation aflEbrded him." But would Goethe without limitation have said this, if there had la-in before hiTn the two entries from a bookseller's papers, wherewith the biographer of the author of the Vica/r of Wdkefidd must close the year 1766 *nd open the year 1767 ? "Received from Mr. Newbery," says the first, dated the 28th of December, " five guineas for writing a "short English Grammar. OirvEK Goldsmith." "To cash," says the second, dated the 6th of January, " lent Doctor Goldsmith " one pound one. John Newbeby." CHAPTER XVI. THEATRES ROYAL COVENT-GARDEN AND DRURY-LANE. 1767. The opening, then, of the twelfth year of Oliver Goldsmith's career as a man of letters, which finds him author of the Citiaen of the World, the TroAieller, and the Vioa/r of ^, og Wdkefidd, finds him also writing a short English grammar for five guineas, and borrowing of his publisher the sum of one pound one. But thus scajitUy eking out his necessities with hack employment and parsimonious landings, his dramatic labour had meanwhile been in progress. The venture I have described as in the dawn, was now about to struggle into day. He had taken for his model the older English comedy. He thought Con- greve's astonishing wit too efuberant for the stage ; and, for truth to nature, vivacity, life, and spirit, placed Farquhar first. 254 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book m With vhat was called the genteel or sentimental school that had siace prevailed, and of which Steele was the originator, he felt no sympathy ; and cared chiefly for the Jealous Wife and the Olwn- destme Mamage because they had shown the power to break through those trammels. What his countryman Farquhar had done, he re- solved to attempt ; and in that hearty hope had planned his play. WHJi the help of nature, humour, and character, should these be in his reach, he would iavoke the spirit of laughter, happy, unrestrained, and cordial : all the more surely as he reckoned, if with Grarrick'a help, and King's and Tates's ; though without them, if so com- pelled. For not in their names, or after Garrick's fashion, had he set down his exits and entrances, nor to suit peculiarities of theirs were his mirthful incidents devised. Upon no stage picture of the humourous, however vivid, but upon what he had seen and known himself of the humourous in actual life, he was determined to venture all ; believing that what was real in. manners, however broad or low, if in decency endurable and pointing to no illiberal moral, could never justly be condemned as vulgar. And for this he had Johnson's approval Indifferent to nothing that afiected his friend, nor ever sluggish where help was wanted or active kindness needed to be done, Johnson promised to write a prologue to, the comedy. For again had he lately shown himself in Gerrard- street ; again had the club reunited its members ; and, once more in the society of Keynolds, Johnson, and Burke, Goldsmith was eager to forget his carking poverty, and count up his growing pretensions to greatness and esteem. What BosweU calls " one of the most remarkable incidents of " Johnson's life," was now matter of conversation at the club. In February, the King had taken occasion to see and hold some con- versation with him on one of his visits to the royal Ubraiy, where by permission of the librarian he frequently consulted books. The effect produced by the incident is a social curiosity of the time. Endless was the interest of it ; the marvel of it never to be done with. " He loved to rela,te it with all its circumstances," says BosweU, " when requested by his friends : " and " come now, sir, " this is an interesting matter ; do favour us with it," was the cry of every friend in turn. So, often was the story repeated. How the King had asked Johnson if he was then writing anything, and he had answered he was not, for he had pretty well told the world what he knew, and must now read to acquire more knowledge. How the King said he did not think Johnson borrowed much from anybody ; and the other venturing to think he had done his part as a writer, was handsomely assured " I would have thought so " too, if you had not written so well." How his majesty next ob- served that he supposed he must already have read a great deal^ tq OHAP. XTl.] COVENT-GARDEN AND DRURY-LANE. 255 wHoli Johnson replied that he thought more than he read, and for instance had not read much, compared with Doctor Warburton ; whereto the King rejoined that he heard Doctor "Warburton was a man of such general knowledge that his learning resembled Gairioli's acting in its universality. How his majesty afterwards asked if there were any other literary journals published in the kingdom, except the Monthly Renew and OriUcal Beview, and being told there was no other, enquired which of them was best ; whereupon Johnson replied that the Monthly Beview was done with most care, and the Critical upon the best principles, for that the authors of the Monthly were enemies to the church : which the King said he was sorry to hear. How his majesty talked of the university libraries, of Sir John Hill's veracity, and of Lord Lyttel- ton's history ; and how he proposed that the literary biography of the country should be undertaken by Johnson, who thereupon signified his readiness to comply with the royal wishes (of which he never heard another syllable). How, dining the whole of the interview, to use the description given to Boswell by the librarian, Johnson talked to his majesty with profound respect, but still in his firm manly manner, with a sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly used at the levee and in the drawing- room. And how, at the end of it, the flattered sage protested that the manners of the bucolic yoimg sovereign, " let them talk "of them as they wiU," were those of as fine a gentleman as Louis the Fourteenth or Charles the Second could have been. "Ah !" said the charmed and charming S^vign^, when her King had danced with her, " c'est le plus grand roi du monde ! " " And did you say nothmig, sir," asked one of the circle who stood round Johnson at Mr. Reynolds's when he detailed the interview there, " to the King's high compliment on your writing ?" " No, sir," answered Johnson, with admirable taste. " When " the king had said it, it was to be so. It was not for me to " bandy civilities with my Sovereign." Highly characteristic of him was what he added, as his opinion of the advantage of such an interview. " I found," he said, in answer to the frank and lively questioning of Joseph Warton, " his majesty wished I should talk, " and I made it my business to talk. I find it does a man good " to be talked to by his Sovereign. In the first place a mom can- " not he m a passion — " Here he was stopped ; but he had said enough. The consciousness of his own too frequent habit of roaring down an adversary in conversation, from which such men as the Wartons as well as Goldsmith sufl'ered, could hardly have been more amusingly confessed ; and it is possible that Joseph Warton may have remembered it in the courteous severity of his retort, when Johnson so fiercely fell upon him at Reynolds's a few yeari 256 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. Fbook m. later. "Sir, I am not used to be contradicted." "Better foi " yovirself and friends, sir, if you were. Our admiration could not " be increased, but our love miglit." One of the listeners standing near Johnson, when he began his narrative, had, during the course of it, silently retreated from the circle. " Doctor Goldsmith," says Boswell, " remained unmoved " upon a sofa at some distance, affecting not to join in the least in ' ' the eager curiosity of the company. He assigned as a reason "for his gloom and seeming inattention, that he apprehended " Johnson had relinquished his purpose of famishing him with a " Prologue to his play, with the hopes of which he had been "flattered; but it was strongly suspected that he was fretting " with chagrin and envy at the singular honour Doctor Johnson ' ' had lately enjoyed. At length the frankness and simplicity of " his natural character prevailed. He sprung frxim the sofa, ad- " vanced to Johnson, and in a kind of flutter, from imagining ' ' himself in the situation which he had just been hearing described, " exclaimed, ' Well, you acquitted yourself in this conversation " ' better than I should have done ; for I should have bowed and " ' stammered through the whole of it. ' " Poor Goldsmith might have reason to be anxious about his pro- logue, for his play had brought biTn nothing but anxiety. In theatro sedet atra cura. A letter lies before me from Horace Walpole's neighbour, Kitty Clive, who writes expressively though she spells iU (the great Mrs. Pritchard used to talk of her "gownd"), assmdng her friend Colman that " vexation and fretting in a theater "are the foundation of all Bilious complaints. I speak by ex- "peariance. I have been fretted by managers till mygaul has " overflowed like the river Nile ; " and precisely thus it befel Goldsmith. Tfia comedy completed, Kitty's " bilious " complaint began ; and there was soon an overflow of gaU. Matters could not have fallen out worse for any chance of advantageous approach to Ganick, and the new dramatist's thoughts, therefore, turned at first to Covent-garden. While the play was in progress it was undoubtedly intended for Beard's theatre. But Covent-garden was in such confusion from Rich's death, and Beard's doubts and deafiiess, that Goldsmith resolved to make trial of Giarrick. They do not seem to have met since their first luckless meeting, but Reynolds now interposed to bring them together ; and at' the painter's house in Leicester-square, Goldsmith placed in Garriek's hands the manuscript of the Good-Natured Mam,. Tom Davies was afterwards at some pains to describe what he conceived to have been the tone of their interview, and tells us that the manager, being at all times fully conscious of his own merit, was perhaps more ostentatious of his abilities to serve a dramatic author than CHAP. XVI.] COVEXT-GA!ll>E>. A.VD DEURY-LASK 257 became a man of his pmdence, while the poet, on his side, was as folly penmaded of his own importance and independent greatness. Mx. Gtaziick expected "that the writer wonid esteem the patronage " of his play aa a fevonr," hnt " Groldsmith rejected all ideas of " kindness in a bargain that was intended to be of mntnal advan- "tage to both parties." Both were in error, ^id providing car^ and bitterness for each other ; of which the heaviest portion fell natnrally on the weakest shoulders. Mere piide mnst iJways be injnricms to all men ; but where it cannot itself afford that the very claim it sets up should succeed, deplorable indeed is its humiliation. Let us admit that, in this matter of patronage, the poet might not improperly have consented at the first, to what with an fll grace he wa.s driven to consent at last. He was possibly too eager to visit upon the actor his resentment of the want of another kind of patronage ; and to interpose uneasy remembrances of a former quarrel, before what shonld have been a real sense of what was due to Giarrick, and a proper concession of it. Johnson had no love of patronage, but he would not have counselled this. Often, when most bitter on the same angry theme, and venting with the least scruple his rage at the actor's foppery, would he stop to re- mind himiBelf of the consideration Giarrick needed after all, and of how little in reality he a-wumed. Por then, aU generous and tolerant as at heart Johnson was, not a merit or advantage of his fellow-townsman's unexampled success, since the day they entered London together with foorpence between them, but would rise and plead in his behalf. The popular actor's intercourse with the great, his absolute control of crowds of dependents, his fspri^tliness as a writer and talker equalled by few, his immense acquired wealth, the elevation and social esteem he had conferred upon his calling, and the applause he had for ever had sounded in his ears, and dashed in his face ; all would in succession array themselves in Johnson's mind, till he was &in to protest, philo- sopher as he was, that if all that had happened to him, if lords and ladies had flattered him, if sovereigns and statesmen had petted him, and if the public had adored him, he must have had a couple of fellows with long poles continually walking before him to knock down everybody that stood in the way. " Consider, sir, if aU this '• had happened to Gibber or Quin, they'd have jumped over the "moon." "Yet," he added snuling, "Garrick speaks to us." The condescension of patronage was at least a very harmless long pole, and Goldsmith might have taken a few taps from it. A mere sensitive thongh clever thinker like Hans Andersen, fretting behind the scenes, will talk of an actor putting himself in one scale and all the rest «f the world in another ; but a profoundly just man like Goethe, wise in a theatre as everywhere else, will show you 258 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ni that the actoi's love of admiration is a part of his means to please, and that he is nothing if he seem not something to himself and others. Not to be omitted, at the same time, and not to be palliated, is Gbirick's large share of blame in this special instance. Btts first professions should not have merged, as they did, into excuses and delays ; but should have taken, either way, a decisive tone. Keeping up feir words of success to Goldsmith, it would seem he gave private assurances to Johnson and Eeynolds that the comedy could not possibly succeed. Interviews followed at his own house ; explanations, and proposals for alteration ; doubtful acqtiiescence/ and doubtful withdrawal of it. Matters stood thus, the season meanwhile passing to its close, when Goldsmith, whose wants had never been so urgent, and whose immediate chances of relieving them had been lost through Garrick's delays, thought himself justified in asking the manager to advance him a small sum upon a note of one of the Newberys. Gaixick had at this time renewed his promise to act the play ; and was in all probability very glad to lend the money, and profit by what advantage it might offer him. It is certain that soon afterwards he suggested to the luckless dramatist, as essential to his success, a series of important altera- tions which were at once and with some indignation rejected. The leading characters in the piece were three ; and are under- stood to remain, at present, much as when they left Garrick's hands. In Honeywood, who gives Hhe comedy its title, we have occasional conscious glance, not to be mistaken, at the writer's own infirmities. Nor is there any disposition to make light of them. Perhaps the errors which arise from easine^ of diqiosition, and tend to unintentional confusions of right and wrong, have never been touched with a happier severity. Splendid as they seem, and borrowing still the name from some neighbouring duty, they are shown for what they really are ; and not all our lildng for good-nature, nor all the mirth it gives us in this comedy, can prevent our seeing with its help that there is a charity which may be a great injustice, a sort of benevolence for which weakness would be the better name, and friendship that may be nothing but credulity. In Croaker we have the contrast and foil to this, and one of the best drawn characters of modem comedy. In the way of wit, Wycherley or Congreve has done few things better ; and Farquhar himself could not have surpassed the heartiness of it, or thrown into the croaking a more unctuous enjoyment. We feel it to be a perfect satisfaction to be miserable with Croaker. His friend Dick Doleful was quite right when he discovered that he rhymed to joker. The JJomftZer's brief sketch of "Suspirius the screech- " owl " supplied some hints for the character ; but *he masterly iuTentioii, and lidi bieadtli of comedy, which made a living man CHAP. XTi.] OOVENT-GAKDEN AND DRURY-LANE. 259 out of this half page of a book, were entirely Goldsmith's. It is the business of the stage to deal with what lies about us most familiarly, hwmamtas humanissima ; and it is the test of a drama- tist of geniiis that he should make matters of this kind, in them- selves the least remote, appear to be the most original. No one had seen him on the stage before ; yet every one had known, or been, his own Croaker. For all the world is for ever croaking, more or less ; and only a few know why. " Never mind the " world," says the excellent Mrs. Croaker to her too anxious lord ; " never mind the world, my dear, you were never in a pleasanter "place in your life." On the other hand, who does not feel that Mr. Croaker is also right after his fashion ? ' ' Here's the advantage " of fretting away our misfortunes before-hand, we never feel "them when they come." In excellent harmony mth these imaginary misfortunes, too, aie the ideal acquaintance of Lofty ; as new to the stage, and as coromonly met with in the street. Jack Lofty is the first of the family of Jack Brags, who have since been so laughter-moving in books as well as theatres ; nor is his mirth without a moral. "I begin to find that the man who first in- " vented the art of speaking truth, was a much cunninger fellow " than I thought him." It was Mrs. Inchbald's favourite character ; when it fell into the hands of the admirable Lewis, on the play's reproduction half a century since, it became a general favomite ; and when a proposed revival of the comedy was interrupted eleven years ago by the abrupt termination of the best theatrical manage- ment within my recollection, it was the character selected for personation by the great actor, Mr. Macready, who then held Garrick's office and power in the theatre. Yet on the unlucky Lofty it was, that the weight of Garrick's hostile criticism descended. He pointed out that according to the construction of the comedy, its important figiures were Croaker and Honeywood ; that anything which drew off attention from them must damage the theatrical eflGect ; and that a new character should be introduced, not to divide interest or laughter with theirs, but to bring out their special contrasts more broadly. It was a criticism unworthy of Garrick, because founded on the most Umited stage notions ; yet he adhered to it pertinaciously. Ho would play the altei'ation, if made ; but he would not play the comedy as it stood. Goldsmith made in the first instance very violent objections ; softened into remonstrance and persuasion, which he foimd equally unavailing ; is described to have written many letters which displayed, in more than the confusion of their language and the unsteadiness of their writing, the anxiety and eagerness of the writer ; and at last, imder the bitter goad of his pecuniary \i ants, is understood to have made partial concession, 860 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book lit But it had come too late. The alterations were certainly not made, though the comedy remained some time longer in Garriok's hands. There was a long fluctuation between doubt and en- couragement, says the Percy Mtmow, " with his usual uncertainty." The truth appears to have been, that the more Garrick examined the comedy, the less available to his views he found it ; and he was at last driven to an expedient he had before found serviceable, when more had been promised than he was able to perform, and his authorial relations were become somewhat complex. He pro- posed a sort of arbitration. But poor Goldsmith smarted more under this than any other part of the tedious negotiation ; and, on Garrick's proceeding to name for his arbitrator. Whitehead tha laureatj who was acting at the time as his " readei '' of new playt for Dniry-laue, a dispute of so much vehemence and anger ensued that the services of Burke as well as E«ynolds were needed to moderate the disputants. Of all the manager's slights of the poet, this was forgotten last ; and occasion to recall it was always seized with bitterness. There was in the following year a hideously uninteUigible play called Zingis, forced upon Garrick by a "dis- "tinguished officer in the Indian service," and by Garrick forced nine nights upon the public, as to which the same process again took place, under resolute protest from the gallant author. "I " think it very unnecessary," said the gallant Col. Alexander Dow, and being a stronger man than Goldsmith he carried his point, " to submit the tragedy to any man's judgment but yours .... I "know not in what manner Doctor Goldsmith came to a know- " ledge of this transaction ; but it is certain that he mentioned it " pubUoly last night at Banelagh, to a gentleman who asked me " in a jeering manner, What sentence the committee of critics had "passed on my play ?" Such was the state of affairs, and of feeling, between Gairick and Goldsmith, when a piece of news came suddenly to their knowledge, in no small degree interesting to both. Beard's un- certainty as to his own and his father-in-law's property in Covent- garden had closed at last, in a very unexpected arrangement. Early in the May of this year Colman's mother (who was sister to Lady Bath) died, leaving him a legacy of six thousand pounds and this strengthened him for a step, of which it is probable that Garrick, in a letter already quoted, threw out the first brooding ,m time to time he •watched them. He saw the rookery, in the winter deserted, or guarded only by some five or six, " like " old soldiers in a garrison," resimie its activity and bustle in the spring ; and he moralised, like the great reformer, on the legal constitutions established, the social laws enforced, and the par- ticular castigations endured for the good of the community, by those black-dressed and black-eyed chatterers. "I have " often amused myself,'"' he says, " with " observing their plans of policy from my " window in the Temple, that looli " upon a grove where they have made "a colony in the midst of the dty." Not will we doubt that from this wall- girt grove, too, came many a thought that carried him back to childhood, made him free of solitudes explored in boyish days, and re-peopled deserted villages. It was better than watching the spiders amid the dirt of Green Arbour- court ; for though his grove was city-planted, and scant of the foliage of the forest, there was Fancy to piece out for him, tran- scending these, far other groves and other trees. Annihilating all that's made To a green thon^t in a green shade. Let us leave him to this happiness for a time ; before we pass to the few short years of labour, enjoyment, and sorrow, in which his mortal existence closed. BOOK THE FOURTH. CHAPTEE I. THE QOOD-NATURED MAN. 1767—1768. It \yas little more than a month before the death of the el dor jSTewbery, that Burke read the comedy of the Good-naUi/red Man ; and thus, 'with mirth and sadness for its ushers, the ^^ gg last division of Goldsmith's life comes in. The bond of old and long-continued service, chequered as its retrospect was with mear; and mortifying incidents, could hardly, without "some regret, be snapped ; nor could the long-attempted trial of the theatre, painful as its outset had been, without some sense of cheerfulneao and hope approach its consummation. Newbery died on the 22nd of December, 1767 ; and the performance of the comedy was now promised for the 28th of the following January. Unavailingly, for special reasons, had Goldsmith attempted to get it acted before Christmas. Quarrels had broken out among the new proprietary of the theatre, and these were made a;* 40 excuses for delay. Colman had properly insisted on his right, as manager, to cast the part of Imogen to Mrs. Yates, rather than to a pretty-faced simpering lady (Mrs. Lessingham) whom his brother proprietor, Harris, "protected;" and the violence of the dispute became so notorious, and threatened such danger to the new management, that the papers describe Gairick "growing taller" on the strepgth of it. Tall enough he certainly grew, to overlook something of the bitterness of Colman's first desertion of >"'"' ; and civilities, perhaps arising from a sort of common interest in the issue of the Lessingham dispute, soon aftei recommenced between the rival managers. Bickerstaff, — a clever and facile Irishman, who, ten years before, had somewhat 292 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it suddenly thrown up a commission in the Marines, taken to theat- rical writing for subsistence, and since obtained repute as the author of Love in a Village and the Maid of the MiU, — was jiwt now pressing Colman with his opera of Lionel and Clarissa ; and, in one of his querulous letters, seems to point at this resumption of intercourse with Garrick, whom he had himself oflended by beginning to write for Colman. " When I talked with you last "summer," he complains, writing on the 26th January 1768, "I " told you that it would be impossible to have my opera ready till "after Christmas, and named about the 20th January. Yoi' "received this with great goodness, said you were glad of it, " becatise it would be the best time of the year for me, and then "told me that Mr. Goldsmith's play should come out before " Christmas ; and this you repeated, and assur'd me of, more than " once, in subsequent meetings. . . The fact is, you broke your "word with me, in ordering the representation of the Good- ' natur'd Man in such a manner, that it must unavoidably "interfere with my opera. . . At the reading, it was said the " Good-nainvt'd Man should , appear the Wednesday after ; but at "the same time it was whispered to me, that it was privately " determined not to bring it out tUl the Saturday fortnight, and "that there was even a promise given to Mr. Kdly that it should " not a^ewr till after his nights were over." If such a promise had been given (and circumstances justify the suspicion). Goldsmith had better reason than has been hitherto supposed, for that dissatisfaction with Colman and difference with Kelly which attended the performance of his comedy. Kelly had been taken up by Garrick, in avowed and not very generous rivalry to himself ; it was the town talk, some weeks before either performance took place, that the two comedies, written as they were by men well known to each other and who had lived the same sort of life, were to be pitted each against the other ; and so broadly were they opposed in character and style, that the first in the field, supposing it well received, could hardly fail to be a stumbling-block to its successor. Kelly had sounded the depths of sentimentalism. I have mentioned the origin of that school aa of much earlier date ; nor can it be doubted that it was with ' Steele the imlucky notion began, of setting comedy to reform the morals, instead of imitating the manners, of the age. Kelding slily glances at this, when he makes Parson Adams declare the Conscious Lovers to be the only play fit for a Christian to see, and as good as a sermon ; and in so witty and fine a writer as Steele, BO great a mistake is only to be explained by the intolerable grossness into which the theatre had fallen in his day. For often does it happen in such reaction, that good and bad suffer together ,■ OHAP. I.] THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 29S aud that while one has the sting taken out of it, the other losea energy and manhood. Where a sickly sensibility overspreads both vice and virtue, we are in the right to care as little for the one as for the other ; since it is life that the stage and its actors should present to us, and not anybody's moral or sentimental view of it. A most masterly critic of our time, WiUiam Hazhtt,' has disposed of Steele's pretensions as a comic dramatist ; and poor Hugh Kelly, who has not survived to our time, must be disiuterred to have his pretensions judged; yet the stage conti- nues to suffer, even now, from the dregs of the sentimental school, and it would not greatly surprise me to see the comedy with which Kelly's brief career of glory began, again lift up a sickly head amongst us. It is not an easy matter to describe that comedy. One can hardly disentangle, from the maze of cant and makebelieve in which all the people are involved, what it precisely is they drive at ; bub the main business seems to be, that there are three couples ia search of themselves throughout the five acts, and enveloped in such a haze or mist of False Delicacy (the title of the piece) that they do not, tiU the last, succeed in finding themselves. There is a Lord who has been refused, for no reason on earth, by a Lady Betty who loves, him ; and who, with as httle reason and as much delicacy on his own side, transfers his proposals to a friend of Lady Betty's whom he does not love, and selects her ladyship to convey the transfer. There is Lady Betty's friend, who, being in love elsewhere, is shocked to receive his lordship's proposals ; but, being under great obligations to Lady Betty, cannot ia delicacy think of opposing what she fancies' her ladyship has set her heart upon. There is a mUd young gentleman, who is knocked hither and thither like a shuttlecock ; now engaged to this young lady whom he does not love, now dismissed by that whom he does ; and made at last the convenient means of restoring, with all proper delicacy. Lady Betty to his lordship. There is a yoimg lady who in delicacy ought to marry the mild young gentleman, but indelicately prefers instead to run away with a certain Sir Harry. There is Sally her maid, who tells her mistress that she has transported her poor Sally " by that noble resolution" (to run away). And there is the delicate old Colonel her father, who plays eaves-dropper to her plan of flight ; intercepts her ia the act of it ; gives her, in the midst of her wickedness, 20,000Z. (which ho l^ulls out of a pocket-book), because he had promised it when she H as good ; and tells her to banish his name entirely from her lemembrance, and be as happy as she can with the consciousness of naving broken an old father's heart. There are only two people in the play with a glimmering of common sense or character, an 294 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ir, eccentric widow, and a slovenly old bachelor : who are there to do for the rest what the rest have no power to do for themselves ; and, though not without large infusions of silly sentimentality and squeamish charity, to bring back enough common sense to furnish forth a catastrophe. It is the most mechanical of contrivances ; yet it is the proof, if any were wanting, that such a piece has no life in itself ; and it is the distinguishing quality, which, thanks to Mr. Kelly's example, in proportion as reality or character is absent from a modem comedy, will stiU be found its chief resource. Examples need not be cited. Mr. Kelly's style will never want admirers. Whilo it saves great trouble and wit to both actor and author, if exacts of an audience neither judgment nor discrimina- tion ; and, with an easy indolent indulgence of such productions, there will always be mixed up a sort of secret satisfaction in their mouthing morals, and lip-professions of humanity. Let us not be so hard on our grandfathers and grandmothers for having taken so mightily to Mr. Kelly's False Delicacy, as not to admit thus much. It had every advantage, too, in its produc- tion. Garrick not only wrote a prologue and epilogue, and was said to have heightened the old bachelor played by King, but went out of his way to induce Mrs. Dancer to forgive the abuse she had received in Mr. Kelly's Thespis, and act the widow. Produced on Saturday the 23rd of January, it was received with such singular favour, that, though the management was under a solemn pledge " not for the future to run any new piece nine nights " successively," it was played eight nights without intermission, and in the course of the season repeated more than twenty times. The publisher announced, the morning after its publication, that three thousand copies of it had been sold before two o'clock ; so unabated did its interest continue, that it had sold ten thousand before the season closed, Kelly had received a public breakfast at the Chapter coflfee-house, and its publisher had expended twenty pounds upon a piece of plate as a tribute to his genius ; it was translated into German, and (by order of the Marquis de Pombal) into Portuguese, while its French translation, by Garrick's lively friend Madame Eioooboni, had quite a run in Paris ; — and to sum up all in a word, False Delicacy became the rage. ' Poor Goldsmith may be forgiven if the sudden start of such success a little dashed his hopes at the last rehearsals of his Good- natv/red Man. Colman had lost what little faith he ever had in it ; Powell protested he could do nothing with Honeywood ; Harris and Rutherford had from the first taken little part in it ; nor, with the exception of Shuter, were the actors more hopeful than the management. Goldsmith always remembered this timely good opinipii of \las excellent comedian, as welj, ^s tl|9 CHAP. I.] THE aOOD-NATUmn MAN. 295 praise proffered him by a pretty actress (Miss Wilford, just become Mrs. Bulkley, of whom more hereafter), who played Miss Bichland. What stood him most in stead, however, was the iinwa'^eriiig kindness of Johnson, who not only wrote the prologue ho had promised, but went to see the comedy rehearsed ; and as, some half century before. Swift had stood by Addison's side at the rehearsal of his tragedy, wondering to hear the drab that played Cato's daughter laughing in the midst of her passionate part, and crying out What's next ? one may imagine the equal wonder with which the kind-hearted sage by Goldsmith's side heard the mirth he 30 heartily admired, and had liimself so loudly laughed at, rehearsed with doleful anticipations. The managerial face appears to have lengthened in exact proportion as the fun became broad ; and when, against the strongest remonstrance, it was finally determined to retain the scene of the bailiffs, Colman afterwards told his friends that he had lost all hope. The eventful night arrived at last ; Friday the 29 th of January. It was not a club night, though the evening of meeting w^as ultimately altered from Monday to this later day to suit a general convenience ; but a majority of the niembers, following Johnson's and Burke's example, attended the theatre, and agreed to close the evening in Gerrard-street. Cooke, now Goldsmith's neighbour in the Temple, and whom he had lately introduced to his Wednesday club, was also present ; and has spoken of what befell. Mr. Bensley, a stage lover of portentous delivery, seems to have thrown into the heavy opening of Johnson's prologue, Prest ty the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind, a ponderous gloom, which, at the outset, dashed the spirits of thr audience. Nor did Mr. Powell's Honeywood mend matters much, with the more cheerful opening of the play. He had complained, at the rehearsals, that the part gave him "no opportunity of "displaying his abilities;" and this it now became his care to make manifest. " Uniform tameness, not to say insipidity," was his contribution to the illustration of Honeywood. " He seemed, " from the beginning to the end, to be a perfect disciple of Zeno." Shuter, on the other hand, going to work with Croaker after a different fashion, soon warmed the audience into his own enjoy- ment, 'and shocked the sentimentalists among them with the boisterous laughter he sent ringing through the house ; nor was ho ill seconded by the Lofty of Woodward, another excellent comedian, the effect of whose "contemptuous patronage" of .JHoneywood was long remembered. But then came the bailiffs ; on whom, being aoorly acted, and presenting no rpsistiinpe that way, the djsaffect94 296 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. party were able to take full revenge for what they thought the iadelioaoy of all such farcical mirth. Accordingly, when gcod Mr. Twitch described his love for humanity, and Little Flanigan cursed the EVench for having made the beer threepence half-penny a pot, Cooke tells us that he heard people in the pit cry out this was "low" ("language uncommonly low," said the worthy London Ohromde in its criticism), and disapprobation was very loudly expressed. The comedy, in short, was not only trembhng in the balance, but the chances were decisively adverse, when Shuter came on with the "incendiary letter" in the last scene of the fourth act, and read it with such inimitable humour that it carried the fifth act through. To be composed at so truly comic an exhibition, says Cooke, " must- have exceeded aU power of face ; "even the rigid moral-mongers joined the full-toned roar of "approbation." Poor Goldsmith, meanwhile, had been suffering exquisite distress ; had lost all faith in his comedy, and in himself ; and, when the curtain fell, could only think of his debt of grati- tude to Shuter. He hurried round to the green-room, says Cooke ; "thanked him in his hoiiest, sincere manner, before all the " performers ; and told him he had exceeded his own idea of " the character, and that the fine comic richness of his colouring ' ' made it almost appear as new to liiTn as to any other person in " the house." Then, with little heart for doubtful congratulations, he turned off to meet his friends in Gerrard-street. By the time he arrived there, his spirits had to all appearance returned. He had forgotten the hisses. The members might have seen that he ate no supper, but he chatted gaily, as if nothing had happened amiss. Kay, to impress his friends still more forcibly with an idea of his magnanimity, he even sung his favourite song, which he never consented to sing but on special occasions, about An Old Woman tossed m a Blanket seventeen times as high as the Moon; and was altogether very noisy and loud. But some time afterwards, when he and Johnson were dining with Percy at the chaplain's table at St. James's, he confessed what his feelings this night had really been ; ■ made, said Johnson to Mrs. Thrale, a very comical and unnecessarily exact recital of them ; and told how the night had ended. "All this while," he said, "I was suffering horrid tortures ; and "verily believe that if I had put a bit into my mouth it would "have strangled me on the spot, I was so excessively ill ; but I ' ' made more noise than usual to cover all that, and so they never "perceived my not eating, nor I believe at all imaged to themselves " the anguish ,of my heart. But when all were gone except "Johnson here, I burst out a-crying, and even swore by — that I "would never write agaio." Johnson sat in amazement while OHiP. I.] THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 29) Goldsmith made the confesBipn, and then confirmed it. "All " which. Doctor," he said, " I thought had been a secret between " yon and me ; and I am sure I "wovdd not have said anything " about it, for the world." That is very certain. Ifo man so un- likely as Johnson, when he had a friend's tears to wipe away, critically to ask himself, or after- wards discuss, whether or not they ought to have been shed ; but none so likely, if they came to be discussed by others, to tell you how much he despised them. What he says must thus be taken with what he does, more especially in all his various opi- nions of Goldsmith. "When Mrs. Thrale asked >iim of this matter, he spoke of it with contempt, and said that "no man should be expected to sympathise with the. "sorrows of vanity." But he had sympathised with them, at least to the extent of consoling them. Goldsmith never flung himself in vain on that great, rough, tender heart. The weak- ness he did his best to hide from even the kindly Langton, from the humane and generous Seynolds, was sobbed out freely there ; nor is it difficult to guess how Johnson comforted him. " Sir," he said to Boswell, when that ingenious young gentleman, now a practising Scotch advocate, joined him a month or two later at Oxford, and talked slightingly of the Good-naimred Man; "it is " the best comedy that has appeared since the Provoked Hushand. " There has not been of late any such character exhibited on the "stage as that of Croaker. I'ahe Bdicaey is totally devoid of " character." Who can doubt that Goldsmith had words of reassur- ance at the least as kindly as these to listen to, as he walked home that night from Gerrard-street with Samuel Johnson t Not trere other and substantial satisfactions wanting. Hia comedy was repeated with increased effect on the removal of the baUifEs, and its announced publication excited considerable interest. Gr iffin was the publisher ; paid him 502. the day after its appear- ance ; and in announcing a new edition the following week, stated that the whole of the first "large impression" had been sold on the second day. But perhaps Goldsmith's greatest pleasure in connection with the printed comedy was, that he coxild " shame " the rogues" and print the scene of the bailifis. Now-a-days it 298 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [bcbk iv is difficult to underatand the objection which corilenmed it, urged most strongly, as we find it, by the coarsest writers of the time. ■When such an attempt as Honeywood's to pass off the baiHflfe for his ftiends, gets condemned as unworthy of a gentleman, comedy seems in sorry plight indeed. "The town will not bear Gold- " smith's low humour," writes tlje not very decent Hoadly, the bishop's son, to Garrick, "and justly. It degrades his Good- " natur'd Man, whom they were taught to pity and have a sort of " respect for, into a low buffoon ; and, what is worse, into a "falsifier, a character unbecoming a gentleman." Happily for us. Goldsmith printed the low humour notwithstanding. It had been cut "out in the acting, he said, in deference to the public taste, "grown of late, perhaps, too delicate ;" and was now replaced in deference to the judgment of a few friends, "who think in a "particular way." The particular way became more general, when his second comedy laid the ghost of sentimentaUsm ; and one is glad to know that, though it was but the year before his death, he saw his weU-beloved bailifife restored to the scene, of which they have ever since, in that piece, been the mast popular attraction. With the play, the prologue of course was printed ; and here Goldsmith had another satisfaction, in the alteration of a line that had been laughed at. " Don't call me our little hard," he said to Johnson, and " our anxious bard" was good-naturedly substi- tuted. But what BosweU interposes on this head simply shows us how uneasy he was, not when Johnson's familiar diminutives, more fond than respectful, were used by himself, but when they passed into the mouths of others. "I have often desired "Mr. Johnson not to call me Goldy," was his complaint to Davies. It was a courteous way of saying, " I wish you wouldn't "call me Goldy, whatever Mr. Johnson does." , The comedy was played ten consecutive nights : their majesties commanding it on the fifth night (a practice not unwise, though become unfashionable) ; and the third, sixth, and ninth, being advertised as appropriated to the author. But though this seems a reasonably tail success, there is no reason to doubt Cooke's statement, that, even with the sacrifice of the bailiffs, it rather dragged, than supported itself buoyantly, throT^h the remainder of the season. Shuter gave it an eleventh night, a month later, by selecting it for his benefit ; when Groldsmith, in a fit of extraviP gant good nature, sent him ten guineas ^perhaps at the time the last he had in the world) for a box ticket. It was again, after an interval of three years, played three nights ; and it was selected for Mrs. Green's benefit the second year after that, when the bailiffs reappeared. This is all I can discover of its career upon the stage while the author yet lived to enjoy it, CHAP. IT. SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 299 CHAPTEE II. SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS, HUMBLE CLIENTS, AND SHOEMAKER'S HOLIDAYS. 1768. On tho stage, then, the success of Goldsmith's comedy of the Good-natv/red Mem was far from equal to its claims of oha- racter, wit, and humour ; yet its success, in other respects, ^^ ^q very sensibly affected its author's ways of life. His three nights had produced him nearly 4:001. ; Griffin had paid him 1001. more ; and for any good fortune of this kind, his past fortunes had not fitted him. So little, ho would himself say, was he used to receive "money in a lump," that when Newbeiy made him his first advance of twenty guineas, his embarrassment was as great as Captaia Brazen's in the play, whether he should build a privateer or a play-house with the money. He now took means hardly less effective to disembarrass himself of the profits of his comedy. " He descended "from his attic story in the Staircase, Inner Temple," says Cooke (who here writes somewhat hastily, one descent from the "attic" having already been made), " and purchased chambers in Brick- " court. Middle Temple, for which he gave four hundred pounds." They were number two on the second floor, on the right hand ascending the staircase : and consisted of two reasonably-sized old - fashioned rooms, with a third smaller room or sleeping-closet, which he furnished handsomely, with "Wilton" carpets, "blue- • "morine-oovered" mahogany sofas, blue morine curtains, chairs corresponding, chimney glasses, Pembroke and card tables, and tasteful book-shelves. Thus, and by payment for the lease of the chambers, the sum Cooke mentions would seem to have been expended ; and with it began a system of waste and debt, involving him in difficulties he never surmounted. The first was in the shape of money borrowed from Mr. Edmimd Bott, a barrister who occupied the rooms opposite his, on the same floor ; who remained very intimate with him for the rest of his life ; and whose trea- tise on the Poor Laws is supposed to have received revision and improvement from his pen. Exactly below Goldsmith's were the chambers of Mr. Blackstone ; and the rising lawyer, at this time finishing the fourth volume of his Commentaries, is reported to have made frequent complaint of the distracting social noises that went on above. A. Mr. Childreu succeeded hitUi and made the same complaint, 800 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. The nature' of the noises may be presumed from what is stated on the authority of a worthy Irish merchant settled iri London (Mr. Seguin), to two of whose children Goldsmith stood god- father ; and whose intimacy with the poet descended as an heir- loom to his family, by whom every tradition of it has been carefuUy cherished. Members of this family recollected also other Irish friends (a Mr. Pollard, of Castle Pollard, and his wife) who visited London at this time, and were entertained by Goldsmith. They remembered dinners at which Johnson, Percy, Biokerstaff, Kelly, "and a variety of authors of minor note," were guests. They talked of supper parties with younger people, as well in the London chambers as in suburban lodgings ; preceded by blind- man's buft", forfeits, or games of cards ; an|i where Goldsmith, festively entertaining them aJl, would make frugal supper for him- self off boiled mUk. They related hpw he woidd sing aU kinds of Irish songs ; with what special enjoyment he gave the Scotch ballad of Johnny Arnafrrong (his old nurse's favourite) ; how cheer- fully he would put the front of his wig behind, or contribute in any other way to thp general amusement ; and to what accom- paniment of uncontrollable laughter he " danced a minuet with "Mrs. Seguin." Through all the distance of time may not one see even yet, moving through the steps of the minuet, that clmnsy little figure, those short thick legs, those plain features, — all the clumsier and plainer for the satin-grain coat, the garter-blue silk breeches, the gold sprig buttons, and the rich straw-coloured tamboured waist- coat, — yet with every sense but of honest gladness and frank enjoyment lost in the genial good-nature, the beaming mirth and truth of soul, the childhke glee and cordial fun, which tui'ns into a cheerful little hop the austere majesty of the stateliest of all the dances 2 ITor let me omit from these agreeable memories a delightful anecdote which the same Mr. Ballantyne who has told us of the Wednesday-club pleasantly preserves for us in his MackUniana. It introduces to us the scene of another " cheerful "little hop," which, at about this time also, Macklin the actor gave at his house, when " Doctor Goldsmith, the facetious "Doctor Glover, Penton the accomplished Welsh bard, and the "humane Tom King the comedian, were of the party." On this occasion so entirely happy was Goldsmith, that he danced and threw up his wig to the ceiling, and cried out that "men were " never so much like men as when they looked like boys !" Little of the self-satisfied importance which BosweU is most fond of connecting with him, is to be discovered in recollections like these. A»d they are confirmed by Cooke's more precise account oi OHAP. II.] SOCIAI. ENTBETAINMBNTS. 801 scenes he Tntneased at the Wednesday-dub, where Groldsmith'a more intimate associates seem now to have attempted to restrain the too great familiarity he permitted to the humbler members. An amusing instance is related. The fat man who sang songs had a friend in a certain Mr. B, described as a good sort of man and an eminent pig-butcher ; who piqued himself very much on his good fellowship with the author of the TraveUer, and whose constant maimer of drinking to Tiitn was, " Come, Noll, here's my service to " you, old boy !" Bepeating this one night after the comedy was played, and when there was a very full club. Glover went over to Goldsmith, and said in a whisper that he ought not to allow such liberties. "Let Tn'wi alone," answered Goldsmith, "and you'll see "how civilly I'U let Tiim down." He waited a little ; and, on the next pause in the conversation, called out aloud, with a marked expression of politeness and courtesy, "Mr. B, I have the honour "of drinking your good health." "Thanke'e, thanke'e, NoU ;" returned Mr. B, pulling his pipe out of his mouth, and answering with great briskness. "Well, where's the advantage of your "reproof?" asked Glover. "In truth," remarked Goldsmith, with an air of good-humoured disappointment, intended to give greater force to a stroke of meditated wit, " I give it up ; I ought "to have known before now, there is no putting a pig in the "right way." The same authority informs us of liberties not quite so harmless as Mr. B's, and wit quite as flat as Goldsmith's, practised now and then on the poet for more general amiisement, by the choicer spirits of the Globe. For example, he had come into the club- room one night, eager and clamorous for lus supper, having been out on some "shooting party," and taken nothing since the morning. The wags were still round the table, at which they had been enjoying themselves, when a dish of excellent mutton chops, ordered as he came in, was set before the famishing poet. Instantly one of the company rose, and went to another part of the room. A second pushed his chair away from the table. A third showed more decisive signs of distress, connecting it with the chops in a manner not to be mistaken. " How the waiter could have dared "to produce such a dish!" was at last the reluctant remark to Goldsmith's alarmed inquiries. "Why, the chops were offensive ; " the fellow ought to be made to eat tiiem himself." Anxious for supper as he was, the plate was at once thrust from tiiTn ; the waiter violently summoned into the room ; and an angry order given that he should try to make his own repast, of what he had so impudently set before a hungry man. The waiter, now conscious of a trick, complied with affected reluctance ; and Goldsmith, more quickly appeased than enraged, as his wont was, ordered a fresh 802 OUVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND .TIMES. [book It. supper for himself, "and a dram for the poor devil of a waiter^ "who might otherwise get sick from so naxiseating a meal." Before I pass from these humble records of'the Wednesday-club, it wiU be proper to mention Kelly's withdrawal from it. Alleged attacks by Goldsmith on his comedy having been repeated to him with exaggerations, Kelly resolved to resent the unfriendliness. What the exact character of their friendship had been, I cannot precisely ascertain ; but though recent, it had probably for a time been intimate. Kelly succeeded Jones as editor of the PviUc Ledger, and the mutual connexion with Newbery must have brought them much together ; we find Kelly, as the world and its prospects became brighter with him, moving into chambers in the Temple, near Goldsmith's ; nor is it difficult to believe the report of which I have found several traces, that but for his sensible remonstrance on the prudential score, his wife's sister, who lived in his house and was pretty and poor as his wife, being simply, as she had been, an expert and industrious needlewoman, would have been carried off and wedded by Goldsmith. Since their respective comedies they had not met ; when, abruptly encountering each other one night in the Covent-garden green-room, Goldsmith stammered out awkward congratulations to Kelly on his recent success, to which the other, prepared for war, promptly replied that he could not thank him because he could not believe him: "From that hour they never spoke to one another :" and KeUy, reluctant that Goldsmith shoxild be troubled to " do anything more " for him," resigned the club. The latter allusion was (by way of satire) to a story he used to teU of the terms of Goldsmith's answer to a dinner invitation which he had given him. " I would " with pleasure accept your kind invitation," so ran the whimsical and very pardonable speech, " but to tell you the truth, my dear " boy, my Traveller has found me a home in so many places, that " I am engaged, I believe, three days. Let me see. To-day I "dine with Edmund Biu:ke, to-morrow with Doctor Nugent, and " the next day with Topham Beauclerc ; but I'll tell you what "ni do for you, I'U dine with you on Saturday." Now Kelly, though conceited and not very scrupulous, was not an ill-natured man, on the whole ; he wrote a novel called Louisa MUdmay, which, with some scenes of a questionable kind of warmth, an ill- natured man could not have written ; but he was not justified in the tone he took during this quarrel, and after it. It was not for him to sneer at Goldsmith's follies, who was for nothing more celebrated than for his own unconscious imitations of them ; who was so fond, in his little gleam of prosperity^ of displaying on his sideboard the plate he possessed, that he added to it his silver spurs ; and who, even as he laughed at his more famous country'' «At. H.] SOCIAL ENl'ERTAINMENTS. 808 man's l>^iian bloom and satin, was displaying his own ccspiilent little person at all public places in " a flaming broad silver-laced •'waistcoat, bag-wig, and sword." Mr. William Filby^s bill marks the 2l3t of January as the day when the " Tyrian bloom satin-grain, and garter-blue silk breeohei" (charged 81. 2s. 'Id.) were sent home ; and doubtless this was the suit ordered for the comedy's first night. Within three months, Mr. Filby having meanwhile been paid his previous year's account by a draught on Griffin, another more expensive suit (" lined with "sDk, and gold buttons") was supplied; and in three months more, the entry on the same account of "a suit of mourning," furnished on the 16th of June, marks the period of Henry Goldsmith's death. At the close of the previous month, in the village of Athlone, had terminated, at the age of forty-five, that brother's life of active piety, and humble but noble usefulness, whose unpre- tending Christian example, far above the worldlier fame he had himself acquired, his brother's genius has consecrated and pre- served for ever. Shortly after he had tidings of his loss, the character of the Village Preacher was most probably written ; for certainly the lines which immediately precede it were composed about a month before. IVom bis father and his brother alike, indeed, were drawn the exquisite features of this sketch ; but of the so recent grief we may find marked and imquestionable trace, as well in the sublime and solemn image at the close, as in those opening aUuaions to Henry's unworldly contentedness, which already he had celebrated, in prose hardly less beautiful, by that dedication to the Traveller which he put forth and paraded with as great u. sense of pride derived from it as though it pro- claimed the patronage of a prince or noble. Now too is repeated, with yet greater earnestness, Ms former tribute to his bi other's hospitality. A man he was to all tte country dear ; And paasing rich with forty pounds a year. . . . Elis house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderingB, but relieved their pain : The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Wiose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow' d ; The broken soldier, kiiidly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and taUc'd the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his cmtoh and show'd how fields were won. ,". I At chiirch, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adom'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. tot OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. The service pass'd, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest mstic ran ; Even children folloVd, -with endearing wile, And plnck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile : His readj smile a parent's warmth express'd, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd. To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven : As some tall cliff, that lifts its awfal form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. The idea of the Deserted VUlcbge was thrown out at the olos< of the Traveller, (Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call. The smiling long-frequented village fall ? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd. The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes. . .) ftnd on the general glad acceptance of that poem he had at once turned his thoughts to its successor. The subject of the growth of trade and opulence in England, of the relation of labour to the production of wealth, and of the advantage or disadvantage of its position in reference to manufactures and commerce, or as comiected with the cultivation of land, which, two years after the TrwdeUer appeared, Adam Smith exalted into a philo- sophic system by the publication of his immortal Inqmry into tlie Natwre and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, was one that Goldsmith had frequently adverted to in his earliest writings, and on which his views were undoubtedly less sound than poeticaL It may be worth remark, indeed, that a favourite subject of reflec- tion as this theme always was with him, and often as he adverts to such topics connected with it as the eflFects of luxury and wealth on the simpler habits of a people, it is difficult to believe that he had ever arrived at a settled conclusion in his own mind, one way or^he other. What he pleads for in his poetry, his prose for the most part condemns. Thus the argument of the. Deserted Village is distinctly at issue with the philosophy of the Oitixen of the World, in wMch he reasons that to the accumulation of wealth may be assigned not only the greatest part of our knowledge, but even of our virtues ; and exhibits poets, philosophers, and even patriots, marching in luxury's train. On the other hand, he occasionally again breaks out (as in the Animated Natwre) tnto complaints as indignant as they are shallow and ill founded, that " the rich should cry out for liberty while they thus starve "their fellow-creatures" Qie is alluding to the obligation on the «HAP. II.] SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 305 poor to sell and give up what they possess at the call of the rich, as if it were a hardship that they should not be paid for enjoying, themselves, what they rather choose to be paid for surrendering to others), "and feed them up with an imaginary good while they "monopolize the real benefits of nature." The real truth is that Goldsmith had no settled opinions on the subject, which never- theless was one of unceasing interest to him, and to which he brought a mind at least so far free from prejudice, one way or the other, that at this moment it was open to reason and at the next to sentiment merely. Doubtless, however, the latter was most strongly felt and oftenest indulged. For his merely sentimental views had grown out of early impressions, were passionately responded to by the warmer sensibilities of his nature, and had received sup- posed corroboration from his own experience. He told Sir Joshua Reynolds that for four or five years before the Deserted Village was published, he had, by sundry country excursions into various parts of England, verified his fears of the tendency of overgrowing wealth to depopulate the land ; and his remark to a friend who called upon him the second morning after he commenced the poem, was nearly to the same eflTect. " Some of my friends difi'er with "me on this plan," he said, after describing the scheme, "and " think this depopulation of villages does not exist ; but I am " myself satisfied of the fact. I remember it in my own country, " and have seen it in this." The friend who so called upon him, in May 1768 ; who marks the date as exactly two years before the poem appeared ; and who tells us that the writing of it, and its elaborate revision, extended over that whole interval of twenty-four months ; was supposed by Scott to have been Lee Lewes the actor. It is difficult to under- stand how this mistake originated ; but it would seem that Sir Walter had judged from only a small portion of the papers whose authorship he thus misstated, and which, except in appar- ently imperfect and garbled extracts, have equally escaped all Goldsmith's biographers and never been properly made use of until now. The poet's acquaintance with the comedian had not yet begun, nor in the acknowledged (and extremely dull) Memoirs of Lee Lewes, does Goldsmith's name at any time occur. The real writer of the anecdotes was Cooke, the young law student already so often referred to as Goldsmith's countryman and near neighbour in the Temple ; and their curious details have been hitherto almost wholly overlooked. They appeared from time to time in the Mv/ropeoM Magazine. Cooke prefaces the mention of his calling on " the Doctor" the second morning after the Deserted Village was begun, by an account of the Doctor's slowness in writing poetry, "not from the tardinesa 306 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. "of fancy, but the time he took in pointing the sentiment, and " polishing the versification." An invaluable hint to the poetical aspirant, as already I have strongly urged. Indisputable wealth of genius, flung about in careless exuberance, has as often failed to make -a poet, as one finished unsuperfluous masterpiece has Buooeeded, and kept a name in the Collections for ever. Gold- smith's manner of writing the Deserted Village, his friend tells us, was this : ho first sketched a part of his design in prose, in which he threw out his ideas as they occurred to him ; he then sat down carefully to versify them, correct them, and add such other ideas as he thought "better fitted to the subject ; and if sometimes he would ejceed his prose design by writing several verses impromptu, these he would take singular pains afterwards to revise, lest they should be found unconnected with his main design. Ten lines, from the fifth to the fifteenth, had been his second morning's work ; and when Cooke entered his chamber, he read them to him aloud. Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youtli, when every sport could please, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green. Where hnmble happiness endear'd each scene ! How often have I paus'd on every charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mUl, The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneal^ the shade For talking age and whispering lovers made. "Come," he added, "let me tell you this is no bad morning's "work ; and now, my dear boy, if you are not better engaged, I "should be glad to enjoy a Shoemaker's holiday with yoii.^' This proposed enjoyment is then described by Cooke, in a simple, characteristic way. "A Shoemaker's holiday was a day of great "festivity to poor Goldsmith, and was spent in the following " innocent manner. Three or four of his intimate friends rendez- " voused at his chambers to breakfast aboiit ten o'clock in the " morning ; at eleven they proceeded by the City-road and through "the fields to Highbury-barn to dinner; about six o'clock in the "evening they adjourned to White Conduit-house to drink tea; "and concluded by supping at the Grecian or Temple-exchange " cofiee-house, or at the Globe in Fleet-street. There was a very "good ordinary of two dishes and pastry, kept at Highbury-bam "about this time at tenpence per head, including a penny to the "waiter; and the company generally consisted of literary charac- " ters, a few Templars, and some citizens who had left off trade, " The whole expenses of the day's fMe never exceeded a crown, CHAP. II.] SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 307 " and oftener were from three-and-sixpenoe to four shillirigs ; for " which the party obtained good air and exercise, good living, the "example of simple manners, and good conversation." iS3i>^, Truly, very innocent enjoyment ; and shared not alone by Templars and small -wits, but by humbler good fellows. One Peter Barlow, who acted now and then as a copyist for Goldsmith, — very poor, very proud in his way ; who appeared always in one peculiar dress ; who declared himself able to give only a specified small sum for his daily dinner, but who stood firmly on his ability to do this, and never permitted any one to do it for him, — ^had made himself a great favourite with the poet by his honest independence and harmless eccentricity, and had generally a place in the Shoemaker's holiday. If the dinner cost even five shillings each, fifteen-pence was still the limit of Peter's responsi- bility ; and the balance was privately paid by Goldsmith. Many, too, were his other pensioners, on less liberal terms than Peter. He had two or three poor authors always on his list, beside " several widows and poor housekeepers ;" and when he had no money to give the latter, he seldom failed to send them away with shirts or old clothes, Sometimes with the whole contents of his breakfast table : saying with a smile of satisfaction after they were gone, "now let me only suppose I have eat a much heartier "breakfast than usual, and I'm nothing out of pocket." Those who knew biTn best, exclaims Cooke, after relating some stories of this kind, can best speak in lus praise. " He was so humane in "his disposition, that his last guinea was the general boundary of "his munificence." 808 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ir. Yet Cooke was no enthusiast. He had rather, at the time these anecdotes were written, fallen into the Boswell way of talking of his old patron ; and was careful to colour his picture, as though to adapt it for popular acceptance, with all due tints of vanity and folly. Unable to conceal, indeed, the pains he is at in doing this, his examples are often very amusing failures. One day for instance he tells us, Goldsmith being in company where many ladies were, and a ballad-singer happening to sing his favourite air of Sally SaUsbum/ under the window, his envy and vanity broke out, and he exclaimed with some passion, "How miserably this woman "sings!" "Pray, Doctor," rejoiued the lady of the house, " could you do it better 1" " Yes, madam," was the answer, amid a general titter of distrust ; " and the company shall be "judges." He instantly began ; when, adds Cooke; with a sort of naive renewal of the wonder of the ladies, " singing with some "ear and no inconsiderable degree of pathos, he obtained the "universal sufirage of the company." I have spoken of the harmless forms of mis-called vanity and envy, which iinconscious comparative criticism will sometimes breed ; and surely this is but pleasant evidence of them. Nor did the narrator prove more successful when he professed to give instances of Goldsmith's folly. The poet of the Pleaswres of Memory, interested in all that con- cerned the elder poet whose style he made the model for his own finished writings, knew Cooke well in the latter days of his life, and gives me curious illustration of the habit he then had fallen into when he spoke of his celebrated friend. " Sir," he said, on Mr. Rogers asking him what Goldsmith really was in conversation, "he was a fool. The right word never came to him. If you "gave bim back a bad shilling, he'd say 'Why it's as good a " ' shilling as ever was lorn.' You know he ought to have said " coined. Coined, sir, never entered his head. He was a fool, sir." It may be added, since the question of vanity and envy has again arisen here, that even Tom Davies, who talks more of his envious sallies than any one, tells us they were altogether childish, harmless, and absurd ; that nothing but mirth was ever suggested by them ; and that he never formed any scheme, or joined in any combination, to hurt any man living. A more important witness, too, gives yet more interesting testimony. Bishop Percy,' who of all his disldnguished Mends had known hiin earliest, after stating that he was generous in the extreme, — ^that never was there & mind whose general feelings were more benevolent and friendly ; and that, so strongly was he affected by compassion, he had been known at midnight to abandon his rest, in order to procure . relief and an asylum for a poor dying object, who was left destitute in the streets, — proceeds tiius : " He is however supposed,-±j^ have mup. lit.] THfi EDGEWARE COTTAGE AND ST. STEPHEN'S S09 " been often soured by jealousy or envy, and many little instances " are mentioned of this tendency in his character : but whatever "appeared of this kind was a mere momentary sensation, which " he knew not how like other men to conceal. It was never the " result of principle, or the suggestion of reflection ; it never "embittered his heart, nor influenced his conduct. Let this emphatic language be the comment on any future record of such "little instances;" and when Johnson ridicules, hereafter, his friend's ignorance of things, let it be taken with Mr. Cooke's odd illustration of his supposed ignorance of words. CHAPTEE III. — ♦— THE EDGEWAEE COTTAGE, ST. STEPHEN'S, AND GRUB- STREET. 1768. HBinir Goldsmith's death would seem to have been made known to his brother Oliver shortly before we discover the latter to have gone into temporary retreat in a cottage ^. /^ eight miles down the Edgeware-road, "at the back of " Canons." He had taken it in connection with his neighbour in the Temple, Mr. Bott ; and they kept it for some little time. It was very small, and very absurdly decorated ; and, as a set-off to his Shoemaker's holiday, he xised to call this his Shoemaker's paradise, one of that craft having built it, and laid it out with flying Mercuries, jets d'eau, and other preposterous ornaments, though the ground it stood upon, with its two rooms on a floor, its garden and all, covered considerably less than half-an-aore, The friends would occasionally drive down to this retreat, even after dining in London, Mr. Bott being one of those respectable men who kept a horse and gig : and a curious letter is said to be in existence written by Goldsmith shortly before his death, thanking him again and again for timely pecuniary help, rendered in his vrorst strait ; saying it is to Bott he entirely owes that he can sit down in safety in his chambers without the terrors of arrest hanging momentarily over him ; and recalling such whimsical scenes of past days as when they used to drive down the Edgeware-road at night, and, both their necks being brought to imminent peril by the gig's descent into a ditch, the driver (Bott) wotdd exhaust aU his profea- aional eloquence to prove that at that instant they were exactly in the centre of the road. Here the History of Borne, undertaken for Davies, was at leisure 810 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIPE AND TIMES. [book iv. J)roceeded with ; here th& new poem, worked at in the adjoining lanes, and in pleasant strolls along the shady hedges, began to grow in importance ; here, thus tuning his exquisite song outside the bars of his London prison, he might within himself enjoy that sense of liberty for which it so deHghted him to listen to the songs of other imcaged birds ; and here, so engaged, Goldsmith seems to have passed the greater part of the summer, apparently not much moved by what was going on elsewhere. Walpole, mourning for the loss of his Lady Hervey and his Lady Suffolk, was reading his trK,gedy of the Mysterious Mother to his lady-friends who remained, end rejoicing that he did not need to expose himself to "the " impertinenoies of that jackanapes Garriok, who lets nothing "appear but his own wretched stuff, or that of creatures still " duller, who suffer him to alter their pieces as he pleases ;" — ^but Goldsmith's withers are unwrung. Hume was receiving a con- siderable increase to his pension, with significant intimation of the royal wish that he should apply himself to the continuation of his Bnglish History ; whUe great lords were, fondly dandling Robertson into the good graces of the booksellers, and the Chief Justice was admiringly telUng the Duke of Bedford that 45001. was to be paid him for his History of Cha/i-hs the Fifth, and Walpole was reason- ably sneering at what Scotch puffing and partiality might do ;: — but the humbler historian at Edgeware pursues his labours unbribed and imdisturbed. The Sentimental Jowrney was giving pleasure to not a few ; even Walpole was declaring it " infinitely "preferable to the tiresome Tristram Shamdy ;" whUe, within a few months, at a grand dinner-table round which were seated two dukes, two earls, Mr. Garriok, and Mr. Hume, a footman in attendance was announcing Sterne's lonely death in a common lodging-house in Bond-street ; — but Goldsmith does not yet see the shadow of his own early decay. Gray, who had in vain solicited the Cambridge professorship of modem history while he yet had the health it would have given him spirit to enjoy, and was now about to receive it from the Duke of Grafton when no longer able to hold it, was wondering at a new book about Corsica, in which he foimd a hero pourtrayed by a green goose, and where he had the comfort of feeling that what was wise in it must be true, for the writer was too great a fool to invent it ; — ^but Gold- smith had never been much interested in Boswell, and PaoU is not . very likely to increase his interest. Having made this unavailing effort to empty his head of Corsica, Boswell himself had visited London in the spring, had followed Johnson to Oxford, and was now making him the hero of dinner parties at the Crown and Anchor in the Strand, where Percy was quite unwarrantably attacked, Robertson slighted, and Davies turned into ridicule; — OHAP. III.] THE EDGEWAEE COTTAGE AND ST. STEPHEN'S. 311 but Goldsmith' is doubtless well content, for a time, to escape Ms chance of being also "tossed and gored." Kindness he could not escape so easily, if Reynolds had it in his gift. For this, too, was the year when the great painter, entering the little room where a party of his brother artists were in council over a plan for an " Academy of Arts," was instantly, all of them rising to a man, saluted " president ;'' and the year had not closed before the royal patronage was obtained for the scheme, and that great institution was set on foot which has since so greatly flourished, yet has had no worthier or more famous entry on its records than the appoint- ment of Samuel Johnson as its first Professor of Ancient literature, and of Oliver Goldsmith as its first Professor of History. Whether the clamour of politics, noisiest when emptiest, failed meanwhile to make its way into the Shoemaker's paradise, may be more doubtful. A year of such profligate turmoil perhaps never degraded our English annals. The millennium of rioters as well as libellers seemed to have come. The abandoned recklessness of public men was seen reacting through all the grades of society ; and in the mobs of Stepney-fields and St. George's, were reflected the knaves and bullies of White's and St. James's. The election for a new Pa,rliament, the old one dying of its seventh year in March, let loose every evil element ; and Wilkes found his work half done before he threw himself into it. His defeat for London, his daring and successful attempt on Middlesex, his imprisonment pending the arguments on his outlawry, the result of those argu- ments, his election as Alderman, and clumsy alternations of rage and fear in his opponents, confirmed him at last the representative of Liberty ; and amid tumult, murder, and massacre, the sacred cap was put upon his head. Mobs assembled round his prison to offer him help, and succeeded so far as to involve Scotch soldiers, and their ministerial employers and defenders, in the odium of having fired fatally upon unarmed men. The laws seemed to have lost their terror, the magistracy their means of enforcing them. In one part of London there was a riot of Wsh coal-heavers which lasted nine hours, and in which eighteen persons were killed, before the guards arrived upon the scene. The merchant sailors on the river to the number of four thousand rose for an increase of wages, and stopped outward-bound ships from sailing till their demands were compromised. The Thames watermen, to the best of their ability, followed the example ; so did the journeymen hatters, with what assistance they could give to the general confu- sion ; and even a riot of journeymen tailors threatened to be formidable, till Sir John Fielding succeeded in quelling it. Walpole has connected these various disturbances with the "favorable ♦• Wilkes season," and tells us that in aU of them was heard the 812 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. cry of liberty and its champion. Liberty by itself, to not a few of its advocates, had ceased to convey any meaning. " I take the " Wilkes-and-liberty to inform you," wrote a witty merchant to his correspondents. It was now that Whitfield put up prayers for "Wilkes before his sermons ; that Dukes were made to appear in front of their houses and drink his health ; that city voters in a modest way of trade, refused to give him their votes unless he'd take a gift of money as well, in one instance as much as 201. ; and that the most notoriously stately and ceremonious of all the ambassadors (the Austrian) was tumbled out of his coach, head over heels, to have his heels chalked with Number 45. In the midst of a Wilkes mob the new parliament met. " Good God," cried the Duke of Grafton, when the Duke of Bichmond laughed at Lord Sandwich's proposition to send and see if the riots had ceased, "is it matter for laughter when mobs come to join the name of " Wilkes with the sacred sound of liberty !" The poor Duke saw none of the causes that had brought this about,, nor dreamt of connecting them with the social disorganisation all around liim : with the seat of government in daily disorder, Ireland insurrec- tionary,' the colonies on the eve of rebellion, and the continent overbearing and arrogant ; while, to himself, a woman or a horse- race was first in the duties of life, and his allies the Bedfords, "with each of them his three thousand a-year and his three "thousand bottles of claret and champagne," were insensate and reckless of disgrace. That language of Walpole is not to be adopted to its full extent, it may be true, any more than the expressions of the more terrible iissailant who was now, (with such signatures as Mnemon, Lucius, and Atticus), sharpening his nameless weapons for a more fatal and enduring aim ; but in neither case is the desperate bitterness to be condemned as uncalled-for, simply because it involved individual injustice. The time had come, when, even at the expense of individual sufiering, it was well that such things should be thought and said ; and when it was fitting that public men, privately not unamiable or dishonest, should at length be made bitterly responsible for public wrongs, whether sanctioned or com- mitted. Lord Chatham was no worshipper of the mob, but this year roused him from his apathy, and replumed his popular fame. He saw much of what at last was impending. In "timber- " merchants," who began now to contest seats in the large cities against the Selwyns and men of the aristocratic families, he saw something more than Gilly Williams's "d — d carpenters" who (according to Lord Carlisle) should be "kept in their saw-pits." A new power was about to make itself felt, -and it found Chatham prepared. He withdrew his name from the ministry, already OHAl'. iti.] THfi EDGEWARti dOT^AGtE AND ST. STEPflEN'S. 318 reeling under the storm of Wilkes ; Shelbume soon after followed him ; Camden was not long in following Shelbiime ; the poor Duke of Newcastle, inapt for new notions, sank into the gtavf with his old ones ; and young Charles James Fox, to whom the great friend and associate of his mature life was already intimately known, for the first time heard Mr. Burke familiarly talked about at his father's table. The latter incident may mark what the great families found it now no longer possible to aifect ignorance of ; though it is just as likely that his purchase of an estate induced the talk, as his late fiery speeches in the House of Commons. Burke became this year a landed proprietor. With money bequeathed him by his father and brother, and with large help from Lord Eockingham (at once intended to requite service and render it more effective), he purchased an estate in Bucking- hamshire called Gregories, or Butlers-court, about a mile from the market town of Beaconsfield, and subsequently known by the latter name. Assisted as he was, the effort must have straitened his means ; for in the following year he asks a loan of a thousand pounds from Garrick, which his "dear David," his "dearest " Garrick," at once accords. The estate was twenty-four miles from London, and within a hundred yards of the house were the ruins of what once had been Edmund Waller's home. Gregories itself has since become a ruin, consumed by fire ; but nobler memories than the old poet's now linger round what once was the home of Kdmund Burke, and Goldsmith has his share in them. Exciting news at the Edgeware cottage that Beaconsfield purchase at least must have been, though even the noise of WOkes had failed to force an entrance there. In October, Goldsmith was again in the Temple, and is to be traced at his old haunts, and in the theatres. Somewhat later in the season which now began, Garrick brought out a new tragedy by Home ; but so hateful had Wilkes again made the Scotch, that its author's name had to be suppressed, its own name anglicised, and a young English gentle- man brought up from Oxford to the rehearsals, to personate the author. Goldsmith discovered the trick, and is said by Davies to have proposed a hostUe party against the play, not inaptly called the Fatal Discovery. " It would hardly be credited that this man " of benevolence, for such he really was, endeavoured to muster a "party to condemn it ;" but this, the same authority afterwards remarks, "was the transient thought of a giddy man, who upon "the least. check, would have immediately renounced it, and as "heartily joined with a party to support the piece he had before "devoted to destruction." It was probably renewed spleen at Garrick ; whose recent patronage of Kenrick, for no apparent 814 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it- reason than his means of mischief and his continued abuse of mora Bucoossful men, had not tended to induce oblivion of older offence^ Kenrick's latest form of malice was the epigram ; but the wit was less apparent than the venom of connecting Goldsmith's with other names just now rife in the playbills. Wliat are yoor Britons, Eomans, Grecians, Compared with thorough-bred Milesians ? Step into Griffin's shop, he'll tell ye, Of Goldsmith, Bickerstaff, and Kelly. . . And take one Irish, evidence for t'other, EVn Homer's self is but their foster-brother. The last halting allusion was to a story the humbler wits were now telling against Goldsmith. Bickerstaff had invited a party to his house to hear one of his dramatic pieces read ; and among the company were Goldsmith and one Paul HiflFeman, already men- tioned as one of his Grub-street protdgfe, of the Purdon and Pilkiugton class. He was an eccentric, drunken, idle, Irish creature ; educated for a physician, and not without talents and even scholarship ; but a continual victim to what he called impecuniosity, and so unprovided with self-help against the disease that he lived altogether upon the help of other people. Where he lived, however, nobody could ever find out : he gave his address at the Bedford ; and beyond that, cmiosity was bafEled, though many and most amusing were its attempts to discover more : nor was it till after his death that his whereabout was found, in one of the wretched little courts out of St. Martin's-lane. He wrote newspaper paragraphs in the morning, foraged for his dinner, slept out the early part of the night in one of the theatres, and, in return for certain critical and convivial displays which made his company attractive after play-hours, was always sure of a closing entertainment at the Black Lion in Russell-street, or the Cyder Cellar in Maiden-lane. Latterly, he had taken altogether to dramatic criticism, for which he had some talent, — ^his earliest Irish efforts in that line, when he ought to have been practising his profession, were thought mighty pleasant by Burke, then a lad at Dublin College, — and this, with its usual effect upon the Drury- lane manager, had recently obtained him a sort of pension from Garrick. It was the great actor's worst weakness to involve himself thus with the meaner newspaper men ; and it was only this very year he was warned, by a letter from Foote, of its danger in the case of Hiffeman. " Upon the whole," wrote that master in the art of Uteraiy hbel, for there is nothing like the voice of a Gracchus for a good complaint against sedition, "it is, I think, " worthy of consideration, whether there is not something immoral. fiBAp. III.] THE EDGEWAEE COTTAGE AUD ST. STEPHEN'S. 316 " as well as impolitic, in encouraging a fellow, who, without parts, "principles, property, or profession, has subsisted for thep« twenty "years by the qualities of a literary footpad." Precisely that newspaper jobbery it was, however, to whose success the absence of parts, principles, property, and profession is essential, which had procured Hiffeman his invitation to the reading of BickeratafPs play. A good dinner preluded the reading, and much justice was done to this, and to the glass which circulated for half an hour afterwards, by "Hiff :" but his judgment, and enjoyment, of the play, were much less clearly evinced : and when the iirst batch of opinions were collected at the end of the first act, "Very well, by " — , very well !" was all that could be got from him. Alas, for what followed ! "About the middle of the second act,'' says the teUer of the anecdote, "he began to nod; and in a little time "afterwards to snore so loud that the author could scarcely be "heard. BickerstaflF felt a little embarrassed; but raising his "voice, went on. Hiffernan's tones, however, increased; tUl at "last Goldsmith could hold out no longer, but cried out, 'Never "'mind the brute, Bick ! go on. So he- would have served " ' Homer if he was here, and reading his own works.'" Nothing was easier for Kenrick than to turn this into a com- parison of Bickerstaff to Homer ; and no laugh was heartier than Garrick's at the new proof of Goldsmith's foUy. But, for his countenance of the libeller he was doomed to be severely punished, and in connection with this very Bickerstaff. Some four years after the present date, that wretched man was driven from society with an infamous stain, and Kenrick grossly connected it by allusion with Garrick ; to whom at the very time, as we now know, the miserable culprit was writing from his hiding-place the most piteous petitions for charity that one human being ever addressed to another. An action was commenced against the libeller, and dropped upon ample apology. " I did not believe him " guilty, but did it to plague the fellow," said Kenrick to Thomas Evans. The worthy bookseller never spoke to him again. Scoundrel as he was, it need not be denied that he had some cleverness. Johnson hit it off exactly w;hen he described it as a faculty that made him public, without making him hnoion. He used to lecture at the Devil and other taverns, on every conceivable subject from Shakespeare to the perpetual motion, which he thought he had discovered ; having been, before he got his Scotch doctor- ship and became Griffiths's hack, a scale or rule-maker. Hence Johnson's quiet answer to the attack on his SItahespeare, that he could not consider himself "bound by his rules;" and similar advice he always gave to Goldsmith, the next most frequent object of his attack. Nothing escaped this Ishmael of criticism, not Si6 OLtVfiR GOtbSMttH'S tlM AND TiJtES. [bwk fV. even the Traveller. But "never mind, sir," Johnson ■would «ay ttt some new venom, as he said always of the fellow's outrages on himself, "a man whose business it is to be talked of, ii much " helped by being attacked." He explained the reason afterwards to BosweU. " Fame, sir, is a shuttlecock : if it be struck only at " one end of the room, it will soon fall to the ground ; to keep it " up, it must be struck at both ends." So too, on BosweU him- self remarking, four years after the present, that he thought Goldsmith the better for the attacks so frequently made upon him, " Yes, sir," was the reply ; " but he does not think so yet. When " Goldsmith and I published each of us something at the same " time, we were given to understand that we might review each " other. Goldsmith was for accepting the offer. I said, no, set "reviewers at defiance." Unhappily, his friend never could do this; and even the lesson of "retaliation" was learnt too late. Kenrick remained, to the last, his evil genius ; and it seems to have been with a sort of uneasy desire to propitiate him, that Goldsmith yielded to Griffin's solicitation at the close of the present year, and consented to take part in the editing of a new Gentleman's Jov/mal in which Kenrick was a leading writer, and for which Hiffer- nan, Kelly, and some others of doctorial dignity were engaged. It died soon after it was bom ; and, on some one remarking to liim what an extraordinary thiag so sudden a death was, " Not at all, sir," he answered : "a very common case ; it died of too many Doctors." An amusing Ulustration which belongs nearly to this time, of inconvenience sometimes incurred &om his Grub-street protdgtfs and pensioners, will properly dismiss for the present this worshipful company of Kenricks and Hitfernans. The hero of the anecdote had all the worst qualities of the tribe ; and "how do you think " he served me," said Goldsmith, relating the incident to a friend. " Why, sir, after staying away two years, he came one evening " into my chambers, half drunk, as I was taking a glass of wine "with Topham Beauclerc and General Oglethorpe; and, sitting " himself down, with most intolerable assurance inquired after my " health and literary piirsuits, as if we were upon the most friendly " footing. I was at first so much ashamed of ever having known " such a fellow, that I stifled my resentment, and drew liim into a " conversation on such topics as I knew he could talk upon ; in ' ' which, to do him justice, he acquitted himself very reputably : "when all of a sudden, as if recollecting something, he pulled two " papers out of his pocket, which he presented to me with great " ceremony, saying, ' Here, my dear friend, is a quarter of a pound " ' of tea, and a half pound of sugar, I have brought you ; " 'for though it is not in my power at present to pay you the two " ' guineas you so generously lent me, neither you, nor any man else, onAP. III.] THE EDGEWARE COTTAGE AND ST. STEPHEN'S. 317 " ' shall ever have it to say that I want gratitude. This," added Goldsmith, " was too much. I could no longer keep in my feelings, " but desired him to turn out of my chambers dir«otly, which he " very coolly did, taking up his tea and sugar ; and I never saw "him afterwards." Certainly Hogarth should have survived to depict this scene. No less a pencil could have given us the fastidious face of Beauclerc, — than whom no man ever showed a more imiform and even painful sense of the ridiculous, — ^when the tea and sugar were produced. Oglethorpe was a recent acquaintance, and has become, by the compliment of Pope, and in the page of Bos well, an historical name. Now thirty years older than Goldsmith, he survived him upwards of eleven years : and to the last preserved, not only that love of literature and genius which made him the first active patron of Johnson's London while yet the author was quite imknown ; but that " strong benevolence of soul " which connects his memory with the colonisation of Georgia, as well as those Jacobite leanings which involved him in a court-martial after the affair of '45, and sub- sequently shelved him as a soldier. He became a member of the House of Commons, sat in several parliaments, compelled a reluctant inquiry into prisons and punishments, and distinguished himself as much by humane as by high tory crotchets. The sympathies which attracted him to Goldsmith, and continued their intimacy, appear in the commencement of the only letter that survives of their correspondence. " How just, sir," writes Ogle- thorpe, " were your observations, that the poorest objects were by " extreme poverty deprived of the benefit of hospitals erected for " the relief of the poorest. " And he incloses five pounds for his friend to distribute as he may think proper. Uor were they without the other point of agreement which had attracted Oglethorpe to Johnson. For Goldsmith, though the social bearing of politics always interested him most, and he cared little at any time for its party questions, had something of a half-fanciful Jacobite leaning, dabbled now and then in Jacobite opinions, and was as ready for a hit at the Hanoverian-rat as Johnson himself. An anecdote of their stroll one day into Westminster Abbey, has preserved for us pleasant record of this. They stood together in. Poets' Comer ; surveyed the dead but sceptred sovereigns that there, from storied urn and monumental bust, still rule and glorify the world ; and the natural thought probably rose to the minds of both, " perhaps " our names, too, will one day be mingled with theirs." Johnson broke the silence, and whispered the hope in a Latin verse, " Forsitau et nostrum nomen miscebitor istis." They walked away from the Abbey together, and arrived at 31S OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv Temple-bar ; where the ghastly remains of the last Jacobite execu- tion were still rotting on .the spikes above ; and where, tUl not long before, people had made a trade of letting spy-glasseB at "a " halfpenny a look." Here Goldsmith stopped Johnson, pointed up, and slily returned his whisper, "Forsitan et nostrum . i . nuBoetitur Istis." CHAPTEE IV. LABOUES AND ENJOYMENTS PUBLIC AND PRIVATE. 1769. With the opening of l'r69, we find Goldsmith busily engaged iTRQ '•ipo'^ 1*6^ projects, his Roman History heiag completed JEt 41 ^^"^ ^* ^^^ now, Percy tells ns, that Johnson took him to Oxford, and obtained for him the degree ad eimdem of M.B. The fact must rest on the bishop's authority; for tho present Oxford registrar, though "he incUnes to beheve that the " Bishop of Dromore's impression was correct," finds a chasm in the University register which leaves it without positive corroborar tion. They were at this time much together, it is certain ; and if Johnson's opinion of the genius of Goldsmith was now at its highest, it was repaid with very hearty affection. "Look," said Gray, as, in walking this year with a friend through a crowded street of the city, he saw a large uncouth figure "rolling" before them : " look, look, Bonstetten ! the Great Bear ! There goes OHAP. IV.] LABOURS AND ENJOYMENTS. 319 "Ursa Major !'^ It was Johnson ! "Ah !" said Goldsmith, wheri such expressions were repeated to him, " they may say that ! "Johnson, to be stire, has a roughness of manner, but no man "alive has a more tender heart. He has nothing of the bear but "his skin." Their entertainer at Oxford was the accomplished lawyer, Chambers, at this time Vinerian Professor, and five years later a judge in India ; in whose rooms his more celebrated towns- man Scott (both were Newcastle men, and on the old panel of the grammar-school to which I went in my boyhood, I remember cutting my name underneath theirs) was afterwards introduced to Johnson. Chambers had lately been admitted a member of the Gerrard-street club. His election, with that of Percy, and George Colmau, took place on the resignation of Hawkins. The records of the early years of the club are really so scanty and imperfect, that it is difficult to ascertain the simplest fact in connection with it : but it appears certain, aa I formerly stated, that on the occasion of this' second ballot for members it was resolved to enlarge the original number to twelve ; when, as a result of the resignation of Hawkins, and of Beauclerc's forfeiture by continued non-attend- ance, four vacancies had to be filled. To the first, Percy was elected ; the second was re-claimed by Beauolerc, whose recent marriage with Lady Di Spencer, on her divorce from Lord Bolingbroke, sufficiently explained his temporary withdrawal ; and the third and fourth were filled by Chambers and George Colman. It was on the occasion of this slight increase that Goldsmith seems to have urged the expediency of a larger infusion of new men. "We should change companions oftener," Mrs. Thrale reports him to have said with a special reference to Johnson ; "we exhaust one "another, and shall soon be both of us worn out." " It would give "the club an agreeable variety," is Boswell's version of his remark ; "there could now be nothiflg new among the members, "for they had travelled over each other's minds." This nettled Johnson ; being too much in his own way. " Sir," he said, "you "have not travelled over my mind, I promise you." Neverthe- less, Reynolds agreed with Goldsmith, thinking that life wanted colour and diversity as much as his own canvasses did ; and immediately before Goldsmith died, the number was increased to twenty. But from that time Johnson took little interest in the meetings. Almost all the rising men of the day were whigs, cursed whigs, bottomless whigs, as he prematurely called Burke ; and the spectacle of Charles Fox in the chair, quoting Somer and Fielding to the astonishment of Joe Warton, was one he could not get reooiiciled to. Within three years, he was himself the advocate of a yet further increase to thirty ; and the form the club then assimied S20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LTPE AND TIMES. [book it. was precisely what he -wished to bring it t'j : "a mere miscellaneous " oolleotion of conspicuous men, withoui any determinate charac- " ter." So, to the present day, it has continued. It may be said to have ceased to be the Literary club, as soon as it became necessary to call it so ; and, though stUl stai magni normmis vmibra, no effort has been made to revive its great, indeed its sole distinction. Colman's election seemed a studied slight to Garrick, but his claim was not inconsiderable. It was a choice between rival managers and rival wits ; eager little figures both ; both social and most agreeable men ; and the scale was easily turned. Langton describes a club incident soon after Colman's admission. He says that Goldsmith, on the occasion of a play brought out by Mrs. Lennox (a very ingenious, deserving, and not very fortunate woman, who wrote the clever novel of the Female Quixote, and a somewhat sUly book about Shakespeare, to which Johnson, a great friend of hers, was suspected to have contributed), told Johnson at the club that a person had advised him to go and hiss it, because she had attacked the great poet in her book called Shahesjpeare Ulustraited. " And did you not tell him," returned Johnson sharply, " that he "was a rascal?" "No, sir," said Goldsmith, "I did not. " Perhaps he might not mean what he said." " Nay, sir," was the reply, " if he lied, it is a different thing." Colman was sitting by, while this passed ; and, dropping his voice out of Johnson's hearing, slily remarked to Langton, "Then the proper expression "should have been, Sir, if you don't lie, you're a rascal." The • play was produced at Colman's theatre with the title of the Sister, and encountered so strong an opposition that it was never repeated : but that the audience was not impartial may be suspected from Langton's anecdote, and it is borne out by a reading of the comedy itself. Though with too much sentiment, it is both amusing and interesting ; and the Strawberry-hill critics who abused it, and afterwards pronoimced Burgayne's Sei/ress "the finest comedy in " the English language," might have had the justice to discover that three of the characters of the fashionable. General were stolen from this very Sister of poor Mrs. Lennox. Goldsmith, however, had nothing to reproach himself with. He not only refrained from joining the dissentients, but assisted the comedy (perhaps first disposed to sympathise with it because Garrick had rejected it) by an epilogue written in his liveliest strain, and spoken by pretty Mrs. Bulkley. Goldsmith has had few competitors in that style of writing. His prologues and epilogues are the perfection of the vers de sociitS. Formality and iU-humour are exorcised by their cordial wit, which transfonus the theatre to a drawing-room, and the audience into friendly guests. There is a playful touch, an easy, airy elegance, CHAP. IV.] LABOURS AND ENJOYMENTS. 321 whiclx, wheu joined to terseness of expression, sets it oflF with a finished, beauty and incomparable grace : but few of our English poets have written this style sucoessfnUy, The French, who invented the name for it, have been almosfc its only practised cultivators. Goldsmith's genius for it will nevertheless bear comparison with even theirs. He could be playful without childishness, humoroun without coarseness, and sharply satirical without a particle of anger. Enough remains, for proof, in his collected verse ; but in private letters that have perished, many most charming specimens have undoubtedly been lost. For with such enchanting facility it flowed from him, that with hardly any of his friends in the higher sobial circles which he now began to enter, did it fail to help him to a more gracious acceptation, to warmer and more cordial intimacy. It takes but the touch of nature to please highest and lowest alike ; and whether he thanked Lord Clare or the manager of Eanela^gh, answered an invitation to the charming Miss Homecks, or supplied author or actor with an epilogue, — ^the same exquisite tact, the same natural art, the same finished beauty of humour and refinement, recommended themselves to all. The Miss Homecks, girls of nineteen and seventeen, were acquaintances formed during this year ; and they soon ripened into friends. They were the daughters of Mrs. Homeck, Captain Kane Homeck's widow ; whose Devonshire family connected her with Reynolds, and so introduced her to Goldsmith. Her only son Charles, the " Captain in Lace " as they now fondly called him, had entered the Guards in the preceding year, and seems to have been as cordial and good-natured, as her daughters were handsome and young. The eldest, Catherine, "Little Comedy" as she was called, was already engaged to Henry William Bunbury (second son of a baronet of old family in Sufiblk, whose elder son Charles had lately succeeded to the title), who is stUl remembered as " Geofl&rey "Gambado," one of the cleverest amateur artists and social caricaturists of his day. The youngest, Mary, had no declared lover till a year after Goldsmith's death, nor was married till three years after that engageinent to Colonel Gwyn ; but already she had the loving nickname of the " Jessamy Bride," and exerted strange fascination over Goldsmith. Heaven knows what impossible dreams may at times have visited the awkward unattractive man of letters ! And here perhaps it will be right to observe, since the foregoing hint, thrown out in my first edition, may have led to the error, that its suggestion has been much too freely expanded into an ascer- tained fact by a very agreeable writer, Mr. Washington Lrving, who has proceeded to instal the " Jessamy Bride " in all the honours of a complete conquest of Goldsmith, which, as he tells his readers (K/e of Goldsmith, 370), " has hung a potrtical wreath above her 322 OLIYEB GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. "grave." In Mr. Irving's little book, the " Jessamy Bride " becomes the very centre of all Goldsmith's hopes and thoughts in latter life. If there is a dance, the Jessamy Bride must of course be his " partner " (308) ; if there is an expensive suit of clothes, it is to " win favour ' ' in the eyes of the Jessamy Bride " (228) ; if there is an additional extravagance of wardrobe, " the bright eyes of the Jessamy Bride " are made responsible for it (255) ; if he cannot resist an invitation of Mr. Bunbury's, it is " especially as the Jessamy Bride would of ' ' course be among the guests " (275) ; if " a blue velvet suit " makes sudden appearance in Mr. FUbys bUls, " again we hold the Jessamy " Bride responsible for this splendour of wardrobe " (304) ; if she attends a rehearsal of one of his comedies, it is the Jessamy Bride'p presence that " may have contributed to flutter the anxious heart of "the author'' (312); as death approaches, ".the Jessamy Bride has "beamed her last smiles upon the. poor poet" (360) ; and when all is over, a simple request of Mrs. Bunbury and her sister for a memorial of their pleasant friend, hereafter to be recorded, is turned into "the enthusiasm " of " one mourner" for his memory, " the "Jessamy Bride's," which "might have soothed the bitterness of " death " (369). This is running down a suggestion indeed ! — and with; whatever success for romance-loving readers, less pleasantly, it must be admitted, for sober seekers after truth. But though it is fairly doubtful whether Goldsmith at any time aspired, in this direction, to other regard than Ms genius and sim- plicity might claim, at least for these the sisters heartily liked him ; and perhaps the happiest hours of the later years of his life were passed in their society. Burke, who was their guardian, tenderly remembered in his premature old age the delight they had given him from their chUdhoqd ; their social as weU as personal chaxms are uniformly spoken Qf .by aU ; and when Hazlitt met the younger sister in Korthcote's paintiag-room some twenty-five years ago (she survived Little Comedy upwards of forty years, and died little more than twelve years since), she was still talking of her favourite Doctor Goldsmith, with recollection and affection imabated by age. Still, too, she was beautiful, beautiful even in years. The Graces had triumphed over Time. " I could almost fancy the shade of " Goldsmith in the room," says Hazlitt, " looking round with " complacency. " Soon had the acquaintance become a friendship. To a dinner- party given this year by their mother's friend and Reynolds's physi- cian. Doctor (afterwards Sir George) Baker, the sisters appear at the last moment to have taken on themselves to write a joint invitation to Goldsmith, to which he replied with some score of humorous couplets, at the top of which was scrawled, " This i} " a poem I This is a copy of verses ! " BHAP. IV. 1 LABOURS AND ENJOYMENTS. 32S Your mandate I got, You may all go to pot ; Had your senses teen right, You'd hare sent before night ; As I hope to be saved, I put off being shaved ; For I could not make bold, While the matter was cold. To meddle in suds, Or to put on my duds ; So tell Homeck and Nesbitt, And Baker and his bit, And Kauf&nan beside. And the Jessamy Bride, With the rest of the crew. The Beynoldses two, Little Comedy's face, And the Captain in Lace — (By the bye you may tell him, I have something to sell him ; Of use I insist, When he comes to enlist. Your worships must know That a few days ago, An order went out, For the foot guards so stout To wear tails in high taste, Twelve inches at least : Now Tve got him a scale To measure each tail. To lengthen a short tail, And a long one to curtail.) — Yet how can I when vext. Thus stray from my text ? Tell each other to rue Your Devonshire crew. For sending so late To one of my state. But 'tis Beynolds's way From wisdom to stray, And Angelica's wliim To be frolick like him ; But, alas ! your good worships, how could they be wiser, When both have been spoil'd in to-day's Advertiser? Does not this life-like humour re-furnish the hospitable table, re-animate the pleasant circle around it, and set us down again with Reynolds and his Angelica? The most celebrated of the woman painters had found no jealousy in the leading artist of England. His was the first portrait that made Angelica Kauffman famous here ; to him she owed her introduction to the Conways and Stanhopes ; he befriended her in the misery of her first thoughtless marriage, now not many months dissolved, though himself (it was said) not unmoved by tenderer thoughts than of 324 OLITER OOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. fiieudship ; and he placed her in the list of the members of the neiv Academy. It was little wonder that their names should have passed together into print, and become a theme for the poet's corner of the Advertiser. In the same number of that journal appealed an advertisement of the Momcm History, which had been first announced in the preceding August, and was issued in the May of the present year. It was in two octavo volumes of five hundred pages each, was described as for the use of schools and colleges, and obtained at once a very large sale. What Goldsmith has given as his reason for writing it, that other histories of the " period were either too '' voluminous for common use, or too meanly written to please," will suffice also to explain its success. It was a compact and not a big book, and it was charmingly written. The critics received it well ; and one of them had the grace to regret that " the author of "one of the best poems that has appeared since those of Mr. Pope, "should not apply wholly to works of imagination." Johnson thought, on the other hand, that the writer's time had been occu- pied worthily ; and when, a year or two after this, in a dinner conversation at Topham Beauclerc's, he was puttiag Goldsmith in the first class not only as poet and comic writer but also as histo- rian, and BosweU exploded a protest in behalf of the Scotch writers of history, Johnson more decisively roared out his preference for his friend over "the verbiage of Robertson and the foppery of "Dalrymple." Hume he had never read, because of his infidelity; but Robertson, he protested, might have put twice as much into his book as he had done, whereas Goldsmith had put into his as much as the book would hold. This, he affirmed, was the great art : for the man who tells the world shortly what it wants to know, win, with his plain, full narrative, please again and again ; while the more cumbrous writer, stiU. interposing Mmsdf before what you wish to know, is crushed with his own weight, and buried under his own ornaments. " Goldsmith's abridgement," he added, " is better than that of Lucius Florus or Eutropius ; and I will ven- "ture to say that if you compare Tiim with Vertot, in the same " places of the Boman History, you wiU find that he excels Vertot. " Sir, he has the art of compiUng, and of saying everything he has "to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing a Natural "History, and will make it as entertaining as a Persian Tale." For this Natwral History the first agreement dates as early as the close of February in the present year, five years before it was completed and published. It is made between Griffin and Gold- smith : and stipulates that the history is to be in eight volumes, each containing " from twenty-five to twenty-seven sheets of pica " print ;" that for each, a hundred guineas are to be paid on i'';s CHAr. IV.] LABOURS AND ENJOYMENTS. 326 delivery in manuscript ; that for this consideration the author it to make over all his right and title to, and in, the copy ; that " Doctor Goldsmith is to set about the work immediately, and to "finish the whole as soon as he conveniently can ;" and that (this is put as a rider to the agreement, with fresh signatures) " if the " work makes less than eight volumes the Doctor is to be paid in " proportion." Soon after the memorandum thus drawn up the book was begun, but it was worked at in occasional intervals only : for, when the' first month's sale of the Soman History had estab- lished its success, Davies tempted him with an offer of five hundred pounds for a History of England in four volumes, to be "written "aiid compiled in the space of two years" from the date of the agreement, but not to be paid for till delivered, and the printer had given his opinion that the quantity of matter stipulated for was complete ; and the later labour superseded that of the earlier contract. But there is no reason to believe that any money was advanced on this English History ; and the preservation of the specific agreement enables us to test the truth of one of Miss Hawkins's most delicate anecdotes. She says that soon after Goldsmith had contracted with the booksellers for this particular compilation, for which he was to be paid five hundred guineas, he went to Mr. CadeU and told him he was in imminent danger of being arrested ; that Cadell imme- diately called a meeting of the proprietors, and prevailed on them to advance him a considerable part of the sum, which, by the original agreement, he was not entitled to till after a twelvemonth from the publication of the work ; and that, on a day which Mr. Cadell had named for giving the needy author an answer. Goldsmith came and received the money, under pretence of instantly satisfying his creditors ; whereupon Cadell, to discover the truth of his pretext, watched whither he went, and after following him to Hyde-park- corner, saw him get into a postchaise, "in which a woman of the " town was waiting for him, and with whom, it afterwards appeared, "he went to Bath to dissipate what he had thus fraudulently " obtained." It has been seen that Cadell had nothing to do with the matter ; and it may be presumed that the good-natured lady's other facts rest on as slender a foundation. On her authority, if it be received at all, must also be. received another anecdote which is meant for a companion-piece to the sketch of dissipation just given. On one of his coimtry excursions in that kind of company, the lady tells us. Goldsmith happened to stop at an inn on the road, where he found an old portrait hanging up in the parlour, which seemed to him so admirably painted, that he suspected it at once to be a Vandyke, and resolved to become possessed of it if he could. He summoned the mistress of the house, asked her if she set any value on that old-fashioned picture, 32C OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. and, finding that she was wholly a stranger to its worth, told her it bore really such a great resemblance to his dear aunt Salisbury (picking up on the instant Mrs. Thrale's maiden name), that if she would sell it cheap he would buy it. A bargain was struck, a price infinitely below the value was paid, Goldsmith carried away the picture with him, and, adds the amiable relater of the story (who alleges for it, I should remark, the authority of Mr. Langton), " had the satisfaction to find that by this scandalous trick he had "indeed procured a genuine and very saleable painting .of " Vandyke's." It is hardly worth while to remark, of the incident thus narrated, that, even if its main facts were true (which, if we are to believe Northcote's evidence as to Goldsmith's utter ignorance of painting, backed by his own in the dedication of the Deserted Village, they could haxdly have been), it takes its character and colour from the animus of the narrator ; and that if the mere purchase of a picture at a price greatly below its worth must be held to involve a scandalous .trick, — ^for as to the romance about his aunt Salisbury, it is not credible for a moment, — a very long list indeed of extremely scandalous tricksters might be named, from Swift upwards and downwards, on whom much hitherto hoarded indignation should straightway be poured. It is to be feared, therefore, that the dissipation piece is on the whole to be regarded as the more characteristic of the two. Indeed it would be idle to deny the charge of dissipation altogether. It is cleax that with the present year he passed into habits of needless expense ; used the influence of a popularity which stood never higher than now, to obtain means for their thoughtless indulgence ; and involved himself in the responsibilities which at last overwhelmed hiiu. He exchanged his simple habits, says Cooke, for those of the great ; he commenced quite as a man of lettered ease and consequence ; he was obliged to run into debt ; " and his debts rendered him at times so melancholy and dejected, " that I am sure he felt himself a very unhappy man." One of these sad involvements occurred in the autumn ; when, it is supposed, being pressed for some portion of the loan expended on his chambers, he exacted from Griffin an advance of five hundred guineas for the first five volumes of the Natural Mistory, which the bookseller was obliged to make up by disposing of half a share to another bookseller (Mr. Nourse), and which Gi>ldsmith had wholly expended before half-a-dozen chapters were written. For he had laid the subject aside to go on with his English History ; though not unwarned of the unpopularity the latter might involve him in, so mad was the excitement of the time. Would he be a Hume or a Mrs. Macauley 1 He would be neither, he said ; he objected equally to both. OHAP. :v.] LABOUES AND ENJOYMENTS. S27 Against Party it is certain that Goldsmith, always set himself. "I fly from petty tyrants to the throne." He has, at the same time,, been careful to tell us that he did this upon principlej and not from " empty notions of divine or hereditary right." In the preface to his Sistory, where that expression occurs, he takes occasion to object to the opinions put forth by Hume respecting government as " sometimes reprehensible ; " and to declare, for his own part, that when at any time he had felt a leaning towards monarchy, it had been suggested by the consideration that a king, being but one man, may easily be restrained from doing wrong, whereas, if a number of the great are permitted to divide authority, who can punish them if ihey abuse it ? An error is involved in this reasoning (not inexcusable, I hope, by those who have read the sketches of party given in this narrative), but at least it suffices to show us why, on this theme. Goldsmith joined Johnson against BurkOj though he differed from Johnson in this, that in real truth he went with neither faction. Yet surely, if ever even faction, as against itself, could be invested with a something manly and defensible, it was now. The most thoughtful, the most retired, the least excitable of men, were suddenly aroused to some interest in it. A friend of Gray relates that he had an appointment to meet the poet at his lodgings in Jermyn-street, and found him so deeply plunged in the columns of a newspaper, which with his dinner had been sent bim from a neighbouring tavern, that his attention was with difficulty drawn from it. "Take this," said he, in a tone of excitement ; "here " is such writing as I never before saw in a newspaper." It was the first letter with the signature of Junius. But it was not what now we must associate with Junius, — not the reckless caliunnies and scandals, not the personal spites and hatreds ; not such halting liberalism as his approval of the taxation of America, and his protest against the disfranchisement of Old Sarum, — ^which then so completely seized upon the reason as well as temper of men. It was the startling manifestation of power and courage ; it was the sense that unscrupulous ministers had now an enemy as unscrupulous ; that here was knowledge of even the worst chicaneries of office, which not the most sneering official could make light of ; that no minister in either house, no courtier at St. James's, no obsequious judge at Westmiiister, no supercilious secretary in any of the offices, could hereafter feel himself safe from treachery and betrayal ; and that what hitherto had been only a vulgar half- articulate cry from the Brentford hustings, or at best, a faint whisper imperfectly echoed from St. Stephen's, was now made the property and enjoyment of every section of the people, — of the educated by its exquisite polish, of the vulgar by its relish of malice, 328 OLIVEit GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. of the great middle-class by its animated plainness, vigorons slirewdness, and dogged perseverance. " I will be beard," cried Burke in the House of Oonunons, in the course of what he wittily called the fifth act of the tragi-conxedy acted by his majesty's servants for the benefit of Mr. Wilkes, at the expense of the constitution : "I vdU be heard. I will throw open those doors, " and tell the people of England that when a man is addressing " the chair on their behalf, the attention of the Speaker ir engaged " — -But "great noise" of members talking proved too much for even that impetuous spirit ; he was not heard ; noi till the publication of Sir Henry Cavendish's Notes eleven years since, had the English people any detailed means of knowing what had passed during the most exciting debates ever known within their House. But the gap was filled by Junius. By those celebrated letters, reprinted and circulated in every possible shape, the people were made parties, in its progress, to much of what was doing in St. Stephen's ; in the House itself, the popular element was made of greater practical importance ; throughout the country, the demo- cratic spirit was strengthened ; and, above all, the right of the newspapers to report the debates was at last secured. CHAPTEE V. LONDON LIFE. 1769—1770. Horace Walpole, hopeless of his cousin Conway for a Premier, had left politics now ; but he could see those increasing m. ^j intimations of an uneasy democratic spirit at which I have glanced at the close of the last chapter, and he saw them with alarm. To meet this year at the same dinner-table the Due de Ex)chefoucault and Mrs. Macauley, whose statue the rector of St. Stephen's Walbrook had just set up in the chancel of his church, was, to poor Horace, significant of eviL Yet, when he went to Paris a month or two later, and could not get into the Louvre for the crowds that were flocking to see Madame Dubarry's portrait at the Meposition, he did not seem to see evil impending there. He could only wonder that the French should adore the monarch that was starving them ; and when the Revolution did come, was ready to tear his periwig with horror. With aU his professions for liberty, indeed, he never measured liberty down- wards. He never thought of the independence of those below him, though half his life was passed in crying out for freedom from dHAP. v.] LONDON LIFE. 329 those above him. Unhappily also, little things and great things too often affected him, or escaped him, in exactly the same pro- portion, to the sad misuse of his brilliant talents ; and it was with this .Gray pleasantly reproached him, when after quiet sarcastic enjoyment of the Paris moralities, he blazed up with so much heat against poor Garrick's Stratford Jubilee. Why so tolerant of Dubarrydom, and so wrathful at Vanity Fair 1 The great actors at the JubUee in Shakespeare's honour made a three days' wonder of it (the 6th, 7th, and 8th of September), and then came back to town. Neither Johnson nor Goldsmith had joined them : but among them were Colman, representing hia theatre in place of poor Powell, who had died suddenly at Bristol two months before ; Foote, laughing at everything going forward ; several of Ganick's noble friends, dukes, earls, and aristocratic beauties ; and last, not least, Mr. Boswell "in a Corsican habit, " with pistols in his belt, and a musket at his back, and in, the front "of his cap, in gold letters, these words, Paoli and iIibeeiy." He had written a poem for recitation at the masquerade, to which the crowd refused to listen ; but he brought it up to London, fired it off in the newspapers, and had the singular satisfaction of presenting it to Paoli himself, who arrived in London not many days after hia admirer, and with a note from whom he had already, as we have seen, forced his way, Corsican dress and all, into the pre- sence of the great Mr. Pitt. Patriot Paoli's struggle having ended in the defeat and absorption of Corsica, he' was content to subside from a patriot into a civil dangler at St. James's with a pension of a thousand a-year ; and probably laughed as heartily as anybody, when Boswell now appeared in a full suit of black, with " Corsica" exposed in legible letters on his hat, as the dear defunct he was in mourning for. Nor did the fit abate for some time. It was not tiU several months later that the old laicd of Affleck (so was Auchinleck in those days familiarly called) had occEisioii to make his famous complaint to a Mend. " There's nae hope for Jamie, "mon. Jamie is gaen clean gyte. What do you think, mon ? " He's done wi' Paoli ; he's off wi' the landlouping scoundrel of a " Corsican ; and whose tail do you think he has pinn'd himself to "now, mon ! " And here the old judge pauses, to summon up a sneer of most sovereign contempt. "A dommie, mon ; an auld "dominie : he keeped a schiile, and cau'd it an acaadamy." But, though not yet exclusively pinned to the auld dominie's tail, Jamie so far abated his ostentatious attendance on the landlouping Corsican as to revive some of the old nights at the Mitre, and to get up some dinners and drinking parties at his rooms in Old Bond-street. One of the dinners was fixed for the 16th of October : and the party invited were Johnson, Reynolds (now 330 OlIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv knighted as the President of the Royal Academy), Goldsmith, Garrick, Murphy, Bickerstaflf, and Tom Davies. Some days before it took place, however, an incident occurred of no small interest to that circle. One of Johnson's early acquaint- ance was Bai'etti, the Italian, a man of cynical temper and iver- bearing manners, but also of undoubted ability, who had been useful to him at the time of the Dictiona/ry, and whose seicices had never been forgotten. To Goldsmith, on the other hand, this man had made himself 'peculiarly hateful, by all that malice iu little, which on a larger field he subsequently practised against poor Mrs. Piozzi ; and they seem never to have met but to quarrel. Their mutual dislike is described by Davies. " He " (Goldsmith), least of all mankind, approved Baretti's conver- "sation; he considered him as an insolent overbearing foreigner: " as Baretti, in his turn, thought him an unpolished man, and an " absurd companion." It now unhappily fell out, however, that in a street scuffle Baretti drew out a fruit knife which he always carried, and killed a man (one of three who had grossly insulted him, on his somewhat rudely repulsing the overtures of a woman with whom they were proved to be connected) ; and it further happened that Goldsmith was among the first to hear of the incident next morning, when Baretti was under examination before Sir John Fielding. The good-natured man forgot all his wrongs in an instant, thought only of his enemy's evil plight, and hurried off to render him assistance. " When this unhappy Italian," says Davies, " was charged with murder and sent "by Sir John Fielding to "Newgate, Goldsmith opened his purse, and would have given "him every shilling it contained : he at the same time insisted " upon going in the coach with him to the place of his confine- "ment." Bail was given before Lord Mansfield a few days later ; and never were such names, before or since, proffered in connection with such a charge. They were Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Burke, and Garrick. All the friends met to arrange the defence ; and it was at one of the consultations, on a hot dispute arising between Burke and Johnson, that the latter is reported to have frankly admitted afterwards, "Burke and I should have been of one "opinion if we had had no audience." Baretti was acquitted, though not without merited rebuke ; and Johnson subsequently obtainedfor him the post of tutor in the family of the Thiales (which Mrs. Thrale lived to have reason bitterly to repent), and Reynolds that of honorary foreign secretary to the new Academy. But Mr. Boswell's dinner is waiting us. On that very day (as Mr. William Filby's bills enable us with commendable correctness to state), Goldsmith's tailor took him home " a half-dress suit of CHAP, v.] LONDON LIFE. 331 "ratteen lined with satin, a pair of silk stocking breeches, and a " pair of bloom-coloured ditto " (for which the entire charge was about sixteen pounds) ; and to Old Bond-street the poet would seem to have proceeded in " silk attire." Though he is said to have been last at every dinner party, arriving always, according to Sir George Beaumont, in a violent bustle- just as the rest were siting down, — ^when he anived on this occasion, there was still a laggard : but Garrick and Johnson were come, and Boswell pleasantly relates with what good humour they had met ; how Garrick played round Johnson with a fond vivacity, taking hold of the breasts of his coat, and, as he looked up in his face with a lively archness, complimenting him on the good health which he seemed then to enjoy, while the sage, shaking his head, beheld him with a gentle complacency. Dinner continued to be kept waiting, however, Reynolds not yet arriving ; and, says Boswell, " Goldsmith, to " divert -the tedious minutes, strutted about bragging of his dress, " arid I believe was serioiisly vain of it, for his mind was wonder- " fully prone to such impressions." Of course BosweU had no such weakness, any more than Horace Walpole, also a great laugher on the same score. Though the one had so lately figured in Corsican costume, and was so proud of his ordinary dress that he would show oflF, to the smallest of printers' devils, his new ruffles and sword, — ^though the other had just received a party of French visitors at Strawberry-hill in elaborate state, presenting himself at 832 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv the gate in a " cravat of Gibbons's carving " and a pair of James- tbe-Mrst gloves embroidered up to the elbows, — both thought themselves entitled to make the most of poor Goldsmith's "brag- " ging ; " and Ganick, however good the humour he might be in, had always his laugh in equal readiness. " Come, come," he said, "talk no more of that. You are perhaps the worst . . . eh, eh ! " Goldsmith eagerly attempted to interrupt him. " Nay," continued Garrick, laughing ironically, "nay, you will always look like a "gentleman ; but I am talking of being well or HI drest." " Well," answered Goldsmith, with an amusing simplicity which makes the anecdote very pleasant to us, " let me tell you, when my tailor "brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he said, 'Sir, I have a " 'favour to beg of you. When anybody asks you who made " ' your clothes, be pleased to mention John Mby, at the Harrow " 'in Water-lane.' " " Why, sir," remarked Johnson, " that was "because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze " at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could "make a coat, even of so absurd a colour." Crowds have been attracted to gaze at it, and Mr. FUby's bloom-coloured coat defies the ravages of time ! How the party talked after dioner may be read in Boswell ; in all whose reports, however, the confessed object is to give merely the talk of one speaker, with only such limited fragments of remark from others as may be necessary in elucidation of the one. Thus, there are but two sentences preserved of Goldsmith's ; both sensible enough, though both of them indicating that he was not disposed to accept all Johnson's criticism for gospel. He put in a word for Pope's character of Addison, as "showing a deep "knowledge of the human heart," while Johnson was declaring (quite justly) that in Dryden's poetry were passages drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach ; and he quietly inter- posed, when Johnson took to praising Lord Karnes's Elements of Criticism, that it must have been easier to write that book "than it " was to read it." Yet a very interesting dinner to have been pre- sent at, one feels on the whole this must have been. Goldsmith's new coat one would like to have seen, with the first freshness of its bloom upon it. Something it must have been to hear Johnson repeat, "in his forcible melodious manner," those famous closing lines of the Ownciad which Pope himself coiild not repeat without a voice that faltered with emotion. Nor could the eager encounter of Garrick with Johnson on the respective merits of Shakespeare and Congreva fail to have had its entertain- ment for us ; and, beyond and before all, who would not have laughed to see the very giver as well as desoriber of the feast- plucking up courage to "venture" a remark at it, and bliintly OHAP. v.] LONDON LIFE. 333 called a dunce for his pains ! Poor Boswell appears to have been the only one who came off lE at this dinner, as he did at several other meetings before he returned to Scotland, — ^being compared t:) Pope's dunces, having his head called his peccant part, and receiving other as unequivocal compliments, — so that he was fain to consols himself with what he now heard Goldsmith, happily adapting an expression in one of Gibber's comedies, say of his hero's conversa- tion. " There is no arguing with Johnson ; for when his pistol " misses Are, he knocks you down with the butt-end of it." The nature of Goldsmith's employments at the close of 1?C9, are indicated in the advertising columns of the papers of the day. His English Sistory occupied him chiefly, his History of Animated Natwre occasionally ; he had undertaken to write a life of his countryman, ParneU, for a new edition of his poems, — this being a subject in which, as he remarks in the biography itself, what he remembered having collected in boyhood "from my father and " uncle, who knew him," had doubtless given him a personal interest ; and the speedy publication of the Deserted Village was twice announced in the Public Advertiser. But it was not published speedily. Still it was paused over, altered, polished, and refined. Bishop Percy has mentioned the delightful facility with which his prose flowed forth unblotted with erasure, as a contrast to the labour and pains of his verse interlined with countless alterations ; but in prose, as in poetry, he aimed at the like effects, and obtained them. He knew that no picture will stand, if the colours are bad, ill-chosen, or indiscreetly combined ; and that not chaos, but order, is creation. It is a pity that men, though of perhaps greater genius, who have lived since his time, should not more carefully have pondered such lessons as his writings bequeath to us. It is a pity that the disposition to nish into print should be so general ; for few men have ever repented of publishing too late. Goldsmith, alas ! never found himself without the excuse which the successful poet, supreme in his power and mastery over the town, threw out for the instant needs wid pressing necessities of less fortunate men. "Keep your piece nine years.'' "Nine years !" cries he, who, high in Dniry-lane, Lvill'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, Khymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Obliged by hunger and request of friends. Yet neither at the request of friends, nor at the more urgent call of hunger, did Goldsmith peril his chances of being cherished as a poet by future generations. Pope's own method of sending forth a part of a poeiii one winter, and promising its completion for the 834 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. winter following, would be laughed at now-a-days : yet extremely few are the thoughts "conceived with rapture and with fire "begot," compared with those that may be carefully brought forth, becomingly and chamungly habited, and introduced by tho Graces. Men of the more biiUiant order of fancy and imagination should be always distrustful of their powers. Spar and stalactite are bad materials for the foundation of solid edifices. The year 1770 opens with a glimpse into the old fireside at Kilmore. The Lawders do not seem to have communica^ Mt i2 ^^ with him since his imcle Contarine's death; and a ' legacy of 151. left him by that generous friend, remained unappropriated in their hands. His brother Maurice, still without callii^ or employment, and apparently living on such of his relatives as from time to time were willing to afibrd him a home, probably heard this legacy mentioned while he made one of his self-supporting visits, for he straightway wrote to Oliver. The money would help him to an outfit, if his famous brother could help him to an appointment ; and to express his earnest hopes in this direction, was the diift of the letter. His sister Johnson wrote soon after, for her husband, in a precisely similar strain ; and to these letters Goldsmith's reply has been kept. It shows little change since earlier days. His Irish £riends and family are as they then were. They do not seem to have answered many recent communications sent to them ; he now learns for the first time that Charles is no longer in Ireland ; his brother-in-law, Hodson, has been as silent as the rest ; his sister Hodson he never mentions, some early disagreement remaining still unsettled ; and he .sends cousin Jenny his portrait, in memory of an original "almost forgot." The latter is directed to "Mr. Maurice " Goldsmith, at James Lawder's, Esq. at Kilmore, near Carrick-on- " Shannon," and bears the date of " January, 1770." " Dear Brother, I should have answered your letter sooner, but in truth I am not fond of thinking of the necessities of those I love, when it is so very little in my power to help them. I am sorry to find you are still every way unprovided for ; and what adds to my uneasiness is, that I have received a letter from my sister Johnson, by which I learn that she is pretty much in the same circumstances. As to myself, I believe I could get both yon and my poor brother-in-law something like that which you desire, but I am determined never to ask for little things, nor exhaust any little interest I may have until I can serve you, him, and myself more effectually. As yet no opportunity has offered, but I believe you are pretty well convinced, that I will not be remiss when it arrives. The king has lately been pleased to make me Professor of Ancient History in a royal Academy of Fainting, which he has just established, but there is no salary annexed ; and I took it rather as a compliment to the institution than any benefit to myself. Honours to one in my situation are something like ruffles to a man that wants a shirt. You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me in the hands of my couan CHAP, v.] LONDON LIFE. 335 Lawder, and you ask me what I would have done with them. My dear brother, I would by no means give any directions to my dear worthy relations at Eilmore, how to dispose of money, which is, properly speaking, more theirs than mine. All that I can say is, liat I entirely, and this letter will serve to witness, give up any right and title to it ; and I am sure they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely leave it, whether they or you may think the whole necessary to fit you out, or whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the half, I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kindness of that good couple to our poor diattered family, demands our sincerest gratitude, and though they have almost forgot me, yet, if good things at last arrive, I hope one day to Return, and encrease their good humour by adding to my own. I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe it is the most acceptable present I can offer. I hare ordered it to be left for her at Qeorge Faulkener's, folded in a letter. The face, yoii well know, is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I will shortly also send my &iends over the Slmnnon some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of my iriendB here, such as Burke, Johnson, Beynolds, and Golman. I believe I have written an hundred letters to difierent friends in your country, and never received an answer from any of them. I do not know how to account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards, which I must ever retain for them. If then you have a mind to oblige me, you wiU write often whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly have the news of our family and old acquaintances. For instance, you may begin by telling me about the family where you reside, how they spend their time, and whether they ever make ' mention of me. Tell me about my mother, my brother Hodson, and Bts son ; my brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family of Ballyoughter, what is become of them, where they live, and how they do.. Tou talked of being my only brother, I don't understand you — Where is Charles ? A sheet of paper occasionally filled with news of this kind, would make me very happy, and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, believe me to be yours, most affectionately, Oliver ffOlDSMITH." The writei's weakness is here, too, as of old. He believes he could get, for his poor, idle, thriftless petitioners, exactly what they want ; though ruffles, minus the shirt, are the sum of his own acquisitions. But he will wait ; and they must wait ; and good things are sure to arrive ; and they will one day be all in good humour again. The old, hopeful, sanguine, unreflecting story ! Nevertheless, Maurice soon tired of waiting, as his wealthier rela- tives tired of helping him to wait ; and he is shortly afterwards discovered again complaining to his brother, that really he finds it difficult to live like a gentleman. Oliver replies upon this iu somewhat plainer fashion, recommending him by ail means to quit the improfitable calling, and betake himself to some handicraft employment, if no better can be found : whereupon Maurice bound himself to a cabinet-maker in Drumsna, in the county of Leitrim, in which calling, several years after his brother's death, he kept a shop in Dublin. Meanwhile Oliver's inquiry after brother-in-law Hodson's son, had the efiect, soon after his letter reached Athlone, of bringing back to London a very unsettled, and somewhat 336 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMKS. [book iv. eccentric youtli : who had formerly Tisited Goldsmith, after abruptly ;i[uittuig Dublin University, leaving at that time obseiire traces of the extent to ■which his celebrated relatiye hatl befriended him J and who now, having chiefly occupied the interval in foreign travel, during which he had turned to account certain half-finished medical studies, lived fotr the most part in London, until his uncle Oliver's death, as a pensioner on his scanty resources. He resem- bled Oliver in some thoughtlcsB peculiarities of character, and in his odd vicissitudes of good and evil fortune, for he once paid a small debt with an undrawn lottery ticket which turned out a prize of 20,000Z. During his residence in London, he practised occasionally, without any regular qualification, as an apothecary in Newman-street, but he ultimately ended his days as a prosperous Irish gentleman, farming a patrimonial estate, 'When Goldsmith died, half the unpaid bill he owed to Mr. William Filby, and which amounted in aU to only 791., was for clothes supplied to this nephew Hodson. Yet it does not appear that the bill was paid by this very genuine young branch of the old careless, idle, improvi- dent Goldsmith stock. CHAPTER VI. DINNERS AND TALK. 1770. In Goldsmith's letter to his brother Maurice, it will have been observed that the writer's friends over the Shannon were ml An ^^^ shortly to expect some mezzotinto prints of himself, ' and of such friends of his as Burke, Johnson, Eeynolds, and Colman. The fact thus indicated has its proper biographical significance. The head of the author of the Traveller now figured in the print-shops. Beynolds had painted his portrait. "In " poetry we may be said to have nothing new," says a letter-writer of the day ; " but we have the mezzotinto print of the new poet, "Doctor Goldsmith, in the print-shop windows. It is in profile "from a painting of Beynolds, and resembles bim greatly." The engraving was an admirable one, having been executed, under the eye . of the great painter himself, by Guiseppe Marchi, his first pupil. The original, which Reynolds intended for himself, passed intci the possession of the Duke of Dorset, and remains still at KnWle ; but a copy also painted by Beynolds, and the only other portrait of Goldsmith known to have been touched by his pencil, was taken afterwards for Thrale, and ultimately placed in thd cuAr. VI.] tolNNfiilS AND (fALg. Sit dining-room at Streatham, by the side of Johnson, Btitke, Garrick, and others of his famous friends. The life fii his celebrity is thus, as it were, beginning ; and from no kinder, no ■vrorthier hand than that of Beynblds, could it receive inauguration. The great painter's restless and fidgetty sister, — who used herself to paint portraits, with such exact imitation of her brother's defects and avoidance of his beauties, that, according to Korthcote, they made himself cry and^ everybody else laugh, — thought it marvellous that so much dignity could have been given to the poet's face, and yet so strong a likeness be conveyed : for "Dr. Goldsmith's cast ot " countenance," she proceeds to inform us, "and indeed his whole "figure from head to' foot, impressed every one at first sight with " an idea of his being a low mechanic ; particxdarly, I believe, a "journejrman tailor :" and in proof the lively lady relates that Goldsmith came in one day, at a party at her brother's, very indig- nant at an insult he had received from some one in a coffee-house ; and, on explaining it as "the fellow took me for a tailor," all the party present either laughed aloud, or showed they suppressed a laugh. It is a pity they were not more polite, if only for their host's sake; since it is certain that these jibes were never countenanced by Reynolds. He _knew Goldsmith better ; and as he knew, he had painted him. A great artist does not measure a face, taUor-fashioh ; it is by seizing and showing the higher aspects of character, that he puts lipon his work the stamp of history. No ma,ii had seen earlier than Reynolds into Goldsmith's better quali- ties ; no man so loved and honoured him to the last ; and no man so steadily protected him, with calm, equable, kindly temper, against Johnson's careless sallies. " It is amazing," said the latter more than oncej with that too emphatic habit of over- charging the characteristics of his friends which all a,greed in attribiiting to him, " it is amazing how little Goldsmith knows, he "seldom comes where he is not more ignorant that any one else ;" and on Reynolds quietly interposing "yet there is no man whose "company is more liked," the other, fully conceding this, would explain it by the gratification people felt, to find a man of "the "most distinguished abilities as a writer" inferior in other respects to themselves. But Reynolds had another explanation. He thought that much of Goldsmith's nonsense, as the nonsense of a man of undoubted wit and understanding, had the essence of conviviality in it. He fancied it not seldom put on for that reason, and for no other. " One should take care," says Addison, "not to grow too wise for so great a pleasure of life as laughter ;" and some such maxim, Reynolds seems to have thought, was put in practice by Goldsmith. It was not a little, at any rate, to have given that impression to so wise as well as kind an observer ; z 838 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND I'lMES. [book iv. to one of whom Jolmson said to Boswell that lie had known no one who had passed through life with more observation ; and the confidence between the friends, which was probably thus estab- lished, remained unbroken to the end. I can only discover one disagreement that ever came between them ; and the famous dinner parties in Leicester-square were now seldom imenlivened by the good humour and gaiety of Goldsmith. Nor is it improbable that, occasionally, those festive meetings were a little in need of both. " WeU, Sir Joshua," said lawyer Dunning on arriving first at one of them, " and who have you got to " dine with you to-day 1 The last time I dined in your house, the " company was of such a sort, that by — I believe all the rest " of the world enjoyed peace for that afternoon." But though vehemence and disputation will at times usurp quieter enjoyments, where men of genius and strong character are assembled, the evi- dence that has smrvived of these celebrated dinners in no respect impairs- their indestructible interest. They were the first great example that had been given in this country, of a cordial inter- course between persons of distinguished pretensions of all kinds, poets, physicians, lawyers, deans, historians, actors, temporal and spiritual peers, house of commons men, men of science, men of letters, painters, philosophers, musicians, and lovers of the arts, — meeting on a ground of hearty ease, good humour, and pleasantry, which exalts my respect for the memory of Beynolds. It was no prim fine table he set them down to. There was little order or arrangement ; there was more abundance than elegance ; and a happy freedom thrust conventionalism aside. Often was the dinner board, prepared for seven or eight, required to accommodate itself to fifteen or sixteen ; for often, on the very eve of dinner, woiild Sir Joshua tempt afternoon visitors with intimation that Jolmson, or Ganick, or Goldsmith was to dine there. Nor was the want of seats the only difficulty. A want of knives and forks, of plates and glasses, as often succeeded. In something of the same style, too, was the attendance ; the " two or three occasional domestics " were undisciplined ; the kitchen had to keep pace with the visitors ; and it was easy to know the guests best acquainted with the house, by their never failing to ca,ll instantly for beer, bread, or wine, that they might get them before the first course was over, and the worst confusion began. Once Sir Joshua was prevailed upon to furnish his table more amply with dinner glasses and decanters, and some saving of time they efiected ; yet, as these " accelerating "utensils" were demolished in the course of service, he could never be persuaded to replace them. "But such trifling embar- " rassments," added Mr. Courtenay, describing them to Sir James Mackintosh, " only served to enhance the hilarity and singular OBAP. VI.] DINNERS AND TALK. 339 "pleasure of the entertainment." It was not the wine, dishes, and cookery, it was not the fish and venison, that were talked of or recommended ; those social hours, that irregular convivial talk, hftd matter of higher relish, and fare more eagerly enjoyed. And amid all the animated bustle of his guests, the host sat perfectly composed ; always attentive to what was said, never minding what was eat or drank, and leaving every one at perfect liberty to scramble for himself. Though so severe a, deafness had resulted from cold caught on the continent in early life, as to compel the use of a trumpet, Reynolds profited by its use to hear or not to hear, or as he pleased to enjoy the privileges of both, and keep his own equanimity undisturbed. "He is the same all the year " round," exclaimed Johnson, with honest envy. " In illness and " in pain, he is still the same. Sir, he is the most invulnerable man " I know ; the man with whom, if you should quarrel, you will "find the most difficulty how to abuse." Nor was this praise obtained by preference of any, but by cordial respect to all ; for in Reynolds there was as little of the sycophant as of the tyrant. However high the rank of the guests invited, he waited for none. His dinners were served alway,= precisely at five o'clock. His'waa not the fashionable iU breeding, says Mr. Courtenay, " which " could wait an hour for two or three persons of title," and put the rest of the company out of humour by the invidious distinction. Such were the memorable meetings, less frequent at first than they afterwards became, from which Goldsmith was now rarely absent. Here appeared the dish of peas one day that were any- thing but their natural colour, and which one of Beauclerc's waggish friends recommended should be sent to Hammersmith, because " that was the way to Tumham Green [turn 'em green]." It was said in a whisper to Goldsmith ; and so tickled and delighted him that he resolved to pass it off for his own at the house of Burke, who had a mighty relish for a bad pun. But when the time came for repeating it, he had imluckHy forgotten the point, and fell into hapless, confusion. "That is the way to make 'em green," he said : but no one laughed. " I mean that is the road to turn 'em "green ;" he blundered put : but still no one laughed; and as Beauclerc teUs the story, he started up disconcerted, and abruptly quitted the table. A tavern he would often quit, Hawkins tells us, if his jokes were unsuccessful ; though at the same time he would generally preface them, as with an instinctive distrust of their effect, "now I'll tell you a story of myself, which some " people laugh at and some do not." The worthy knight adds a story something like Beauclerc's, which he says occurred at the breaking up of one of those tavern evenings, when he entreated the company to sit down, and told them if they would call for another 840 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv, bottle, they should hear one of his bon-mots. It turned out to be •what he had said on hearing of old Sheridan's habit of practising his stage gestures in a room hung round with ten looking-glasses, "then there were ten ugly fellows together;" whereupon, every body remaining silent, he asked why they did not laugh, " which " they not doing, he without tasting the wine left the room in " anger." < But surely aU this, even if correctly reported, was less the sensitive- ness of Ul-nature than the sudden shame of exaggerated self -dis- trust. Poor Goldsmith ! He coiild never acquire what it is every one's duty, to learn, the making light of petty annoyances. " Consider, ' ' Sir, How insignificant this will 'appea/r a twelvemonth hence," was, on such occasions, the precious saying of Johnson, who, if he often inflicted the vexation, was commonly the &st to suggest its remedy. But Goldsmith never lost his over sensitive nature. His very sus- picions involved him in unreserved disclosures which revealed the unspoiled 'simplicity of his heart. Alas! that the subtle insight which is so' able to teach others, should so often be powerless to guide itself ! Could Goldsmith only have been as indifferent as he was earnest, as impudent as he was frank, he might have covered ■iffeotually every imperfection in his character. Could he but have practised in his person any part of the exquisite address ho pos- sessed with his pen, not an objection would have been heard against him ; but when the pen was put down, the enchanter was without his wand, and an ordinary mortal hke the rest of us. Rochester said of Shadwell, that if he had burnt all he wrote, and printed all he spoke, he would have left behind him more wit and humour than any other poet. It is the reverse of this we have to say of Goldsmith ; yet measuring him by Shadwell, we may surely rest perfectly satisfied with the relative accomplishments and deficiencies of each. - That consciousness of self which so often gives the charm and the truth to his creations, was the very thing over which he stumbled when he left the fanciful and walked into the real world. All then became patent, and a prey to critics the reverse of generous. He wore his heart upon his sleeve. " Sir, rather than '' not speak, he will talk of what he knows himself to be ignorant, 'which can only end in exposing him." He could not conceal what was uppermost in his mind, says Davies ; he blurted it out, says Johnson, to see what became of it. Thus, when Hawkins tells us that he heard him say in company, "yesterday I heard an " excellent story, and would relate it now if I thought any of you " able to understand it," the idea conveyed is not an impertinence, but simply that the company, including Hawkins, was a very stupid one. Yet, if we would have politeness perfectly defined, we have but to turn -to the writings of the man who thus imper- OHAP. VI.] DINNEES AND TALK. 3J1 fectly practised it. Never was the distinction better put thau/ where he tells us why ceremony should be different in every/ country while true politeness is everywhere the same, because the/ former is but the artificial help which ignorano assumes to iniitata the latter, which is the result of good sense and good nature! Unhappily it was the best part of his own nature which he too often laid aside, when he left the society of himself for that of his friends. " Good heavens, Mr. Foote," exclaimed a lively actress at the Haymarket, " what a humdrum kind of man Dr. Goldsmith " appears to be in our green-room, compared with the figure he " makes in his poetry ?" "The reason of that, madam," replied the manager, " is, because the Muses are better companions than "the Players.'' Thinking his companions more stupid than his thoughts, it certainly was not his business to say so ; yet he could not help awkwardly saying it. His mind relieved itself, as a necessity, of all that lay upon it. His kindly purposes, and simple desires ; his sympathies to assist others, and his devices to make better appearance for himself ; his innocent distrusts, and amusing vanities ; the sense of his own undeserved disadvantages, and vex- ation at others' as undeserved success, — everything sprang to his lips, and it was only from himself he coidd conceal anything. [ Even Burke could not spare that weakness, nor refrain from practising upon it, not very justifiably, for the amusement of hisi friends. He and an Irish acquaintance (who lived to be Colonel ' O'Moore, to tell the ajiecdote to Mr. Croker, and perhaps to colour it a little) were walking to dine one day with Reynolds, when, on arriving in Leicester-square, they saw Goldsmith, also on his way to the same dinner party, standing near a crowd of people who were staring and shouting at some foreign women in the windows of one of the hotels. " Observe Goldsmith," said Burke to O'Moore, ' ' and mark what passes between him and me by-and-bye " at Sir Joshua's." They passed on, and were soon .joined at Reynolds's by Goldsmith, whom Burke affected to receive very coolly. " This seemed to vex poor Goldsmith," says the teller of the story ; and he begged Mr. Burke would tell him how he had had the misfortune to offend him. Burke appealed very reluctant to speak ; but, after a good deal of pressing, said that " he was " really ashamed to keep up an intimacy with one who could be "guiHy of such monstrous indiscretions as Goldsmith had just " exhibited in the square." With great earnestness Goldsmith protested himself unconscious of what was meant. " Why," said Burke, " did you not exclaim, as you were looking up at those " women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with " such admiration at those painted Jezebels, while a man of your " talents passed by upnoticed 1 " "Surely, surely, my dear fijend," 342 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. exclaiined Goldsmith, horror-struck, " 1 did not say so ?" " Nay," returned Bnrke, " if yon had not said so, how should I have known " it ? " " That's true," answered Goldsmith, with great humility : " I am very sorry ; it was very foolish. I do recollect that some hing " of the kind passed through my mind, hut I did not think 1 had " uttered it." The anecdote is more creditable to Goldsmith, not- withstanding the weakness in his character it unquestionably reveals, than to Burke, to whose disadvantage it was probably afterwards remembered. It should be added that Burke had a tm-n for ridicule of that kiad ; and got up a more good-humoured trick against Goldsmith at his own house, not long after this, in which a lively kinswoman was played off as a raw Irish authoress, arrived expressly to see " the great Goldsmith," to praise him, and get his subscription to her poems, which, with liberal return of the praise (for several she had read out aJoud), the simple poet gave, abusing them heartily the instant she was gone. Garrick founded a farce upon the incident, which with the title of the Jrisfc Widow was played in 1772, Not always at a disadvantage, however, was Goldsmith in these social meetings. At times he took the lead, and kept it, to even Johnson's annoyance. " The misfortune of Goldsmith in conversa- "tion," he would say on such occasions, "is this: he goes on " without knowing how he is to get off. His genius is great, but " his knowledge is small. As they say of a generous man, it is a " pity he is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith, it is a pity he is "not knowing. He would not keep his knowledge to himself." This is not the way to characterise the talk of an " idiot." Indeed sometimes, when the humour suited him, he would put even Burke's talk at the same disadvantage as Goldsmith's. Mentioning the latter as not agreeable, because it was always for fame, — "and " the man who does so never can be pleasing ; the man who talks " to unburden his mind is the man to delight you," — he would add that " an eminent friend of ours" (so BosweU generally introduces Burke) was not so agreeable as the variety of his knowledge would otherwise make him, because he talked partly from ostentation ; and, before the words were forgotten (the next day, if ia better humour), would not hesitate to put forth Burke's talk as emphati- cally the ebullition of his mind, as in no way connected with the desire of distinction, and indulged only because his mind was fulL Such remarks and comparisons at the least make it manifest that Goldsmith's conversation was not the foUy which it is too often assumed to have been ; though doubtless it was sometimes too ambitious, and fell short of the effort implied in it. He did not keep sufficiently in mind that precious maxim for which Lady Pomfret was so grateful to the good old lady who gave it to her, OHAP. Ti.] DINNEBS AND TALK. 343 that when she had nothing to say, to say nothing. " T fired at " them all, and did not make a hit ; I angled all night, but I " caught nothing ! " was his own candid remark to Cradock on one occasion. With a greater show of justice than he cared generally to afford hiin in this matter, Johnson laid his failure, on other occasions, rather to the want of temper than the want of power. "Goldsmith should not," he said, "be for ever attempting to " shine in conversation ; he has not temper for it, he is so much " mortified when he fails. Sir, a game of jokes is composed partly " of skill, partly of chance ; a man may be beat at times by one " who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now, Gioldsmith putting " hims elf against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one, " who cannot spare the hundred. It is not worth a man's while . . . " When Goldsmith contends, if he gets the better it is a very little " addition to a man of his literary reputation ; if he does not get " the better, he is miserably vexed." It should be added that there were other causes than these for Goldsmith's frequent vexation. Miss Reynolds relates that she overheard a gentleman at her brother's table, to whom he was talking his best, suddenly stop him in the middle of a sentence with " Hush ! Hush ! Doctor Johnson is going to say something." The like was overheard — ^unless this be the original story adapted to her purpose by Miss Reynolds — at the first Academy dinner ; when a Swiss named Moser, the first keeper appointed, interrupted him " when talking with fluent vivacity," to claim silence for Doctor Johnson on seeing the latter roU himself as if about to speak ("Stay, " stay, Toctor Shonson is going to zay zomething "), and was paid back for his zeal by Goldsmith's retort, "And are you sure you'll " comprehend what he says ? " His happy rebuke of a similar subser- viency of Boswell's, that he was for turning into a monarchy what ought to be a republic, is recorded by BosweU himself, who adds, with that air of patronage which is now so exquisitely ludicrous, " for my " part I like very well to hear honest Goldsmith talk awaycarelessly ;" and upon the whole evidence it seems dear enough, that, much as his talk suffered from his mal-address, in substance it was not in general below the average of that of other celebrated men. CertaLoly, therefore, if we concede some truth to the Johnsonian antithesis which even good-humoured Langton repeats so complacently, " no " man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or " more wise when he had," we must yet admit it with due allowance. Walpole said much the same thing of Hume, whose writings he thought so superior to his conversation that he protested the historian understood nothing till he had written upon it ; and even of his friend Gray he said he was the worst company in the world, for be never talked easily : yet in the sense of professed talk, the 344 OLIVEE GQLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. same might be said of the best company in the'woild, for in the mere " cunning" of retort "Walpole himself . talked iU, and so did Gay ; and so did Dryden, Pope, and Swift ; and so did Hogarth and Addison. , Nothing is recorded of those men, or of others as .famous, so clever as the specimens of the talk of Goldsmith cwhich Boswell himself has not oared to forget. Nay, even the goes "so far as to admit; that "he was often very fortunate in his witty contests, even when "he entered the lists with Johnson himself." An immortal instance was remembered by Reynolds. He, Johnson,' and Goldsmith, were together one day, when the latter said that he thought he could write a good fable ; mentioned the simplicity wluch that kind of composition requires ; and observed that in most fables the animals introduced seldom talk in character. " For instance," said he, " the fable of the little fishes who saw birds fly over their heads, " and, envying them, petitioned Jupiter to be changed into birds; " The skill," he continued, " consists in making them talk like little "fishes." At this point he observed Johnson shaking his sides and laughing, whereupon he made this'home thrust. '' Why, Mr. " Johnson, this is not so easy as yoii seem to think ; for if you were " to make little fishes talk, they would talk like Whales." This was giving Johnson what Garriok called a forcible hug, and it shook laughter out of the big man in his own despite. But in truth no one, as BosweU has admitted, could take such " adventurous " liberties" with the great social diespot, "and escape unpunished." Beauclerc tells us that on Goldsmith' originating, one day, a project for a third theatre in London solely for the exhibition, of new, plays; in order to deliver authors from the. supposed tyranny of managers (a project often renewed since, and.always sure to fail, for the simple reason that authors themselves, become, managers, and all authors cannot be heard), Johnson treated it slightingly : upon which the other retorted " Ay, ay, this may be nothing.to you, who can now "shelter yourself behind the comer of a pension ;" and Johnson bore it with perfect good humour. But the most amusing instance connected ■with the pension occurred a year or two .afterwards, when, on the appearance of Mason's exquisite'Bcroio EpUtle, Goldsmith, delighted with it himself,' carried it off to his friend, and was allowed to read it out to him from beginning to end with a running accompaniment of laughter, in which Johnson as heartily joined at the invocation to George the Third's selected, and in"partpilloried| pensioners, as at the encounter of Charles Fox with the' Jews. Does Envy doubt I 'Witness, ye chosen train 1 Who hreathe the sweets of his Satumian reign ; ■Witness ye Hills, ye Johnsons,- Soots, Shebbeares, Hark to piy call, for some of you have ears. CHAP. VI.] DINNERS AND TALK. 345 When one of the most active of the second-rate politicians, and the great go-between of the attempted alliance between the Chatham and Buckingham whigs, Tommy Townshend, — so called not satirically, but to distinguish him from his father, — anticipated in the present year that connection of Johnson's and Shebbeare's names (I formerly described them pensioned together, " the He-Bear and " the She-Bear " as some one humorously said), he did not get off so easily. But Johnson had brought these allusions on himself by plunging into party-war, at the opening of the year, with a pamphlet on the False Alarm, as he called the excitement on Wilkes' s expul- sion, in which he did not spare the opposition ; and which, written in two nights at Thi-ale's, continued to attract attention. Boswell teUs us that when Townshend made the attack, Burke, though of Towushend's party, stood warmly forth in defence of his friend ; but the recent publication of the Cavendish Debates corrects this curious error. Burke spoke after Tovnishend, and complained of the infamous private libels of the Town and Country Magazine against members of the opposition, but he did not refer to Towns- bend's attack ; he left the vindication of Johnson to their common friend Ktzherbert, who rose vrith an emphatic eulogy at the close of tie debate, and called him " a pattern of morality." In truth Burke had this year committed himself too fiercely to the stormy side of opposition, to be able to stretch his hand across even to his old fnend Johnson. His friend had cast himself with the enemies of freedom, and was left to fare with them. The excitement was unexampled. There were yet dissensions between the rival parties of opposition, but not such as withheld them from concentrating, for this one while at least, the hate and bitterness of both on the government. Language, unheard till now, was laanched against it from both houses. Lord Shelbume dared the Premier to find " a wretch so base and mean-spirited," as to take the seals Lord Camden had flung down. In evil hour, poor Charles Yorke, Lord Bockingham's attorney-general, and sensitive as he was accomplished, accepted the challenge ; and then, maddened by his own reproaches, perished within two days, his patent of peerage lying incomplete before him. Chatham rose to a height of daring which even he had never reached, and, resolving to be "a scarecrow " of violence to the gentle warblers of the grove, the moderate whigs " and temperate statesmen," prayed that rather than any compromise should now be made, or the people should vail their representative rights to their governors, either the question might be brought to practical issiie, or Discord prevail for Ever ! Grafton sank beneath the storm, even bodily disabled for his office by the attacks of Junius ; and his place was fiUed by Lord North. But Junius gathered strength, the stronger the opponent that faced him ; and 346 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES, [book iv. his terrors increased as preparation was made to cope with them. His libels donqiiered the law. Language which Burke told the House he had read with chilled blood, juries sent away unconvicted. In vain were printers hunted down, and small booksellers, and even humble milkmen. In vain did " the whole French court with "their gaudy coaches and jack boots," go out to hunt the little hare. The great boar of the forest, as Burke called the libeller, still, and always, broke through the toils ; and sorry was the sport of following after vermin. North could not visit the palace, with- out seeing the Letter to the King posted up against the wall ; the Chief Justice could hot enter his court, without seeing the Letter to Lord Mansfield impudently facing him. There was no safety in sending poor milkmen to prison. There was no protection. The thrust was mortal ; but a rapier and a ruffle alone were visible, in the dark alley from which it came. CHAPTEK VII. — t — THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 1770. Beneath these dark and desperate struggles of party profligacy, the more peaceful current of life meanwhile flowed on, and ffit 42 '^^ ^^^ graces and enjoyments ; not the least of them from Goldsmith's hand. " This day at 12," said the Publie Advertiser of the 26th of May, "wiU. be published, price two "shillings. The Deserted Village, a Poem. By Doctor Goldsmith. " Printed for W. Griffin, at Ganick's Head in Catherine Street, "Strand." Its success was instant and decisive. A second edition was called for on the seventh of June, a third on the fovirteenth, a fourth ( carefully revised ) on the twenty-eighth, and on the sixteenth of August a fifth edition appeareti. Even Goldsmith's enemies in the press were silent, and nothing interrupted the praise which greeted him on all sides. One tribute he did not hear, and was never conscious of ; yet from truer heart or finer genius he had none, and none that should have given bim greater pride. Gray was passing the summer at Malvern, the last summer of his life, with his friend Nioholls, when the poem came out : and he desired MchoUs to read it aloud to him. He listened to it with fixed attention, and soon exclaimed " This man is a poet J' The judgment has since been affirmed by hundreds of thousands of readers, and any adverse appeal is little Ekely now to be lodged against it. Within the circle of its claims and pretTOsions. CHAP. VII. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 347 a more entirely satisfia■''" "Setting interest "aside," he •nrote, "to which I never paid much attention, I "must be indulged at present in following my affections. The "only dedication I erer made iras to my brother, because I loved ' ' him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit '-'me to inscribe this poem to yon." How grateful^ this was received, and how strongly it cemented an already fast fidendship^ needs not be said. The great painter could not rest till he had made public acknowledgment and return. He painted his picture of Besignation, had it engraved by Thomas Watson, and inscribed upon it these words : " This attempt to exprefss a charac- "ter in the Deserted TUlage is dedicated to Doctor Goldsmith, by "his sincere Mend and admirer, ~ Joshua Beynolds.''' S'or were tributes to the poefs growing popularity wanting from foreign admirers. Within two years from its first publication the first foreign translation app^kred, and obtained grateful recc^poitian under Goldsmith's band. "What Griffin paid for the poem is very doubtfiiL Glover first tells, and Cooke repeats with additions, the stoiy which "Walter Scott also believed and repeated, that he had stipulated for a hundred pounds as the price, and returned part of it on some one telling him that five shillings a cou^et was more titan any poetry ever written was worth, and could only ruin the poor bookseller who gave it ; but this is by no means credible (perhaps indeed, of all possible speeches, it is the very last that a man islikely to have made who, only a few weeks before, had not scrupled to take 500 guineas from the same publisher, on the mere faith of a book which he had hardly even begun to write), though a good authority, the Percy iTemoir, tells us it would have been " quite in charac- " ter." It is presumable, however, that the sum was small ; and that it was not without reason be told Lord lisbum, on receiving complimentary inquiries after a new poem at the Koyal Academy dinner, "I cannot afford to court the draggle-tail muses, my " Lord, they would let me starve ; but by my other labours I can " make shift to eat, and drink, and have good clothes." Some- thing to the same effect, indeed, in the imem itself, had mistily stirred the comment and curiosity of the critics. They called them excellent but " alarming lines." And thou, sweet toetrf, thoa loveliest maid. Still first to fl; where sensual jo;s imrade ; Unfit in these degenerate times of sbame^ To catch the heart, or strike for honest &me ; •BAP, vn.] THE DEBERTED VILLAQE. 858 Dear diarming nymph, neglected and decried, My gliame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thon source of all my bliss, and aU my woe, That fonnd'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; Thou guide by wluch the nobler arts excel. Thou nurse of every virtue, fere thee well ! Apollo and the Muses forbid ! was the general critical cry. What ! shall the writer of such a poem as this, " the subject of a " young and generous king, who loves, cherishes, and understands " the fine arts," shall he be obliged to drudge for booksellers, shall he be starved into abandonment of poetry ? Even so. There was no help for it ; and truly it became him to be grateful that there were booksellers to drudge for. " The poverty of authors is a "common observation, but not always a true one. No author " can be poor who understands the arts of booksellers. Without " this necessary knowledge, the greatest genius may starve ; and " with it, the greatest dunce live in splendour. This knowledge I " have pretty well dipped into." Thus, in this very month of May 1'770, the most eager young aspirant for literary fame that ever trod the flinty streets of London, poor Chatterton, was writing home to his country friends. But alas ! his lip was not wetted with the knowledge which he fancied he had dipped so deep into. With Goldsmith it was otherwise. He had drank long and weary draughts, had tasted alike the sweetness and the bitterness of the cup, and no longer sanguine or ambitious, had yet reason to confess himself not wholly discontented. In many cases it is better to want than to have, and in almost all it is better to want than to ask. At the least he covld make shift, as he said to Lord Lisbum, to eat, and drink, and have good clothes. The days which had now come to him were not splendid, but neither were they starving days ; and they' had also brought him such respectful hearing, that, of what his really starving days had been, he could now dare to speak out, in the hope of saving others. He lost no opportunity of doing it. Not even to hie Natu/ral History did he turn, with- out venting upon this sorrowful theme, in sentences that sounded strangely amid his talk of beasts and birds, what lay so near his beart. The lower race of animals, when satisfied, for the instant moment, are perfectly happy ; but it is otherwise with man. His mind anticipates distress, and feels the pang of want even before it arrests him. Thus, the mind being continually harassed by the situation, it at length influences the constitution, and unfits it for all its functions. Some cruel disorder, but no way like hunger, seizes the unhappy sufferer ; so that almost all those men who have thus long lived by chance, and whose every day may be considered as an happy escape from famine, are known at last to die, in reality, of a disorder caused by hunger, but wUch, in the common language, is often called a broken heart. Some of these I have known myself, when very little able to reliev* 2a SSI OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. them ; and I have been told, ty a very active and worthy magistrate, that the number of euoh as die in London for want, is much greater than one would imagine — I think he talked of two thousand in a year. If this was already written, as from what he afterwards told Langton we may assume these portions of the Anvmated Nature to have been, Goldsmith little imagined the immortal name which was now to be added to the melancholy list. The Trnter of the sanguine letter I have quoted was doomed to be the next victim. He had not been in London many days, at the time when he so supposed he had mastered the booksellers ; and in little less than three months after sending those hopeful tidings home, he yielded up his brain to the terrible disorder of which Goldsmith had seen BO much : so unlike hunger, though hunger-bred. Gallantly had he worked in these three momentous months : had projected histories of England, and voluminous histories of London ; had written for Magazmes, Registers, and Musewms endless, the Limdon, the Town and Covntry, the Middlesex Freeholders', the Cowrt and City ; had composed a musical burlesque burletta ; had launched into politics on both sides ; had contributed sixteen songs for ten and sixpence ; had received gladly two shillings for an article ; had lived on a halfpenny roll, or a penny tart and a glass of water a day, enjoying now and then a sheep's tongue ; had invented all the while brave letters about his happiness and success to the only creatures that loved him, his grandmother, mother, and sister, at Bristol ; had even sent them, out of his so many daily pence, bits of china, fans-, and a gown ; — and then, one fatal morning, after many bitter disappointments (one of them precisely what Gold- smith had himself undergone in' as desperate distress, just as one of his expedients for escape, by " going abroad as a surgeon," had been also what Goldsmith tried), having passed some three days without food, and refused his poor landlady's invitation to dinner, he was found dead in his miserable room, the floor thickly strewn with scraps of the manuscripts he had destroyed, a pocket-book memorandum lying near him to the effect that the booksellers owed him eleven pounds, and the cup 'which had held arsenic and water still grasped in his hand. It was in a wretched little street out of Holbom ; the body was taken to the bone-house of St. Andrew's, but no one came to claim it ; and in due time the pauper burial- ground of Shoe-lane received what remained of Chatterton. " The "marvellous boy ! The sleepless soul who perished in his pride!" He was not eighteen. The tragedy had all been acted out before Goldsmith heard of any of its incidents. I am even glad to think, that, during the whole of the month which preceded the catastrophe, Be was absent from England. CHAP, vin.] A VISIT TO PABIS. 555 CHAPTEK Yin. A VISIT TO PAfilS. 1770. C!oiJ)SMiTE had quitted London on a visit to Paris iu the middle of July. " The Professor of History," writes Maty Moser, the daughter of the keeper of the Arademy, — telling Foseli, ^J' jo at Borne, how disappointed the literary people connected \rith the new institution had been, not to receive diplomas of membership like the painters, — " is comforted by the success of "his Deserted Village, which is a very pretty poem, and has lately " put himself under the conduct of Mrs. Homeck and her fair "daughters, and is gone to France ; and Doctor Johnson sips " his tea and cares not for the vanity of the world." Goldsmith himself with most pleasant humour, has described in a letter to Sir Joshua Beynolds what happened to the party up to their lodgment in Calais, at the Hotel d'Angleterre. They had not arrived many honrs when he sent over this fragment of a dispatch, merely to satisfy him of the safe arrival of Mrs. Homeck, the young ladies, and himself. " My dear Friend," he wrote, TVe had a very qnick passage from Dover to Calais, which we performed in three horns and twenty minutes, all of as extremely sea-sick, which mnst necessarily have happen^ as my machine to prevent sea-sickness was not completed. We were glad to leave Dover, hecanse we hated to be imposed npon ; so were in high spirits at coming to Gahus, where we were told that a little money would go a great way. Upon landing two Uttle trunks, which was all we carried with ns, we were surprised to see fourteen or fifteen feBows all running down to the ship to lay their hands npon them ; four got nnder each tnink, the rest surrounded, and held the hasps ; and in this manner our little baggage was condncted, with a kind of funeral solemnity, till it was safely lodged at the custom-house. We were well-enongh pleased with the people's civility till Vbej came to he paid : when every creature that had the happinesB of but touching our trunks with their finger, expected sixpence ; and had so pretty, dvil a manner of demanding it, that there was no refofflng them. When we had done with the porters, we had next to speak with the custom-house officeis, who had their pretty tnvil way too. We were directed to the HAtd d'AngleteiTe, where a valet de place came to offer his service ; and spoke to me ten minutes before I once found out that he was speaking Bngliali. We had no occasion for his service, so we gave him a little money because he spoke WngHah, and because he wanted it. I cannot help men* tioning another drcnmstance. I bought a new ribbon for my wig at Oanter- bniy, and the barber at Calais broke it in order to gain si3^>ence by buying kie a new one. This was not a very promising b^;inning ; bat the party, con- 356 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. liuuing to cany with them the national enjoyment of scolding everything they met with, passed on through Flanders, and to Paris MTMWIEtlkRUe by way of Lisle. The ■- c^! ' latter city was the scene of an incident afterwards absurdly misrelated. Standing at the window of their hotel to see a company of soldiers in the square, the beauty of the sisters Homeck drew such marked admiration, that Goldsmith, with an assumption of solemnity to heighten drollery which was generally a point in his humour, and as often was very solemnly misinterpreted, turned off &om the window with the remark that elsewhere, he, too, could have his admireis. The Jessamy Bride, Mrs. Gwyn, was asked about the occurrence not many years ago ; remembered it as a playful jest ; and said how shocked she had subsequently been "to see it adduced in print as a proof of his " envious disposition." The readers of Boswell will remember that it is so related by him. " When accompanying two beautiful young " ladies with their mother on a tour in France, he was seriously " angry that more attention was paid to them than to him 1 " CHAP. VIII.] A VISIT TO PAKIS. 357 At Lisle another letter to Reynolds was begun, but laid aside, because everything they had seen was so dull that the description would not be worth reading. Kor had matters much improved when they got to Paris. Alas ! Goldsmith had discovered a change in Mmself since he traversed those scenes with only his youth and his poverty for companions. Lying in a bam was no disaster then. Then, there were no postilions to quarrel with, no landladies to be cheated by, no silk coat to tempt him into making himself look like a fool. The world was his oyster in those days, which with his flute he opened. He expressed all this very plainly in A letter to Reynolds soon after their arrival, dated from Paris on the 29th of July. He is anxious to get back to what Gibbon, when he be- came a member of the club, called the relish of manly conversation, and the society of the brown table. He is getting nervous about his arrears of work. He dares not think of another holiday yet, though Reynolds had proposed, on his return, a joint excursion into Bevonshire. He is already planning new labour. He is even thinking of another comedy ; and is therefore glad that Colman's suit in chancery has ended by confirming his right as acting manager (the whole quarrel was made up the following year by Mr. Harris's quarrel with Mrs. Lessingham). But here is the letter, as printed from the original in possession of Mr. Singer, and very pleasant are its little references to those weaknesses of his own which he well knew had never such kindly interpretation as from Reynolds : as where he whimsically protests that it never can be natural in himself to be stupid, where he reports himself saying as a good thing a thing which was not understood, and where he describes the silk coat he has purchased which makes him look like a fool ! Mr Dkar Feiend, I began a long letter to you from Lisle giving a deBcription of all that we had done and seen, bat finding it very dull, and knowing that you would show it again, I threw it aside and it was lost. You see by the top of this letter that we are at Paris, and (as I have often heard you say) we have bronght our own amusement with us, for the ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have yet seen. With regard to myself I find that tiavelling at twenty and at forty arc very different things. I set out with all my confirmed habits about me, and can find nothing on the Continent so good as when I formerly left it. One of onr chief amusements here is sculding at every thing we meet with, and praising every thing and every person we left at home. You may judge therefore whether your name is not frequently bandied at table among us. To tell you the truth I never thought I could regret your absence so much as our various mortifications on the road have often taught me to do. I could tell yon of disasters and adventures withont number, of our lying in bams, and of my being half-poisoned with a dish of green peas, of our quarrelling with postilions and being cheated by our landladies, but I reserve ^ this for an happy hour which I expect to share with you upon my return. I hav* little to tell you more but that we are at present all well, and S68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. expect returuing when we have staid ont one month, which I should not care if it were over ttia very day. I long to hear from yon all : how you yoniself do, how Johnson, Burke, Dyer, Chamier, Colman, and every one of the club do. I wish I conld send yon some amusement in this letter, but I protest I am so stnpified by the air of this country (for I am sure it can never be natural) that I have not a word to say. X have been thinking of the plot of a comedy which shall be entitled A Jou/mey to Parit, in which a &niily shall be introduced with a full intention of going to France to save money. Yon know there is not a place in the world more promising for that purpose. Aa for the meat of this country I can scarce eat it, and though we pay two good shillings an head for our dinner, I find it all so tough, that I have spent less time with my knife than my picktooth. I said this as a good thing at table, but it was not understood. I believe it to be a good thing. As for onr intended journey to Devonshire I find it ont of my power to perform it^ for, as soon as I arrive at Dover I intend to let the ladies go on, and I will take a country lodging somewhere near that place in order to do some business. I have so outrun the constable, that I must mortify a little to bring it up again. For God's sake the night yon receive this take your pen in your hand and tell me something aboni yourself, and myself, if you know of anything that has happened. About Miss Keynolds, about Mr. Bickersta^ my nephew, or anybody that you regard. I beg you will send to GrifSn the booksdler to know if there be any letters left for me, and be so good as to send them to me at Paris. They may perhaps be left for me at the porter's lodge opposite the pump in Temple-lane. The same messenger will do. I expect one &om Lord Clare from Ireland. As for others I am not much uneasy about. Is there anything I can do for yon at Paris ? I wish you would tell me. The whole of my own purchases here, is one silk coat which I have put on, and which makes me look like a fooL But no more of that. I find that Colman has gained his lawsuit. I am glad of it. I suppose you often meet. I will soon be among you, better pleased with my situation at home than I ever was before. And yet I must say, that if anything conld make France pleasant, the very good women with whom I am at present would cert^nly do it. I could say more about that, but I intend showing them this letter before I send it away. What signifies teadng yon longer witii moral observations when the business .of my writing is over. I have one thing only more to say, and of that I think every hour in the day, namely, that I am your most Sincere and most afiectionate friend. Outer GtoLssxiiH, Direct to me at the H6tel de Danemarc, Sue Jacob, Fauzbourg St. Germains. Little more is to be added of this excursion. It was not made more agreeable to Goldsmith by an vmexpected addition to the party in the person of Mr. Hickey (the "special attorney" who is niched into MetaliatiotC), who joined them at Paris, and whose habit of somewhat coarse laQlery was apt to be indulged too freely at Goldsmith's expense. One of the stories Hickey told on his return, however, seems to have been true enough. Goldsmith sturdily maintained that a certain distance bam. one of the fountains at Yersfdlles was within reach of a leap, and tumbled into the water in his attempt to establish that position. He also made his friends smUe by protesting that all the French parrots ha ouA?. IK] THE BAUNCS OF VENISON k GAME OF CBESS. 359 had heaxd spoke such capital French that he understood them perfectly, ■whereas an English parrot, talking his own native Irish, was quite unintelligible to him. It was also told of him, in. proof of his oddity, that on Mrs. Homeck desiring liiTti more than once, when they had no place of protestant worship to attend, to read them the morning service, his uniform answer was, " I should be " happy to oblige you, my dear madam, but in truth I do not "think myself good enough." This, however, we may presume to think perhaps less eccentric than his friends supposed it to be. Goldsmith did not stay in Dover as he had proposed. He brought the ladies to London. Among the letters forwarded to him in Paris had been an announcement of his mother's death. Dead to any consciousness or enjoyment of life, she had for some time been ; blind, and otherwise infirm ; and hardly coidd the event have been imexpected by him, or by any one. Yet are there few, however early tumbled out upon the world, to whom the world has been able to give any substitute for that earliest friend. Not less true than affecting is the saying in one of Gray's letters : "I have discovered a thing very little known, which is, that in " one's whole life one never can have any more than a single " mother." The story (which Northcote tells) that would attribute to Goldsmith the silly slight of appearing in half -mourning at this time, and explaining it as for a "distant" relation, would not be credible of any man of common sensibility ; far less of him. Mr. William Filby's bills enable us to speak with greater aocinracy. As in the instance of his brother's death, they contain an entry of a "suit of mourning," sent home on the 8th of September. But indulgence of sorrow is one of the luxuries of the idle ; and whatever the loss or grief that might afflict him, the work that waited Goldsmith must be done. CHAPTEE IX. THE HAVNCH OF VENISON AND GAME OF CHESS. 1770—1771. Eight days after he put on mourning for his mother's death, on the 16th of September 17^0, Goldsmith was signing a fresh agreement with Davies for an Abridgment of his ^. ^j Roman History in a duodecimo volume : for making which, "and for putting his name thereto," Davies xmdertook to pay fifty guineas. The same worthy bibliopole had published in the summer his lAfe of Farnell, to which I formerly referred. It 88J OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. was lightly and pleasantly written ; had some really good lemarks on the defects as well as merits of Pamell's translations ; and contained that pretty illustration (whereof all who have written biography know the truth as well as baauty), of the difficulty of obtaining, when fame has set its seal on any celebrated man, those personal details of his obscurer days which his contemporaries have not cared to give : " the dews of the moming are past, and "we vainly try to continue the chase by the meridian splendour." It also contained remarks on the ornamented schools of poetry, in which allusions, not in the best taste, were levelled against Gray, and less specificiilly against hia old favourite Collins ; yet remarks, I must add, of which the principle was sound enough, though pushed, as good principles are apt to be, to an absurd extreme. For, of styles all bristling with epithets, Voltaire himself was not more intolerant than Goldsmith ; nor ever with greater zest denounced the adjective, as the substantive's greatest enemy. But merits as well as faults in the Pamell-memoir, Tom Davies of course tested by the sale ; and with result so satisfactory that another memoir had at once been engaged for, and now occupied Goldsmith on his return. BoUngbroke was the subject selected, for its hot party- interest of course ; indeed the life was to be prefixed to a repubh- cation of the Dissertation on Parties : but it was not the writer's mode, whatever the bookseller may have wished, to turn a literary memoir into a political pamphlet ; and what was written proved very harmless that way, with as little in it to concern Lord If orth as Mr. Wilkes, and of as small interest, it would seem, to the writer as to either. "Doctor Goldsmith is gone with Lord Clare "into the country," writes Davies to Granger, "and I am " plagued to get the proofs from him of his life of Lord Bohng- " broke." However, he did get them; and the book was pub- lished in December. It must be admitted, I fear, that it is but a slovenly piece of writing. The two closing paragraphs, summing up Bolingbroke's character, alone have any pretensions to strength or merit of style ; and these were so marked an imitation of that Johnsonian manner in which Goldsmith's writing for the most part is singularly deficient, whatever his conversation may at times have been, that the resemblance did not escape his friends of the Monthly Beview. They closed their bitter onslaught on the Bolingbroke biography, of course without any other founda- tion for the slander, by broadly insinuating the authorship of Johnson in these particular passages ; "being as much superior to " the rest of the composition as the style and manner of Johnson "are tp those of his equally pompous but feeble imitator." It ought perhaps to be added that it was the very rare occasional indulgence in iniitative sentences of this kind, and in conver- eiiAp. IX.] THK HAUNCU OF VENISON & GAME OF CHESS. 361 sation rather than in books (for its occurrence in the latter is so infrequent as, except in this single instance, to be hardly discover- able), that doubtless so often caused Goldsmith to be foolishly talked about as belonging to the "Johnsonian school," with which he had absolutely nothing in common. That charge of using Johnson's hard words in conversation, I may here also remark, already brought against him by Joseph Warton, is much harped upon by Hawkins, "He affected," says that ill-natured gentleman, " Johnson's style and manner of " conversation, and, when he had uttered, as he often would, a "laboured sentence, so tumid as to be scarce intelligible, would " ask, if that was not truly Johnsonian 1" Nor has Boswell omitted it : " To me and many others it appeared that he " studiously copied the manner of Johnson, though indeed upon a "smaller scale." It is however to be observed that the same thing is found said so often, and of so many other people, as for the most part to lose its distinctive or pertinent character. Of Boswell himself it is undoubtedly far more certain than of Gold- smith, that he was ludicrous for this kind of imitation of Johnson. Walpole laughs at bim for it ; Madame D'Arblay highly colours all its most comical incidents ; and above all we see it in the conversations of his own wonderful book, — so that when he proceeds to turn the laugh on Johnson's landlord, little Allen the printer of Bolt-court, for "imitating the stately periods and slow " and solemn utterance of the great man," and on another occasion professes himself " not a little amused by observing Allen perpetu- "ally struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little " frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox," the effect is amazingly absurd. On the whole, though it is by no means unlikely, as has just been said, that Goldsmith, as well as others who looked up to Johnson, may have fallen now and then into unconscious Johnsonianisms, the charge in its deliberate and exaggerated form must rather be regarded as a sort of falling in with a fashionable cant, in vogue more or less against all with whom Johnson was familiar. It is at least indisputable that no trace of the absurd imitation alleged is discoverable, as a habit, in Boswell's reports of Goldsmith's conversations ; where, if it existed at aJU, that reporter must surely have revealed it who was too truthful to suppress his own, and where indeed one might fairly expect to Iiave found it even somewhat exaggerated. Goldsmith continued with Lord Clare during the opening months of 17?1. They were together at Gosfield, and at Bath ; and it was in the latter city the amusing incident roj 43 occurred which Bishop Percy has related, as told him by the Puchess of Northumberland. The Duke and Duchess occupied 362 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. a house on one of the parades next door to Lord Clare's, and were surprised one day, when about to sit down to breakfast, to see Goldsmith enter the breakfast-room as from the street, and, without notice of them or the conversation they continued, fling himself unconcernedly, " in a manner the most free and easy," on a sofa. After a few minutes, "as he was then perfectly known to " them both, they inquired af him the Bath news of the day ; and " imagining there was some mistake, endeavoured by easy and " cheerful conversation to prevent his being too much embarrassed, "tUl, breakfast being served up, they invited him to stay and " part^ake of it ; " but upon this, the invitation calling him back from the dream-land he had been visiting, he declared with pro- fuse apologies that he had thought he was in his friend Lord Clare's house, and in irrecoverable confusion hastily withdrew. "But "not," adds the Bishop, " till they had kindly made him promise, "to dine with them." Of Lord Clare's fHendly familiarity with the poet, this incident gives us proof. Having himself no very polished manners, for he was the Squire Gawkey of the libels of his time, he might the better tolerate Goldsmith's ; but that their intercourse just at present was as frequent as familiar, seems to have been because, at this time, Lord Clare had most need of a friend. " I am told," says a letter-writer of the day, " that Doctor Goldsmith now generally "lives with his countryman Lord Clare, who has lost his only son, " Colonel Nugent." There was left to him, however, an only daughter, the handsome girl whom Eeynolds painted; who was married, in the year after Goldsmith's death, to the first Marquis of Buckingham ; and with whom, she being as yet in her child- hood, and he (as she loved long afterwards to say, and her son often repeated to me) being never out of his, Goldsmith became companion and playfellow. He taught her games, she played him tricks, and, to the last hour of her long life, " dearly loved his " memory." Yet even in this friendly house he was not without occasional mortifications, such as his host could not protect him from ; and one of them was related by himself. In his " diverting "simplicity," says Boswell, speaking with his own much more diverting air of patronage, Goldsmith complained one day, in a mixed company, of Lord Camden. ' ' I met him," he said, ' ' at Lord " Clare's house in the ocmntry ; and he took no more notice of me "than if I had been an ordinary man." At this^ according to Boswell, himself and the company laughed heartily ; whereupon Johnson stood forth in defence of his friend. "Nay, gentlemen, " Doctor Goldsmith is in the right. A nobleman ought to have " made up to such a man as Goldsmith ; and I think it is much "against Lord Camden that he neglected him." CHAP. IX.] THE HAUNGH OP VENISON & GAME OF CRESS. 363 It was doubtless much for Lord Claxe that he did not. By that Gimple means, he would seem to have lessened many griefs, and added to many an enjoyment. Attentions are cheaply rendered that win such sympathy as a true heart returns ; and if, from what Wraxall describes as the then spacious avenues of Gosfield-park, Lord Clare had sent an entire buck every season to his friend's bumble chambers in the Temple, the single Haunch of Venison which Goldsmith sent back would richly have repaid him. The very agreeable verses which bear that name were written this year, and appear to have been written for Lord Clare alone ; nor was it till two years after their writer's death that they obtained a wider audience than his immediate circle of friends. Yet, written with no higher aim than of private pleasantry, a more delightful piece of humour, or a more finished piece of style, has probably been seldom written. There is not a word to spare, every word is in its place, the most boisterous animal spirits are controlled by a charming good taste, and an indescribable airy elegance pervades it all. Its very incidents seem of right to claim a place here, so naturally do they fall within the drama of Goldsmith's life. Allusions in the lines fix their date to the early months of 1771 ; and it was probably on his return from the visit to which reference has just been made, that Lord Clare's side of venison had reached him. (On the whole, I may take occasion to remark, I prefer the text of the first edition, though the second had ten additional lines, and is likely, as alleged, to have been piinted from Goldsnvith's corrected copy.) Thanks, my Lord, for your Venison, for finer or fatter Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter ; The Haunch was a picture for Painters to study, The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy ; Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting. To spoil such a delicate picture by eating : . I had thoughts, in my Chambers to place it in view, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu ; As in some Irish houses, where things are sb-so. One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show ; — But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in. But these witty fancies yield to more practical views as he contemplates the delicate luxury ; and he betldnks him of the appetites most likely to do it justice. To go on with my Tale — as I gaz'd on the Haunch, I thought of a iriend that was trusty and staunch ; So I cut it, and sent it to Beynolds nndrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd best. 364 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. Of the Neck and the Breast I had next to dispose ; ■ 'Twas a Neck and a Breast that might rival M — ^r — se : But in parting ynih these I was puzzled again. With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when : There's H — d, and — y, and H — ^rth, and H — ff, I think they love Venison — I know they love Beef. Ah ! he had excellent reason to know it. These were four of his poor-poet pensioners, three of whom, iii the first uncorrected copy of the poem, stood undisguisedly as " Culey, and Williams, and Howard, and Siff ;" but though it is said that for Williams he meant to substitute a surgeon named Hogarth, then living in Leicester-square, Hiffeman is alone recognisable now. M — r — se was Lord Townshend's Dorothy Monroe, to whose charms he devoted his verse. While thus I dehated, in reverie center' d, An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter'd ; An underbred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he smll'd as he looked at the Venison and me. This is the hero of the poem ; and sketched so vividly, with a hmnour so life-like and droll, that he was probably a veritable person. In the first published copy indeed, which, as I have said, contains many touches preferable to what replaces them in the second version, he is described as A fine spoken Custom-house officer he, Who smil'd as he gaz'd on the Venison and me. In what follows, the leading notion is founded on one of Boileau's satires, but the comedy is both more rich and more delicate. The visitor ascertains that the venison is really Goldsmith's. If that be the case then, cried he, very gay, I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me ; No words — I insist on't — ^precisely at three : We'll have Johnso;! and Burke ; all the Wits will be there ; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare. And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner ! We wanted this Venison to make out the dinner. What say you — a pasty ? — it shall, and it must, And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. Here, Porter I — this Venison with me to Mile-end ; No stirring — ^I beg, my dear friend — my dear friend ! Thus snatching his hat, he brusht off like the wind, And the porter and eatables foUow'd behind. Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shel^ Aiid nobody with me at sea but myself. Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good Venison pasty, CHAP. IX.] THE HAUNCB OP VENISON & QAMB OF CHESS. 365 Were things that I never disliked in my life, Though clogg'd Tfith a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife. So next Day in due splendour to make my approach, I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. Sad is the disappointment. He had better have remained (as, in those love-letters with which the newspapers were now making mirth for the town, the Duke of Cumberland had said to Lady Grosvenor^, with "nobody with him at sea but himself." Johnson and Burke can't come. The one is at Thrale's, and the other at that horrible House of Commons. But never mind, says the host ; you shall see somebody quite as good. And here Goldsmith remembered his former visitor. Parson Soott, who had just now got his fat Northumberland livings in return for his Anti-Sejanus letters, and was redoubling anti-whig efforts through the same channel of the PiMic Advertiser, in hope of a bishopric very pro- bably, with the signatures of Panurge and Cinna. " There is a "villaiu who writes under the signature of Panurge," exclaimed the impetuous Barr^, from his seat on the 12th of March, "a noted " ministerial scribbler undoubtedly supported by government. He "has this day published the grossest abuse upon the Duke of " Portland, charging him with robbing Sir James Lowther ; yet " this dirty scoundrel is suffered to go unpunished." Not wholly; for Goldsmith, to whom Burke had probably talked of the matter at the club, now ran his polished rapier through the political parson. Never mind for Burke and Johnson, repeats his host ; I've provided capital substitutes. For I knew it, he cried, both eternally fail. The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale ; But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party, With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, They're both of them merry, and authors like you. The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; Some think he writes Cinna — he owns to Pcmwge. The only hope left is the pasty ; though it looks somewhat alarming when dinner is served, and no pasty appears. There is fried Uver and bacon at the top, tripe at the bottom ; there is spinach at the sides, with "pudding made hot;" and in the middle a place where the pasty "was — not." Now Goldsmith can't eat bacon or tripe ; and even more odious to him than either is the ravenous literary Scot, and the talk of the chocolate-cheeked scribe of a Jew (who likes "these here dinners so pretty and " small") : but still there's the pasty promised, with Kitty's famous crust ; and of this a rumour goes gradually round the table, tiU the Scot, though already replete with tripe and bacon, announces B66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ir. " a corner for thot ;'' and " we'll all keep a comer," is the general resolve, and on the pasty everything is concentrated : when the terrified maid brings in, not the pasty, but the catastrophe, in the shape of terrible news from the baker. To him had the pasty been carried, crust and all : And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Had shut out the Pasty on shutting his oven. And having thus described the first important manifestation of that power of easy, witty, sarcastic verse which, just as life was closing on Goldsmith, began to be a formidable weapon in his hands, here may be the fitting occasion to connect with the Hmmeh of Venison a poem of which the date and circumstances attending its composition are unknown ; which has never been publicly ascribed to Viim until now, and would seem, fbr some unaccount- able reason, to have failed to find its way into print ; yet which I cannot hesitate to call his, not simply because the manuscript is undoubtedly his handwriting, but for the better reason that what it contains is not unworthy of his genius. In the absence of certain information I shall forbear to speculate on the probable circumstances which led to the selection of such a subject as an exercise in verse, and content myself with presenting a very brief outline of Vida's Ga/me of Chess in the English heroic metre, as it has been found transcribed in the writing of Oliver Goldsmith by my friend Mr. Bolton Comey, whose property it is and who kindly permits my use of it. It is a small quarto manuscript of thirty-four pages, containing 679 lines, to which a fly-leaf is appended, in which Goldsmith notes the differences of nomenclature between Vida's chessmen and our own. It has occasional interlineations and corrections, but rather such as would occur in transcription, than in a first or original copy. Sometimes, indeed, choice appears to have been made (as at page 29) between two words equally suitable to the sense and verse, as "to" for "toward;" but the insertions and erasures refer almost wholly to words or lines accidentally omitted and replaced. The triplet is always carefully marked ; and though it is seldom found in any other of Goldsmith's poems, I am disposed to regard its frequent recurrence here, as even helping in some degree to explain the motive which had led him to the trial of an experiment in rhyme comparatively new to him. If we suppose him, half consciously it may be, taking up the manner of the great master of translation, Dryden, who was at all times so much a favourite with him, he would certainly be less apt to fall short in so marked a peculiarity, than to err perhaps a little on the side of excess. Though I am far from thinking such to be the result in CHAP. IX.] THE HAUNCH OF VENISON & GAME OP CHESS. 367 tte present instance. The effect of the whole translation is really very pleasing, and the mock heroic effect appears to be not a little assisted by the reiterated use of the triplet and alexandrine. As to any evidences of authorship derivable from the appearance of the manuscript, it is only necessary to add another word. The lines in the translation have been carefully counted, and the number is marked in Goldsmith's hand at the close of his transcription. Such a fact is of course only to be taken in aid of other proof ; but a man is not generally at the pains of counting, — stiU less, I should say, in such a case as Goldsmith's, of elaborately transcribing, — lines which are not his own. Of Vida himself there is little occasion to speak. What student of literature does not know the gay, courtly, scholarly priest, the favovuite of Leo the magnificent, whom the seventh Clement invested with the mitre of Alba, and who was crowned with a laurel unfading as his wit by that great English poet, in whose fancy even the ancient glories of Italy seemed to linger stiU, while A Kaffaelle painted and a Tida sung. Immortal Tida ! on whose honoured brow The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow : Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame ! Yet when those lines appeared, in the most marvellous youthful poem of our language (the Esuay of Criticism, written at the age of 20), Pope's greatest debt to Vida was still to be incurred. The Game of Chess enriched the JRape of the Lock with the delightful Game at Ombre. Nor would it be possible better to express, to a reader unacquainted with the original, that charm in Vida's poem which appears to have amused and attracted Goldsmith's imagina- tion, than by referring to the close exactness in the movements of the game between the Baron and Belinda, on which Pope has lavished such exquisite fancy, and wit so delicate and masterly. With all this, Vida has combined in a yet greater degree the subtle play of satire implied in the elevation of his theme to the epic rank. The machinery employed, and the similes used, are those in which the epic poets claim a peculiar property. Yet, at the same time, so closely are the most intricate and masterly moves of chess ■ expressed in the various fortunes of the combatants, in the penal- ties which await their rashness or the success which attends their stratagems, that Pope Leo thought the ignorant might derive a knowledge of the game from Vida's hexameters alone. Whether or not Goldsmith had any personal skiU at chess, I have not been able to discover ; but that he was not entirely ignorant of it may be presumed from the facility and elegance of his paraphrase. When Mr. George Je&eys translated the same S68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iV, poem (one of seven versions of it made in English), and asked Pope's opinion of its execution, the poet thought it unbecoming to deliver his opinion " upon a subject to which he is a stranger ; " but perhaps this was the civil avoidance of a disagreeable request, for what knowledge of the subject, more than Vida himself "pos- sessed, should his translator, or the critic of his translator, require ? Nevertheless, there may be enough in Pope's remark to favour the presumption of some acquaintance with the game in any one who should undertake such a labour of love connected with it ; and this is strengthened by the confidence and freedom of Goldsmith's verse. There is even something in the note he appends to the conclusion of his labour that might appear as if written by one familiar with chess. " Archers," he says, referring to Vida's verse, "are what we call Bishops; Horse are what we call Knights ; "Elephants are what we call Tow'rs, Castles, or Rooks. Apollo " has the white men, Mercury the black." But before these Deities of the strife are introduced, let a few of the opening lines marshal in due precedence the oppo.sing forces. So mov'd the boxen hosts, each double-lia'd, Their diff'rent colours floating in the wind : As if an army of the Gauls should go, With their white standards o'er the Alpine snow To meet in rigid fight on scorching sands The sun-burnt Moors and Memuon's swarthy bands. The forces being brought into the field, the order of the fray Is next shown, and the stated laws by which their several weapons of assault or defence are subject to be controlled. Hero is seen the elegant and easy art, not of the poet simply, but of the master of the laws of the game. To lead the fight, the Kings from all their bands Choose whom they please to bear their great commands. Should a black Hero first to battel go, 1 Instant a white one guards against the blow ; ■ > But only one at once can charge or shun the foe. J • ••••• But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustain Vast turrets arm'd, when on the redd'ning plain They join in all the terrour of the fight, Forward or backward, to the left or right Bun furious, and impatient of confine Scour through the field, and threat the farthest line. Yet must they ne'er obliquely aim their blows ; 1 That only manner is allowed to those > Whom Mars has favour'd most, who bend the stubborn bows. J These glancing sidewards in a straight career, Yet each confin'd to their respective sphere Or white or black, can send th' unerring dart Wing'd with swift death to pierce through ev'ry pa -t. CHAP. IX.] THE HAVNCU OF VENISON & GAME OF CUESS. 369 The fiery steed, regardless of the reins, Comes prancing on ; but sullenly disdains The path direct, and boldly wheeling round, 1 Leaps o'er a double space at eVry bound : > And shifts from white or black to diff'rent colour'd ground. J But the fierce Queen, whom dangers ne'er dismay, The strength and terrour of the bloody day. In a straight line spreads her destruction wide, To left or right, before, behind, aside, &e. The divine machinery is now set in motion. The Gods survey the forces in array, and, with their usual desire to enliven the dullness of Olympus, are anxious to engage along with them ; but Jove checks and forbids them to take part on either side, and, summoning Mercury and Apollo, places the dark warriors under command of Hermes and the white under that of Phcebus, restrict- ing the divine interference to these two, and Umiting. then- power by the expressed regidations of the contest. Then oall'd he Phoebus from among the Pow'rs, Aud subtle Hermes, whom in softer hours Fair Maia bore : Youth wanton'd in their face, Both in life's bloom, both shone with equal grace. Hermes as yet had never wing'd his feet ; As yet Apollo in his radiant seat Had never driVn his chariot through the air, Known by his bow alone and golden hair. These Jove commissioned to attempt the fray. And rule the sportive military day. And now, as the fray proceeds under these respective leaders, it becomes the pleasant art of the poet to show you how superior in such a conflict are the sly resources of stratagem and deceit over those of a more generous and manly nature. The first advantage falls to Mercury, and Apollo can only relieve his King at great sacrifice and loss. Apollo sigh'd, and hast'ning to relieve The straighten'd Monarch, grieVd that he must leave His martial elephant exposed to fate, And view'd with pitying eyes his dang'rons state. Fii'st in his thoughts however was his care To save his Eing, whom to the neighb'ring square On the right hand, he snatcht with trembling flight ; At this with fury springs the sable Knight, Drew his keen sword, and rising to the blow. Sent the great Indian brute to shades below. fatal loss ! for none except the Queen Spreads suoh a terrour through the bloody scene. Yet shall you ne'er unpunisht boast your prize, The Delian God with stem resentment cries ; And wedg'd him round with footj- and pour'd in fresh supplies. * * * * * * 2b 370 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. Fir'd at this great suooess, witli double rage Apollo hurries on his troops t' engage, For blood and havock wild ; and, while he leads His troops thus careless, loses both his steeds : For if some adverse waixiours were o'erthrown, He little thought what dangers threat his own. But slyer Hermes with observant eyes 1 Maroht slowly cautious, and at distance spies _ > What moves must next succeed, what dangers next arise. J Flushed witli the suooess of his wily policy, however, Hermes is now betrayed into a violation of the laws of the fight, whioh might have esoaped a less subtle eye than that of Phoebus ; but the fraud is detected, exposed, and laughed at. Nothing can be more charming than the facility and grace with whioh the Latin poet thus expresses all the various incidents to whioh an ordinary game of chess nught be subject, while, at the same time, he never for an instant lays aside the dignity, the politeness, the poetry of his heroic verse. Nor is the absence of all effort more apparent in Vida's than in Goldsmith's lines. He smil'd, and turning to the Gods he said ; Though, Hermes, jou are perfect in your trade. And you can trick and cheat to great surprise, 1 These little slights no more shall blind my eyes ; y Correct then if you please the move you thus disguise. J The Circle laugh'd aloud ; and Maia's son (As if it had but by mistake been done) llecalled his Archer, &c. The combat is now resumed with greater desperation on both sides, and its fortunes vary more and more. Its interest becomes at last too intense for the spectators. Mars secretly helps Hermes, Vulcan moves on tip-toe to the aid of Phoebus, every art and resource is called in on both sides, Mercury becomes fretful, Apollo more cheerful. Then the Queens meet in deadly encounter, while countless lives are poured out around them ; and the black amazon is slain by the white, who, in return, falls, struck by a sable archer. But the fair monarch's bereavement is soon consoled by the spirited ambition which brings one of his lost partner's attendants gallantly up into her place. (Then the pleas'd King gives orders to prepare The Crown, the Sceptre, and the Koyal Chair, And owns her for his Queen. ) At this, the vexation of Hermes becomes for a time irrepressible ; but, warned by the loss into which again his temper betrays him, he recovers self-possession, eflfects a diversion by new arts, resumes his masterly stratagems, places a new queen by his black monarch's OHAP. X.] A EOUND OF PLEAStJRES. 871 side, and again with equal forces threatens and appals hia adversary. Fierce comes the sable Qaeen, with fatal threat SiUToimds the Monaxch in his royal seat ; Eusht here and there, nor rested till she slew The last remainder of the whiten'd crew. Sole stood the King ; the midst of all the jlain, Weak and defenseless ; his companions sikii. As when the mddy mom ascending high Has chac'd the twinkling stars from all the sky ; Tour star, fear Tenns, still retains its light, And loveliest goes the latest out of sight. 1^0 safety's left, no gleams of hope remain ; Yet did he not as vanqnisht quit the plain : But tryd to shut himself between the foe, Unhurt through swords and spears he hop'd to go Untill no room was left to shun the fatal blow. For if none threaten'd his immediate fate. And his next move must ruin all his state ; All their past toil and labour is in vain, Tain all the bloody carnage of the plain. Neither would triumph then, neither the laurel gain. } } But not so fortunate is the fair-haired king, on whom the rival monarch now steadily advajices, and, watching his opportunity for bringing up his queen, smiles as the fatal blow, no longer evitable, is struck by his swarthy partner. The fight is over, and Mercury remains master of the field. And so, resuming the progress of my narrative, I leave without further remark these pleasant and lively verses, which I should scarcely have quoted at such length if they were not here for the first time printed, — as yet remained generally inaccessible, — and, in whatever view regarded, are at least a striking and unexpected new fact in the life of Oliver Goldsmith. CHAPTER X. A ROUND OF PLEASURES. 1771. It may have been on hearing the Hwwnck of Venison read in the Beauclerc and Bunbury circles (it was from a copy which Lord Clare had given Bunbury they were printed aJfter the ^^ ^ j writer's death) that Horace Walpole conceded to the " siUy " changehng," as he called Goldsmith, " bright gleams of parts ;" this being the style of verse he relished most, and could value 872 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. beyond Travelhrs and Deserted Villages. It was in a later letter "Walpole made it a kind of boast that he had never exchanged a syllable with Johnson in his life, and had never been in a room with him six times; for the necessity of finding himself, once a year at least, perforce in the same room with him, and -with Gold- smith too, did not tiU the present year begin. On St. George's day, 1771, Sii; Joshua Reynolds took the chair at the first annual dinner of the Royal Academy : where the entertainers, himself and his fellow academicians, sat surrounded by such evidence of claims to admiration as their own pencils had adorned the walls with, and their guests were the most distingushed men of the day ; the high- est in rank and the highest in genius, the poet as well as the prince, the minister of state and the man of trade. Goldsmith attended this and every dinner until his death, and so became personally known to several men belonging to both parties in the state, who doubtless at any other time or in any other place would hardly have remembered or aoknowledge'd his name. Nor, it may be added, has the attraction of these social meetings suffered diminution since. All who have had the privilege of invitation to them can testify to the interest they still excite ; to the fact that princes and painters, men of letters and ministers of state, tradesmen and noblemen, stiL assemble at that hospitable table with objects of a common admiration and sympathy around them ; to the happy occasion which their friendly greetings afford, for the suspension of all ex- citements of rivalry not between artists or academicians alone, bu.t between the most eager combatants of pubUo life, ministerial and ex-ministerial ; and to the striking effect with which, as the twi- light of the summer evening gathers round while the dinner is in progress, the sudden lighting of the room at its close, as the president proposes the health and pronounces the name of the sovereign, appears to give new and startling life to the forms and colours on the pictured waUs. Undoubtedly this annual dinner, then, must be pronounced one of fhe happiest of those devices of the president by which he steered the new and unchartered Academy through the quicksands and shoals that had wrecked the chartered institution out of which it rose. Academies cannot create genius ; academies had nothing to do with the begetting of Hogarth, or Reynolds, or WUson, or Gains- borough, the greatest names of our English school j butthey may assist in the wise development of such original powers, they may guide and regulate their prudent and successful application, and above all they may, and do, strengthen the painter's claims to consideration and esteem, and give, to that sense of dignity which shoidd invest every Uberal art, and which too often passes for an airy nothing amid the hustle and crowd of more vulgar pretences, "a local habitation and CHAP. X.] A BOUND OF PLEASURES. 373 " a name." This was the main wise drift of Reynolds and hLs fellowj labourers ; it was the charter that held them together in spite of i'/ ll'i'[j<'MliWlMl TfilliiB aU. their later dissensions ; and to this day it outweighs the gravest fault or disadvantage which has yet been charged against the Royal Academy. A fragment of the conversa- tion at this first Academy dinner has survived ; and takes us from it to the darkest contrast, to the most deplorable picture of human hopelessness and misery, which even these pages have described. Goldsmith spoke of an extraor- dinary boy who had come up to London from Bristol, died very suddenly and miserably, and left a wonderful treasiu-e of ancient poetry behind him. Horace Walpole listened carelessly at first, it would seem ; but very Boon perceived that the subject of conversation had a special interest for himself. Some years afterwards he repeated what 374 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. passed, Tivith an affectation of equanimity wMcli even then he did not feel. "Dining at the Royal Academy," he said, "Doctor " Goldsmith drew the attention of the company with an acooimt of ' ' a marvellous treasure of ancient poems lately discovered at Bristol, " and expressed enthusiastic belief in them, for which he was laughed " at by Doctor Johnson, who was present. I soon found this was " the trouvaille of my friend Chatterton, and I told Doctor Gold- " smith that this novelty was known to me, who imight, if I had " pleased, have had the honour of ushering the great discovery to " the learned world. You may imagine, sir, we did not at all agree "ia the measure of ouf faith ; but /though his credulity diverted "me, my mirth was soon dashed ; for on asking about Chatterton, "he told me he had been in London, and had destroyed himself. " The persons of honour and veracity who were present wiU. attest " with 'what surprise and concern I thus first heard'of his death." Yes ; for the concern was naturaL Even a Goldsmith credulity, for once, would have stood Walpole in better stead. His mirth was dashed at the time, and his peace was for many years invaded, by that remorseful image of Chatterton. " From the time he resisted "the imposition," says Miss Hawkins in her considerate way, "he " began to go down in public favour." An imposition it undoubt- edly was, even such an imposition as he had himself attempted with his Castle of Oiranto ; and he had a perfect right on that ground to resist it. It was no guilt he had committed, but it was a great occasion lost. The poor boy who invented Rowley (the most wonderful invention of literature, all things considered) had not only communicated his discovery to the " learned Mr. Walpole," but the learned Mr. Walpole had with profuse respect and deference believed in it, till Gray and Mason laughed at bim ; when, turning coldly away from Chatterton's eager proposals, he planted in that young ambitious heart its bitterest thorn. As for Goldsmith's upholding of the authenticity oi Rowley, it may pass with a smile, if it really meant anything more than a belief in poor Chatterton himself ; and it is a pity that Doctor Percy should have got up a quarrel with him about it, as he is said to have done. There is nothing so incredible that the wisest may not be found to believe. Hume believed in Osdan once, though a few years later he doubted, and at his death scornfully disbelieved. Goldsmith's stay in London, at this time, was to see his English History through the press ; and it did not long detain him. But his re-appearance in the Temple now seldom failed to bring him new acquaintances. His reputation kept no one at a distance ; for his hospitable habits, his genial unaffected ways, were notorious to all : and in particular to his countrymen. The Temple student from Ireland, with or without introduction, seems CHAP. X.] A ROUND OP PLEASURES. 375 to have walked into his chambers as into a home. To this period belong two such new acquaintances, sufficiently famous to have survived for recollection. The one was a youth named Robert Day, afterwards one of the Irish judges and more famous for his amiability than his law, first made known to Goldsmith by his namesake John Day, afterwards an advocate in India ; the other was this youth's friend and fellow-student, now ripening for a great career, and the achievement of an illustrious name. The first strong impression of Henry Grattan's accomplishments was made upon Goldsmith ; and it need not be reckoned their least distrac- tion. Judge Day lived to talk and write to a biographer of the poet about these early times; and described the "great delight" which the conversation and society of Grattan, then a youth of about nineteen, seemed to give to their more distinguished country- man. Again and again he would come to Grattan's room in Essex-court; till "his warm heart," Mr. Day modestly adds, " became naturally prepossessed towards the associate of one whom "he so much admired." Goldsmith's personal appearance and manners made a lively impression on the young Templar. He recalled them vividly after a lapse of near seventy years, and Day's description is one of the best we have. He was short, he says ; about five feet five or six inches ; strong, but not heavy in make, and rather fair in com- plexion ; his hair, such at least as could be distinguished from his wig, was brown, "His features were plain, but not repulsive ; "certainly not so when lighted up by conversation." Though his complexion was pale, his face round and pitted with the small-pox, and a somewhat remarkable projection of his forehead and his upper lip suggested excellent sport for the caricaturists, the expres- sion of intelligence, benevolence, and good humour, predominated over every disadvantage, and made the face extremely pleasing. This indeed is not more evident in Reynolds's paintings of it, than in Bunbury's whimsical drawings ; though I fancy it with more of a simple, plaintive expression, than has been given to it by the president, who, with a natural and noble respect, was probably too anxious to put the author before the man. His manners were kindly, genial, and "perhaps on the whole, we may say not "polished :'' at least, Mr. Day explains, without that refinement ajid good breeding which the exquisite polish of his compositions would lead us to expect. He was always cheerful and animated, " often indeed boisterous in his mirth;" entered with spirit into convivial society ; contributed largely to its enjoyments by soli- dity of information, and by the naivetd and originality of his character ; talked often without premeditation, and laughed loudly without restraint. It was a laugh ambitious to compete with even 376 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ir. Jolmsoia's : which Tom Davies, with an enviable knowledge of natural history, compared to the laugh of a rhinoceros ; and which appeared to Boswell, in their midnight walkings, to resound from Temple-bar to Fleet-ditch. To such explosions of mirth from Goldsmith, it would seem, the Grecian coffee-house now oftenest echoed ; for this had become the favomite resort of the Irish and Lancashire Templars, whom he delighted in collecting around him, in entertaining with a cordial and unostentatious hospitality, and in occasionally amusing with his flute or with whist, " neither cf " which he played very well." Of his occupations and his dress at the time, Judge Day confirms and further illustrates what is already known to us. He was composing light and superficial works, he says, memoirs and histories ; not for fame, but for the more urgent need of recruiting exhausted finances. To' such labours he returned, and shut himself up to provide fresh matter for his bookseller, and fresh supplies for himself, whenever his funds were dissipated ; " and they fled more rapidly from his ' ' being the dupe of many artful persons, male and female, who " practised upon his benevolence. " With a purse replenished by labour of this kind, adds the worthy judge, the season of relaxa- tion and pleasure took its turn in attending the theatres, Bane- lagh, Vauxhall, and other scenes of gaiety and amusement ; which he continued to frequent as long as his supply held out, and where he was fond of exhibiting his muscular little person in the gayest apparel of the day, to which was added a bag- wig and sword. This favourite costume, it appears, involved him one day in a short but comical dialogue with two coxcombs in the Strand, one of whom, pointing to Goldsmith, called to his companion " to look "at that fly with a long pin stuck through it :" whereupon, says Mr. Day, the sturdy little poet instantly called aloud to the passers-by to caution them against "that brace of disguised "pickpockets;" and, to show that he wore a sword as well for defence from insolence as for ornament, retired from the footpath into the coach-way to give himself more space, " and half drawing, "beckoned to the witty gentleman armed in like manner to follow "him: but he and his companion thinking prudence the better "part of valour, declined the invitation, and sneaked away amid "the hootings of the spectators." The prudent example was followed not long afterwards by his old Mend Kenrick, who, — having grossly libelled him in some coarse lines on seeing his name "in the list of mummers at the late masquerade," and being, by Goldsmith himself at an a^scidental meeting in the Chapter coffee- house, not only charged with the offence but with personal respon- sibility for it, — made shuffling and lame retreat from his previ- ously avowed satire, and publicly declared his disbelief of the foul OHAP. X.] A BOUND OP PLfiASUIlES. 377 imputations contaiaed in it Yet an acquaintance of both entered the house soon after Goldsmith had quitted it, and relates that ha found Eeniick publicly harangr ning the coffee-room against the man to whom he had just apologised, anil showing off both the igno- rance of science (a great subject with the "rule maker") and the enormons conceit of Groldsmith, by an account of how he had on some occasion maintained that the sun was not eight days or so more in the northern than in the southern signs, and, on being referred to Manpertuis for a better opinion, had answered "Mau- " pertnis .' I know more of the matter than Manpertuis." The masquerade itself was a weakness to be confessed. It was among the temptations of the winter or town Banelagh which was this year built in the Oxford-road, at an expense of several thou- sand pounds, and with such daz?;liTig magnificence (it is now the poor faded Pantheon, of Oxford-street) that "Balbec in all its "glory" was the comparison it suggested to Horace Walpole. Here, and at Vauxhall, there is little doubt that Goldsmith was often to be seen ; and even here his friend Reynolds good-naturedly kept him company. " Sir Joshua and Doctor Goldsmith at "Vauxhall" is a fact that now frequently meets us in the Garrick Correspondejice. "Sir Joshua and Goldsmith," writes Beanclerc to Lord Charlemont, "have got into a round of pleasures." " Would you imagine," he adds in another letter, "that Sir Joshua "is extremely anxious to be a member of Almacks ? Ton see "what noble ambition will make a man attempt." Whether the same noble ambition animated Goldsmith, — whether the friends ever appeared in red-heeled shoes to imitate the leading maccaro- nis, or, in rivalry of Charles Fox and Lord Carlisle, masqueraded at any time as exquisitely-dressed "running footmen," — is not recorded ; but such were the fashionable follies of the day, indulged now and then by the gravest people. "Johnson often went to "Eanelagh," says Mr. Maxwell, "which he deemed a place of "innocent recreation." "I am a great friend to these public " amusements, sir," he said to BbsweU ; " they keep people from "vice." Poor Groldsmith had often to repent such pleasures, notwithstanding. Sir Joshua found him one morning, on entering his chambers unannounced, walking quickly about from room to room, TnaVing a football of a bundle which he deliberately kicked before tiirn ; and on enquiry found it was a masquerade dress, bought when he could ill afford it, and for which he was thus doing penance. He was too poor to have anything in his possession that was not usefal to him, he said to Beynolds ; and he was therefore taking out the value of his eztnvagance in exercise. He had sometimes to do penance, also, in other forms. Hia peculiarities of person and manner would for the most part betray 373 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. him, whatever his disguise might be, and he was often singled out and played upon by men who could better sustain their disguises than himself. In this way he had generally to listen to gross abuse of his own writings, by the side of extravagant praise of those of others whom he most bitterly disliked. It was so managed, too, that he should overhear himself misquoted, and parodied ; till at last, in the hopeless impossibility of retaliation, he had frequently been seen abruptly to quit the place amid the hardly disgiiised laughter of his persecutors. Among his acquaintance at this time was a Mr. James Brooke (related to the author of the Fool of Quality, and himself somewhat notorious for having conducted the North Briton for Wilkes), whose daughter became afterwards resident in the family of Mr. John Taylor ; and from his letters we learn that "Miss Clara Brooke, being once annoyed at a "masquerade by the noisy gaiety of Goldsmith, who laughed " heartily at some of the jokes with which he assailed her, was " induced in answer to repeat his own line in the Deserted VilUige. ' And a lond laugh which spoke the vacant mind.' " Goldsmith was quite abashed at the application, and retired ; as "if by the word vacant he rather meant barren, than free from " care." This last remark, the reader wUl observe, pleasantly suggests a new reading for the celebrated line which would make it mudi more true than the ordinary reading does. Some of the best of our now living writers are as famous for the loud laugh as for the weU-stored mind, and Johnson, we have jnst heard, had a laugh like a rhinoceros, though what particular form of laugh that may be Tom Davies does not explain. Other allusions to a habit of Goldsmith's, however, which did not admit of even so much practical repentance as that of frequent- ing masquerades, are incidentally made in the letters of the time. Judge Day has mentioned that he was fond of whist, and adds that he played it particularly iU ; but in losing his money he never lost his temper. In a run of bad luck and worse play, he would fling his cards upon the floor, and exclaim " Byefore George ! I "ought for ever to renounce thee, fickle, faithless fortune!" I have traced the origin of this card-playing to the idle days of BaJlymahon ; and that the love of it continued to beset him, there is no ground for questioning. But it may well be doubted if anything like a grave imputation of gambling could with fairness be raised upon it. Mr. Cradock, who made his acquaintance at the close of this year, tells us "his greatest real fault was, that if he " had thirty pounds in his pocket, he would go into certain com- " panics in the coimtry, and in hopes of doubling the sum, would "generally return to town without any part of it :" and anothei CHAP. X.] A ROUND OF PLEASURES. 379 aoquaiutance tells us that the " certain companies" were supposed to be Beauclero and men of that stamp. But this only provokes a smile. The class to which Beauclerc belonged, were the men like Charles Fox or Lord Stavordale, Lord March or Lord Carlisle, whose nightly gains and losses at Almacks, which had now taken precedence of White's, were at this time the town talk ; and though Goldsmith could as little afford his thirty pounds lost in as many nights at loo, as Lord Stavordale or Charles Fox his eleven thousand lost by one hand at hazard, the reproach of putting it in risk with as much recklessness does not seem reaUy chargeable to him. When Garriok accused bim of it, he was smarting under an attack upon himself, and avowedly retaliating. The extent of the folly is great enough, when merely described as the indalgence among private friends, at an utterly thoughtless cost, of a real love of card-playing. Such it appears to have been ; and as such it will shortly meet us at the Bunburys', the Chambers's, and other houses he visited ; where, poorer than any one he was in the habit of meeting, he invariably played worse than any one, generally lost, and always more than he could afford to lose. Let no reproach really merited be withheld, in yet connecting the habit with a worthier inducement than the love of mad excitement or of mise- rable gain. " I am sorry," said Johnson, " I have not learned to "play at cards. It is very useful in life. It generates kindness, "and consolidates society." If that innocent design was ever the inducement of any man, it may fairly be assumed for Goldsmith. His part in his English History completed, there was nothing to prevent his betaking himself to the country ; but it was not for amiisement he now went there. He was resolved again to write for the theatre. His necessities were the first motive ; but the determination to try another fall with sentimental comedy, no doubt very strongly iafluenced him. Poor Kelly's splendid career had come to a somewhat ignominious close. No sooner had his sudden success given promise of a rising man, than the hacks of the ministry laid hold of him, using him as the newspaper tool they had attempted to make of Goldsmith ; and when Gtarrick announced his next comedy, A Word to the Wise, a word to a much wider audience, exasperated by its author's servile support of their feeble and profligate rulers, went rapidly round the town, and sealed poor Kelly's fate. His play was hardly listened to. His melancholy satisfaction was that he had fallen before liberty and Wilkes, not before laughter and wit ; but the sentence was a decisive one. Passed at Drury-lane in 1770, he had, with a new play, attempted its reversal at Covent-garden in the present year ; but to little better purpose, though his name had been carefully concealed, and " a young American clergyman not yet arrived in 380 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. "England" put forward as the author. On the fall of Hugh Kelly, however, there had arisen a more formidable antagonist in the person of Richard Cumberland. He came into the field with every social advantage. He was the son and great grandson of a bishop ; his mother was the celebrated Bentley's daughter ; he had himself held a fellowship of Trinity ; and, connected as private secretary with Lord Halifax, he had passed through the subordinate political offices, when weariness of waiting for promotion turned his thoughts to the stage. His first comedy, ushered in by a prologue in which he attacked all contemporary dramatistB, and complimented Garrick as "the immortal actor," was played at Covent-garden ; and Garrick being present, and charmed with the unexpected compliment (for in earlier days he had rejected a tragedy by Cimiberland), Fitzherbert, in whose box he was, made the author and actor known to each other, a sudden friendship was struck up, and Ciunberland's second comedy secured for Drury-lane. This was the West Indian ; produced with decisive success in the present year, and an unquestionably strong reinforce- ment of the sentimental style. Cumberland thought himself, indeed, the creator of his own school, and afiected ignorance of the existence of poor Kelly ; but that was only one of many weaknesses he afterwards more fuUy developed, and which Sheridan amusingly satirised in Sir Fretful Plagiary. He vouchsafed ridiculous airs of patronage to men who stood confessedly above hiTn ; professed a lofty indifference to criticism that tortured him ; abused those dramatists most heartily whose notions he was readiest to borrow ; and had a stock of conceit and self-complacency which was proof against every effort to diminish it. Goldsmith discovered all this, long before Sheridan ; subtly insinuated it in those famous lines. Here Cumberland lies having acted his parts, Tlie Terence of England, the mender of hearts ; A flattering painter, who made it his care, To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And Comedy wonders at b6ing so fine ! Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout, &c. which were written in a spirit of exquisite persiflage at once detected by the lively Mrs. Thrale ; and lived to receive amusing confir- mation of its truth, in Cumbei-land's grave gratitude for these very verses. He had not discovered their real meaning, even when he ■wrote his Memoirs five-and-thirty years later. He remained still gratefiil to Goldsmith for having laughed at him ; and so cordial and pleasant is the laughter^ that his mistake may perhaps fairly be forgiven. OHAI. X.] A ROUND OF PLEASUKES. 381 Nevertheless, Goldsmith was now conscious of an opponent in the author of the West IncUcm who challenged his utmost exertion ; and, eager again to make it in behalf of the merriment, humour, and character of the good old school of comedy (Colman so far encouraged this purpose, as to revive the Good Natwred Man for a night or two during the run of the West Indian), withdrew to the quiet of a country lodging to pursue his labour undisturbed. The Shoemaker's Paradise was no longer his ; but he continued his liking for the neighbourhood, and had taken a single room in a farmer's house near the six mile stone on the Edgware-road. It so suited his modest wants and means, and he liked the farmer's family so much, that he returned to it the following summer to write his Natural History, " carrying down his books in two " returned post chaises ; " and it was then that Bos well's curiosity was moved to go and see the place, taking with him Mr. Micklc, translator of the Lusiad, and author of the ballad of Oumnor Hall. " Goldsmith was not at home ; but having a curiosity to " see his apartment we went in, and found curious scraps of " descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black-lead " pencil." Seeing these, BosweU no doubt would remind his friend of what he had heard Johnson say, "Goldsmith, sir, will " give us a very fine book upon the subject ; but if he can distin- " guish a cow from a horse, that, I believe, may be the extent of " his knowledge of natural history ;" and very probably he would proceed to ascertain, by closer examination of the black-lead scrawls, whether or not that distinction had yet been thoroughly mastered. No doubt Goldsmith began with very imperfect knowledge, the labour which was now his country occupation ; but perhaps neither Johnson nor any other of his friends knew the pains he had been taking to supply his defects, and the surprise he was thus preparing for them he uniappily did not live himself to enjoy. He had not forgotten his fishing and otter-himting " when a boy " in Ireland ; or the nest of the heron, " built near a school-house " he well knew ; or the five young bats he had found in one hole together ; or the great Irish wolf-dog he took such pleasure in describing ; or his absorbing interest in the seals, kept by a gentleman known to him in that early time. In London he was himself well known, at the Tower, for his frequent visits to the " lions " there, and with the Queen's menagerie at Buckingham-gate he was perfectly familiar ; in the former place he had been at no small pains to measure ' ' through the bars " and " as well as I .could " an enormous tiger, and in the latter he had narrowly escaped a kick from a terrified zebra. Many such amusing experiences are set down in his volumes, which, whatever their defects of information may be, 382 OLIVEE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. are at least thoroughly impressed with the love of nature and natural objects, with a delighted enjoyment of the beauties and wonders of creation, and with that devoutly unaffected sense of religion, that cheerful and continual piety, which such contempla- tions inspire. We hardly need to be told, after reading the book, that almost all of it was written in the country, either here, or at Kingsbury, or in some other rural place near London : and, as we observe its occasional humorous notices of things to be seen at country fairs, of the giants, the dwarfs, or other vagrant notabilities with which he has " sometimes conversed," the possibility occurs to us that if Boswell and his friend could have ascertained from the farmer's family the exact road which The OenUeman (as they called their lodger) had taken, he might have been discovered in some adjoining lane or common, questioning the proprietor of a travelling booth ; hoaxing a highly accomplished raven " sing the " Black Joke with great distinctness, truth, and humour ; " listening to that "ridiculous duet" between the giant and the dwarf which was so popular at the time among the country labourers and their children ; observing the man without hands oi legs apply his stumps to the most convenient purposes ; mar- velling to see two white negroes born of black parents ; laughing at the monkey amusing itself in imposing on the gravity of a cat ; unspeakably amazed when he first saw the size of the elephant ; admiring the canary-bird that had been taught, at the word of command, to pick up letters of the alphabet so as to spell any person's name in company ; attracted by the hare on his hind legs with such "a remarkable good ear," who used his forepaws as hands, beat the drum, danced to music, and went thspugh the manual exercise ; and, though doubting "the credibility of the " person who showed " the bonaasus, and thus letting him feel that a showman's tricks would not always pass upon travellers, yet not the less ready with a pleasant candour to admit that he had " seen sheep that would eat fl.esh, and a horse that was fond of " oysters." Such experiences as these we must doubtless carry with us, if we would also understand the somewhat strange unconsciousness with which, in this pleasant Natural History book, even greater marvels and conjectures yet more original were quietly accepted ; as where he throws out grave intimation of the perfect feasibility of im- proving the breed of the zebra into an animal for common use " as "large as the horse, as fleet, as strong, and much more beautiful ;" or where, speaking of the ostrich, he seriously indulges the expec- tation that " posterity may avail themselves of this creature's " abilities ; and riding upon an ostrich may one day become the " favourite, aa it most certainly is the swiftest, mode of convey- cn\p. X.] A EOUND OF PLEASURES. 383 ance." And in like manner, wlien he gravely relates the story of the Arabian Caliph who marked with an iron ring a dolphin caught in the Mediterranean, and so identified it for the self-same dolphin caught afterwards in the Red Sea ; when he gives Margrave's account of the orderly deliberations and debates of the Ouarines ; when he transcribes from a letter in the German Uphemerides the details of a fight between an enormous serpent and a buffalo, wherein the bones of the latter, as the folds of his enemy entwine Mm, are heard to crack as loud as the report of a camion ; when he tells what he has found in Father labat of the monkey's mode of managing an oyster in the tropics, how he will pick up a stone and clap it between the opening shells, and then return at leisure to eat the fish up at Ms ease ; when he relates tlie not less marvellous manner in which the same sort of intelligent monkey manages at his pleasure io enjoy a fine crab, by putting Ms tail in the water, letting it be seized, and drawing out with a violent jerk the victim of appetite ; when he repeats what he has heard of Patagonian horses not more than fourteen hands Mgh, carrying men nine feet Mgh ; when he tells Gesner's story of the himgry pike seizing the mule's nose ; or the more marvellous story in wMch Gesner celebrates the two nightingales who were heard repeating what they had overheard of a long and not remarkably decent conversation between a drunken tapster and his wife, as well as of the talk of two travellers about an impending war against the Protestants, — in all these and many other cases, notwithstanding his care to give in every case Ms authorities, it is too manifest that for Ms own part he sees nothing that may not be believed. Indeed he avouches Ms belief at times in very amusing ways ; nor is it possible to refrain from smiling at the gravity with which, after reporting a Munchausen relation about all the dogs of a Chinese village turning out for pursuit and attack, when they happen to see a man walking through the street whose trade it is to kill and dress them, he adds : "This I should " hardly have believed but that I have seen more than one instance " of it among ourselves. I have seen a poor fellow who made a prac- " tice of stealing and killing dogs for their skins, pursued in full cry "for three or four streets together by all the bolder breed of dogs, " wMle the weaker flew from his presence with afiright . . suchisfhi "fact." Nevertheless, perhaps the cautious reader wiU be as little disposed to accept it for a fact as to believe that other marvel, wMoh "as it comes from a variety of the most credible witnesses, " we cannot refuse our assent "to, about the baboons who have such a love for women that they wiU a;ttack a vUlage when they know the men are engaged in their rice-harvost, assail the poor deserted wives in a body, force them into the woods, keep them 384 OLIYER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. there against tteir wills, and kill them when refractory ! In justice to him let us add, however, that when of the same class of imitative creatures he protests his inabOity to see why monkeys should not be able to conduct debates and deliberations in quite as orderly a manner as any civilised human assembly, his remark has probably more of purposed sarcasm than of undesigned absurd- ity in it. At this very period his friend Burke was subjected nightly to interruptions in the House of Commons that really would have been discreditable to an assembly of apes. But leaving him to the amusing mistakes and simple enjoyments in natural history which occupied Tiim in his country home, inci- dents which attended the publication of his MngUsh History must now be named before these country labours and relaxations are resumed. CHAPTER XI. COUNTRY LABOURS AND RELAXATIONS. 1771. A MORE innocent production than the Eroglish History, which appeared in August, could hardly have been imagined. It ^t 43 ^^^ simply a compilation, in his easy flowing style, from four historians whom he impartially characterised in his preface ; and with as little of the feeling of being influenced by any, his book throughout had been written. "They have each," he says, speaking of Rapin, Carte, Smollett, and Hum6, "their "peculiar admirers, in proportion as the reader is studious of "political antiqxiities, fond of minute anecdote, a warm^partizan, " or a deliberate reasoner." Nevertheless, passages of very harm- less narrative were displayed in the party papers as of very ques- tionable tendency ; he was asked if he meant to be the tool of a minister, as well as the drudge of a bookseller ; he was reminded that the favour of a generous public (so generous always at other people's cost), was better than the best of pensions ; and he finally was warned against betraying his country " for base and scandalous " pay." The poor publisher became alarmed, and a formal defence of the booJ^ appeared in the Public Advertiser. Tom was himself a critic, and had taken the field fuU-armed for his friend (and his property). " Have you seen," he says in a letter to Granger, "an "impartial account of Groldsmith's History of England? If you "want to know who was the writer of it, you will find him in " Russell-street : hut Mum !" Meanwhile, indifferent enough to this blustering reception onip. XI.] COUNTRY LABOURS AND RELAXATIONS. 385 vouchsafed to his very innocent book, Goldsmith had returned to his country lodging, had been steadily Tforking «,t his new labour, had now nearly finished his comedy, and was t.lo quiet and busy in his retirement to be much disturbed by those violent party noises elsewhere. The farm-house stiU stands on a gentle eminence in what is caUod Hyde-lane, leading to Kenton, about three hundred yards from the village of Hyde, and looking over a pretty country in the direction of Hendon ; and when a biographer of the poet went in search of it some years since, he found still living in the neighbourhood the son of the fanner (a Mr. Selby) with whom the poet lodged, and in whose famUy the property of the house and farm remained. He found traditions of Goldsmith surviving, too : how he used now and then to wander into the kitchen from his own room, in fits of study or abstraction, and the parlour had to be given up to him when he had visitors to tea ; how Reynolds and Johnson and Sir William Chambers had been entertained there, and he had once taken the young folks of the farm in a coach to see some strolling players at Hendon ; how he had come home one night without his shoes, having left them stuck fast in a slough ; and how he had an evil habit of reading in bed, and of putting out his candle by flinging his slipper at it. It is certain he was fond of this humble place. He told Johnson and Boswell that he believed the farmer's family thought him an odd character, and that he was to them what The Spectator appeared to his land- lady and her children. He was The Gentleman. And so content for the present was he to continue here, that he had given up a summer visit into Lincolnshire, proposed in company with Reynolds, to see their friend Langton in his new character of Benedict. The latter had married, the previous yeai-, one of those three Countess Dowagers of Rothes who had all of them the fortune to get second husbands at about the same time ; and to "Bennet Langton, Esq., '' at Langton, near Spilsby, in Lincolnshire," it seems to have been Goldsmith's first business to write on his retvu:n to his chambers in the Temple. The pleasant letter has happily been preserved, and is dated from Brick-court, on the seventh of September. Mr' DEAR Sib, Since I had the pleasiu'e of seeing you last, I have been almost wholly in the country at a farmer's house, quite alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now -finished, but when or how it wifl be acted, or whether it will be acted at all, are questions I cannot resolve. I am therefore so much em- ployed upon that, that I am under the necessity of putting oflf my intended visit to Lincolnshire for this season. Reynolds is just returned from Paris, and finds himself now in the case of a truant that must make up for his idle time by diligence. We have therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, when we hope to have the honour of waiting upon Lady Rothes, and you, and staying double the time of our late intended visit. We often meet, and never without remembering you. 1 see Mr. Beauclerc very often both in town and oouttiy. He is now going directly forward to become a second Boyle : deep in 8c 336 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. chemistry and physics. Johnson has been down upon a visit to a country parson, Dr. Taylor : and is returned to his old haunts at Mrs. Thrale's. Burke is a fanner, en attendant a better place; but visiting about too. Every soul is a visiting about and merry but myself. And that is hard too, as I have been trying these three months to do something to make people laugh. There have I been strolling about the hedges, studying jests with a most tragical countenance. The N'atural History is about half finished, and I will shortly finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this kind of finishing, which is but bungling work ; and that not so much my fault as the fault of my scurvy circumstances. They begin to talk in town of the Opposition's gaining ground ; the cry of liberty is still as loud as ever. I have published, or Davies has published for me, an Abridgement of the History of I'itgland, for which I have been a good deal abused in the newspapers for betraying the liberties of the people, (rod knows I had no thought for or against liberty in my head ; my whole aim being to make up a book of a decent size, that, as 'Squire Kichard says, would do no harm to nobody. However, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and consequently an honest man. When yon come to look at any part of it, you'll say that I am a sour Whig. God bless you, and with my most respectM compliments to her ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your most affectionate humble servant, Oliteb Goldsmith. Though the Langton visit had been thus deferred, however, another new married couple claimed him soon after this letter ; and he could not, amid all his "scurvy circumstances," lesist the temptation. Little Comedy had become Mrs. Bunbury, and he was asked to visit them at Barton. But his means were insufficient; and, for a time to anticipate them, he laid himself under fresh obligations to lEVancis Newbery. Former money transactions between them, involving unfulfilled engagements for a new story, remained still uncancelled ; and Garrick stUl held an outstanding note of Newbery's, unpaid because of disputed claims on behalf of the elder Newbery's estate : but a better understanding between the publisher and his creditor, on the faith of certain completed chapters of the long-promised tale, had now arisen, and Garrick was in no humour to disturb it by reviving any claim of his. Eecent courtesies and kindness had been heartily interchanged between the poet and the actor, and showed how little on either side was at any time needed to have made these celebrated men fast friends. In the last three years they had met more frequently than at any previous time, at Mr. Beauclerc's, Lord Clare's,- and Sir Joshua's ; and where there is anything to suggest mutual esteem, the more men know of each other the more they will wish to know. Thus, courtesies and good-nature had freely passed between, them ; and hjnts of promise and acceptance for a new comedy would appear to have been also interchanged, for we find Hoadly warning Garrick soon after against "giving in" to Doctor Goldsmith's ridicndosity. What was lately written in the country (little better than a rough draught at present, it in proba- ble) is for Covent-gardeji ; but l^e thinks Jj? has so far succeeded JHAP. XI.] COUNTRY LABOUKS AND RELAXATIONS. 387 as to feel yet greater confidence in the same direction, and soixie- thing of an understanding for a future dramatic venture at Drury-lano seems certainly to have been agreed to. A new and strong link between them was supplied by the family which Gold- smith is about to visit; for Garrick was Bunbury's most familiar friend, and a leader in all the sports at Barton. What Goldsmith's ways and habits used to be there, a survivor of that happy circle lived to be stiU talking about not many years ago. " Come now let us play the fool a little," was his ordinary invitation to mirth ; and he took part in every social game. Tricks were played upon his dress, upon his smart black silk coat and expensive pair of ruffles, above all upon his wig, which the valets as well as the guests at Barton appear to have thought a quizzical property ; yet all this he suffered with imperturbable good humoiu*. He sung comic songs with great taste and fun ; he was inventive in garden buildings and operations, over which he blundered amazingly ; and if there was a piece of water in any part of the grounds, he commonly managed to tumble into it. Such were the recollections of those days ; with the not unimportant addition, that everybody in that circle respected, admired, and loved him. His fondness for flowers was a passion, which he was left to indulge without restraint ; here, at Lord Clare's, at Bennet Langton's, and at Beauclerc's. Thus, when Beau has to tell Lord Charlemont a couple of years hence, that if he won't come to London the club shall be sent to Ireland to drive him out of that country in self- defence, the terrors of his threat are, that Johnson shall spoil his books. Goldsmith puU his flowers, and (for a quite intolerable climax) Boswell iaVc to him ! But most at the card-table does Goldsmith seem to have spread contagious mirth : affecting nothing of the rigour of the game (whether it was loo or any other), playing in wild defiance of the chances, laughing at aU advice, staking pre- posterously, and losing always as much as the moderate pool could absorb. With fascinating pleasantry he has himself described all this, in answer to one of Mrs. Bunbury's invitations to Barton, wherein she had playfully counselled him to come to their Christmas party in his smart spring velvet coat, to bring a wig that he might dance with the haymakers in, and above all to follow her and her sister's advice in playing loo. His reply, perhaps the most amusing and characteristic of all his letters, was published ten years ago by Sir Henry Bunbury. Between the mock gravity of its beginning and the farcical broad mirth of its close, flash forth the finest humour, the nicest compliments, and the most sprightly touches of character. Madam, I read your letter with all that aUowance which critical candour could require, tut after all find so much to object to, and so mncji ifi r!Wa» iny indignation, that I cannot help givin? it a spTions answer, 888 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms oon- tained in it, and soleoiams also. (Solecisms is a word that comes from the towa of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that name, — but this is learning you have no taste for I) — I say. Madam, there are many sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured oiitio, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows : ' I hope my good Doctor, you soon will be here. And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear, To open our ball the first day of the year.' Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet 'good,' applied to the title of Doctor ? Had you called me ' learned Doctor,' or ' grave Doctor,' or ' noble Doctor,' it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ' spring- velvet coat,' and advise mo to wear it the first day in the year, that ia, in the middle of winter t — aspTlDg- velvet coat in the middle of winter 1 1 I That would be a solecism indeed I and yet to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I cau never tliink of wearing a spring-velvet in winter : and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines ; ' And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay, To dance with the girls that are makers of hay.' The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of : you say your sister will laugh ; and so indeed she well may I The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous kind of laughter, ' naso contemnere adunoo ; ' that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the antlents if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the hounds of prose ; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice I and from whom 1 Tou shall hear. First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, The company set, and the word to be, Loo : All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure, And ogling the stake which is fix'd in the centre. Bound and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn At never once finding a visit from Pam. I lay down my stake, apparently cool. While the harpies about me all pocket the pool. I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly, I wish all my friends may be bolder than I : Yet still they sit snugg, not a creature will aim By losing their money to venture at fame. 'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, 'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold : All play their own way, and they think me an ass, — ' What does Mrs. Bunbury ?•—'!, Sir 'I I pass.' ' Pray what does Miss Horneok ! take courage, come do^'— . ' Who, I ? let me see, Sii-, why I must pass too. Mr .Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil, To Me them so cowardly, lucky, and civU, «BiP. xt.] OOUNIST UBOtJBS AKD EELAXATIOKS. 389 Yet still I sit snngg, and contmne to sigh on, 'Till, made by my losses as 1>old as a lion, I ventnre at all, — ^while my avarice r^ards The whole pool as my own — ' Come giro me fire catds.' •Well done!' cry the ladies ; 'Ah, Doctor, that's good! 'The pool's Tory rich, — ah ! the Doctor is loo'd ' Thus foil'd in my coniage, on all sides perplert, I ask &r advice &om the lady that's next : ' Pray, Ua'am, Ik so good as to give yonr advice ; 'Don't yon thmk the best way is to ventoie for't twice f ' 'I advise,' cries the lady, 'to try it, I own. — 'Ah ! the Doctor is loo'd ! Come^ Doctor, pnt down.' Thns, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager, And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar. Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters yon're skilled in. Whether crimes snch as yours shonld not come before Fielding : For giving advice that is not worth a straw. Hay well be call'd picking of pockets in law ; And picking of pockets, with which I now clmge je. Is, by qninto Elizabeth, Death withont Clergy. Wliat jnstice, when both to the Old Bailey brought ! By the gods. Til enjoy it, tho' 'tis bat in thought ! Both are placed at the bar, with aU proper decomm. With bunches of fennell, and nosegays before 'em ; Both cover their &ces with mobs and all that. But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat. When nncover'd, a bnza of inquiry runs round, — ' Pray what are their crimes ? ' — ' They've been pilfering found.* 'But, pray, who have they pilfer'd ?' — ' A Doctor, I hear.' ' What, yon solenm-&ced, odd-looking man that stands near ! ' ' The same.' — ' What a pity ! how does it surprise one, ' Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on ! ' Then their friends ail come round me with cringing and leering; To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. First Sir Charles advances with phrases well-stmng, ' Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.' ' The younger the worse,' I return bim again, ' It shews that their habits are all dyed in grain.' 'But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.' ' What signifies Jiandtame, when people are thieva ! ' 'But where is yonr justice ! their cases are hard.' ' What signifies Tiutiee ! I want the reward. ' There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty poonds ; there's the pariah of ' St. Leonard Shoreditch offers far<7 pounds ; there's the parish of Tybnru, 'from the Hog-in-the-ponnd to Sb, Gilesfs watch-house, offers forty pounds, I • shall liave all that if I convict them ! ' — ' But consider their ease, — U may yet be your own I 'And see how Uiey kneel? Is your heart made of stone I' This moves : — so at last I agree to relent, For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent. I challenge you all to answer this : I tell you, yon cannot^ It cuts de^ ; — hot now for the rest of the letter : and next — but I want room— so I believe I thall battle the rest ont at Barton some day next week. I don't value you all I 0. CI. 390 OLIVER aOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. CHAPTER XII. FAME ACQUIEED AND TASKWOEK RESUMED. 1772. To battle it out ou any kind of challenge at Barton was tc Goldsmith always a pleasure ; but it was a hard imd ml'f'i difficult game to battle it out in London, and the stakes ' were growing somewhat desperate. Francis Newbery seems in some shape to have revived the question of their old accounts, on his retiuTi from the last visit at Mr. Bunbury's ; and he appears in that publisher's books as having paid twenty pounds, a new and arduoiis character. But he wears a cheerful face still ; has his grave kind word for the poor struggling adventurer, his gay sprightly prologue for the ambitious amateur author, and stUl, as of old, indiscriminate help for any one who presents himself with a plausible petition, all the surer of acceptance if graced with a brogue. A poor Irish youth afterwards known as a physician,. Doctor M'Veagh M'Donnell, told in after life how he had flung himself in despair on a seat in the Temple-gardens, eyeing the water wistfully, when a kind genial-faced countryman, whom ho was soon to know as the famous Goldsmith, came up to him, talked him into good spirits, brought him into his chambers, told him that in London " nothing could be got for nothing but much " might be got for work," and set him afloat in the world by giving him chapters of Buffon to translate. This poor client used to grieve, when in the course of this daily labour he saw his patron subject to frequent fits of depression ; when he saw printers and booksellers "hunting " him down ; and tells us that he cried bitterly, and a blank came over his heart, when he afterwards heard of his death. Unluckily the patron was not always so fortunate in the objects of his botinty. The^anecdote now to be related was told soon after Goldsmith's death by one of his friends, who, while remarking that a great point of pride with him was to be liberal to his poor countrymen who applied to hina in distress, interposes that the expression "pride" waii not an improper one to use, because he did it with some degree of ostentation. The instance is then given of a highly ingenious youth who had preyed upon his celebrated countryman for some time in this way, representing his unappreciated abilities, which it never occurred to Goldsmith to doubt, and his sore necessities, which he was always willing to relieve. At last, however, this had been CHAP. XII.] FAME AOQUlRfiD AND TASUWOEE BESOMED. 391 repeated so often, that it occurred to Goldsmith to give his yotmg friend the chance (he so ardently professed to desire) of in\iing some return for what he received, by the exercise of those literary talents for which he had hitherto failed to get any direct outlet of his own. At the particular time a bookseller had asked Gold- smith to draw up, for some occasional purpose, "and at a price " he despised but had not rejected," a description of China ; and on this description of China he set his pensioner to work. The original teller of the anecdote will relate, in simple but expressive language, the result and its catastrophe. "Such was the idle " carelessness of his temper that he never gave himself the trouble "to read the manuscript, but sent to the press an account which "made the Emperor of China a Mahometan, and which supposed "India to be between China and Japan. Two sheets were " cancelled at Goldsmith's expense, who kicked his newly created " author down stairs." Another 'similar case had a graver issue. An Irish youth named Griffin, one of the many Roman Catholic lads of that day driven over to France for the education then denied them in their own land, and thus exposed to temptations at too early an age for effective resistance, had come back to London with the wants and resources of a desperate adventurer. He assailed at once both Garrick and Goldsmith, shrewdly sending the actor a poetical address of the most extravagant praise, while he wrote letters to the poet pointing out the most affecting distress, and implored his intercession with Garrick to obtain him relief. "The writer of "this," says the author of the first memoir, "who hath perused "both the verses and the letters, saw no attempt to flatter " Goldsmith, or to interest him otherwise than through his com- " passion." No stronger motive could at any time be given. In this case it not only procured the applicant what he sought, but such recommendations also as obtained him the place of teacher in a school, where unhappily he had not remained long before he robbed the house and made his escape. Tet the clients were not always of this class. A livelier peti- tioner, whose claim was for the less substantial and more poetical help of a prologue, and who is now duly to be presented, was a young man of fortune named Cradock, living in Leicestershire, who, bringing up with him his wife and a translation of one of Voltaire's tragedies, had come lately to London, very eager about plays and players, — being a clever amateur actor as well as writer, liking to be called little Cradock, and really fancying himself, one would say, quite a private little Garrick, — and with introductions to the celebrated people. Goldsmith met him at Yates the actor's house ; their mutual knowledge of Lord Clare soon put them on S92 OLIVER (JOLDSMItffS LlPE AND TIMES [bock iv. familiar terms ; and a prologue for Zobeide was readily promised. " Mr. Goldsmith," says the note with which he soon after forwar^ ded it (Cradock was staying at Gosfield at the time), " presents his "best respects to Mr. Oradoek ; has sent him the Prologue snch " as it is. He cannot take time to make it better. He begs he " will give Mr. Yates the proper iastructions ; and so, even so, he "commits TiiTn to fortune and the public." He had himself dropped the title of Doctor at this time, says one of his Mends, but the world would not let him lose it. The prologue, very wittily built on the voyage to Otaheite which was makiTig lieute- nant Cook somewhat famous just now, was spoken, not by Yates, but by Quick, in the character of a sailor. The influence of Lord Clare is also to be detected in the next poetical product of his pen. This was a Lament for the death of the Princess-dowager of Wales, Robert Nugenfs old political mistress and patron, who died in Ffebruaiy 1^72 ; before the dose of which month Groldsmith's poem, with a title copied fiom Diyden, the Threnodia Aiigustaiis, announced in the papers to be "written for the purpose, by a gentleman of acknowledged " literary merit," was recited and sung with appropriate music at Mrs. Comely's fashionable rooms in Soho-sqnare. Cradock, whose theatrical accomplishments included a taste for music, appears to have helped him in the adaptation of the parts ; and has pub- lished a note from "Mr. Goldsmith" in which with best respects lo Mr. Cradock, he says, "When he asked him to-day, ho quite "forgot an engagement of above a week's standing, which has " been made purposely for him ; he feels himself quite uneasy at " not being permitted to have his instructions upon those parts " where he must necessarily be defective. He will have a " rehearsal on Monday," he adds (the note is dated on Sunday morning), "when if Mr. Cradock would come, and afterwards take " a bit of mutton chop, it would add to his other obligations." The thing was hardly worth even so much trouble^ for it was purely an occasional piece. Though not without a passage of merit here and there, it was written, as we learn fix>m the advertisement prefixed to it, in a couple of days ; Goldsmith himself honestly calls it " a compilation," which it really was (containing whole lines and stanzas ti^en bodily out of Collins's Odes), rather than " a " poem ; " and it did not appear with his name attached to it imtil forty years after his death. Cradock then gave it to his friend Nichols, who handed it to Chalmers. His connection with its authorship escaped even Boswell, who, yet busier and more inqui- sitive than of old, came up from his Scotch practice for his annual London visit not a month after it was performed, more than ever amazed at the amount of Goldsmith's celebrity. " Sir," he said to BHAP. XII.] FAME ACQtriUfiD AND TASKWORK RESUMED. 393 Johnson somewhat later, " Goldsmith has acquirec. more fame "than all the officers last wax who were not generals ! " " Why "sir," answered Johnson, "you will find ten thousand fit to do " what they did, before you find one who does what Goldsmith "has done. You must consider that a thing is valued according " to its rarity. A pebble that paves the street is in itself more "useful than the diamond upon a lady's finger." But this did not satisfy Boswell, who had now in truth a strong, secret, and to himself perhaps only half-confessed reason, for his very ludicrous jealousy and impatience. He fancied Goldsmith likely to be Johnson's biographer, and that was an office he coveted and already had selected for himself. For now began that series of questions. What did you do sir, What did you say sir, which afterwards forced from their victim the energetic protest : " Sir, I wiU not be put to the question. "Don't you consider, sir, that these are not the manners of a "gentleman? I will not be baited with what and why ; what is " this ? what is that 1 why is a cow's tail long ? why is a fox's tail "bushy?" In all which, notwithstanding, Bozzy persisted: fca-- getting so much more of the manners of a gentleman as even to lay down hia knife and fork, take out his tablets, and report speeches in the middle of a dinner-table ; submitting to daily rebuffs, reproofs, and indignities ; satisfied to be played over and drenched by the fountain of (what he never dreams of describing by a ruder name than) "wit;" content not only to be called, by the object of his veneration, a dunce, a parasite, a coxcomb, an eavesdropper, and a fool, but even faithfully to report what he calls the "keen "sarcastic wit," the "variety of degrading images," the "rude- "nesa," and the "ferocity," of which he was made the special object : bent all the more firmly upon the one design which seized and occupied the whole of such faculties as he possessed, and living in such manner to achieve it as to have made himself immortal as his hero. " You have but two topics, sir," exclaimed Johnson ; "yourself and me. I am sick of both." Happily for us, nothing could sicken Boswell of either ; and by one of the moat moderately wise men that ever lived, the masterpiece of English biography was written. It is so, because, after every allowance made for the writer's failings, it is a book thoroughly honest and true to the minutest letter. "I besought his tenderness," says Mrs. Hannah More, a few months after his hero's death, "for our virtuous and most "revered departed friend, and begged he would mitigate some of "his asperities. He said roughly, He would not cut off his claws, " nor make a tiger a cat, to please anybody." Perhaps there is nothing sadder to think of in our history than the many tigers that 89* OLIvmi aOLDSMITU'S LIPU AND I'IMRS. [iiooK IV. figure fts oats, tuid tlio iimny outs who tmmplo about lui tigoi's. What would wo now givo to havo hiul ii BoswoU for ovory Johusou 1 to havo had in attondanoo on all our immorlials, m luuoh solf- oomplaoont folly with as muoh shrewd oloar insight j the siiuiu lively power to do justice to their sayings, the aauio rovorouoe to devote such talents to that humble sorvioe, and the same oonooit full-proof against ovary degradation it involved. We havo but to turn to the biography of any other man of letters, to comprohund ovu' debt of gratitude to Boswell ; we havo but to remember how fruitless Ih the quest, when wo would seek to stand face to face with any othor as famous Englislimon, "So, sir," said Johnson to Cibber, "I "I'md you Imew Mr. Dryden ?" "Knew him I" said Gibber. " Lord I I was as well acquainted with him as if ho had boon " my own brother." " Then," rejoined the otlior, " you can toll "mo some anecdotes of him?" "Oh yes," exclaimed Oolley, "o " thousand I why, we used to meet him continually at a club at "Will's. I remember as well as if it wore but yesterday, that " when he caine into the room in winter-tune, ho used to go and " sit close by the fire in one corner ; and that in Hummor-timo, ho " would always go and sit in the window." Such was the informa- tion Johnson got from Oibbor as to the manuors and habits of Dryden. Such, or little better, but for Boswell, might have been our knowledge of Johnson. Early in April he dined in company with Johnaon and Gold- smith at General Oglethorpe's, and "flrod tip" the brave old Oouoral by making a question of the moral propriety of duelling, "I ask you fii'st, sir," said Goldsmith, "what would you do if "you wore affronted?" "I answered," says Boh well, "I should " tliink it necessary to fight," "Why then," was tho reply, " that "solves the question." "No, sir," interposed Johnson, "it does "not solve the question j " which he thereupon proceeded himself to solve, by regretting the superiuity of refinement which existed in society on tho subject of affironts, and admitting that duelling must be tolerated so long as such notiona should prevail. After this, — the General having moanwhilo poured a little wino on the table, and at Johnson'^ request, described with a wet finger the siege of Belgrade, — a question was storted of how far people who disagree in a capital point can live in friendship together. Johnson said they might. Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the idem vdle aiqua idem nolk, the same lildngs and the same aversions. " Why, sir," returned Johnson, " you must shun " the Rulijoot as to which you disagree. For instance, I can live "very well with Burke : I love his knowledge, his genius, his " diffusion, and afBuonce of conversation ; but I would not talk to •' him of the Roclrtngham party," " But, sir," rcilioitod ((oldHuiith, CBA^. xn.] FAME ACQUIBED ASD TASEWOEE £E£OCEI>. 395 " vlien people liye together who have seaaeOdng as to idudi they " disagree, and wMch Hbef irant to shim, they kriQ -he in the " situatian meniiaiied ia the stoiy of Bhiebeard ; You ma^ look "info (mU ihe chambers but one. But ire ahooM have tiie greatest ''indination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject.'' JofaDson hereapon with a load. Toice shouted oat, ''Sr, I am " not saying thai you could lire in fiiendsfa^ with a man &om " whmn yon differ as to some point ; I am imly saying that I could " do it^ Yon pnt me in mind of Sappho in Ovid." Goldanith had said too derer a thing, and got pnnished for it. So it was with Percy, Tery often ; so with Joseph Warton ; so with Dean Barnard ; so with longton ; so eren with Beanderc and Beynolda. What Miss Anna Seward called "ihe wit and "ageless impoltteness of the stapendoos creature" bore down every one before it. His ftncible spirit and impetnosity of manner, says BosweD, '-may be said to spare neither sex nor age. I "have seen eren Misl Thrale stunned." Yet, if we may believe Miss "BjejuoUB, she never said more whera she recovered, than Oh dear good man ! And Dean Barnard, invoking the aid of his firiends agaunst the aweless impoliteness, and snlnnitiing himself to be ixn^A bjr their better acoomplisfaments, has told us in lively veise with what good hnmour it was borne by Beynolda. Sear bn^it of Fljmpton, teadi me how To SD&r wiib midonded brow And smile serene as thine, Tlie jest ononit}! and tnttli sersre ; Like thee to tarn my dea&sA ear. And csUsUy diint my i If I have thoa^its and ean't express 'era, GiblioQ ^Tiall teadi me bow to dress 'em In terms select and teise ; Jones teach me modesty and GzeelE, Smith lunr to tlnnk, Bmke bow to ^eak. And Beraclsc to eonveise. Soon after the dinner at C^^eUiorpe's, Goldsmith returned to his Edgeware lodging, and was sometime busied widi the Animattil Hature. It was a task he best worked at in the oonntxy, with nature wide-spread around him : for though a severe criticism may point it out as the defect at the book, that, taken as a whole, it has too many of the d^octezistics of a mere compilation, into which he appears disposed, as we have seen, to admit as fieefy the credulous romance of tiie early naturalists and tiaveUexs, as the scientific soberness of the great Frendmian his contemporaiy whose labours were stiQ unfinished while he wrote,— ^there are ye^ a£ I .396 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book tv. have lately said, with many evidences of very careful study of the best of the scanty authorities then extant, also many original passages of exquisite cowni/ry observation in it ; and not a few in which the grace of diction, the choice of perfect and finely finished imagery, the charm with which a poet's fancy is seen playing round the graver truths of science, and an elegant clearness and beauty in the tone of reflection, may compare with his best original compositions, in poetry or prose. He did not live to see its reception from his contemporaries ; but when Tom Davies, who was in the way of hearing all kinds of opinions about it from the best authorities, characterises it as one of the pleasantest and most instructive books in the language, not only useful to young minds but entertaining to those who understand the subject, which the writer certainly did not, there is little doubt that he reflects pretty nearly what Johnson thought and said. He appears to be repeating Johnson too, when he adds that "everything of Goldsmith seems " to bear the magical touch of an enchanter : no man took less " pains, and yet produced so powerful an effect : the great beauty " of his composition consists in a clear, copious, and expressive " style." All this is true to a certain extent ; but it is also very certain that it is not by " not taking pains " such a style can be ever mastered. The pains has been taken at some time or other, the reader may be sure, and the skill to conceal it is the secret of that exquisite ease. The contrast between the appearance of his manuscript in prose and in poetry has been already remarked in a previous page ; but though of course there would always be a dis- tinction in this respect in every writer, we must not suppose that the amount of correction or interlineation can be invariably taken to express the presence or absence of care and labour. The safer inference will be that in proportion as a subject has dwelt in the mind, and been thoroughly arranged and well digested there, it wiU flow forth clearly at last. True ease in writing comes icom. art, not chance, As those move easiest who hare leam'd to dance. He tells us in the preface to the Ammated NaAwre, most characteristically, that his first intention was to have given a sort of popular translation and comment on Pliny, but that the appear- ance of M. Buffbn's great work induced him to depart from that design ; " being convinced by his manner, that the best imitation * ' of the ancients was to write from our own feelings, and to imitate "nature." And for proof that he honestly did this, it might be enough to refer to the many personal characteristics and experiences I have been able to draw from the book, having lately, with singular and Unexpected pleasure, read the whole of it with OHAP. XII.] FAME ACQUIRED AND TASKWORK RESUMED. 397 that view. There are bits of natural painting in it as tr. p as anything in the TraA)eller or Deserted ViUage. You perceive .it once that he is as sincerely describing what he has actually seen and felt, as when, in either of those charming poems, he lets you hear the sweet confusion of "village murmurs" in the country air, or shows you the beauty that the poet and lover of nature may see in even the flat low -coasts of Holland, in " the yellow- "blossom'd vale, the willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail." Many such passages have incidentally enriched these pages ; and in others of more serious tone, such as the opening chapter on birds of the sparrow kind, or that walk by the sea shore in which his thoughts turn so unafiectedly to Him who is "the essence of sublimity," or where the change of the grub to the butterfly i« accepted for " a " strong proof that, while this little animal is raised to its greatest "height, we are as yet, in this world, only candidates for per- "fection," — may be observed another delightful feature of the book, in its unobtrusive manner of blending religious aspiration ivith natural description. Nor is there any section of it more entirely pleasing, in this personal view, than the whole treatment of the ornithological division of its subject. With manifest delight the theme inspires its writer, as he begins to talk of the " beautiful and loquacious race of " animals that embellish our forests, amuse our walks, and exclude " solitude from our most shady retirements . . No part of nature is " destitute of inhabitants. The woods, the waters, the depths of "the earth, have their respective tenants ; while the yielding air, "and those tracts of seeming space where man never can ascend, " are also passed through by multitudes of the most beautiful beings " of the creation. . . The return of spring is the beginning of plea- ' ' sure. Those vital spirits which seemed locked up during the winter, " then begin to expand ; vegetables and insects supply abrmdance " of food ; and the bird having more than a suflScienoy for its own " subsistence, is impelled to transfuse life as w^ as to maintain " it. Those warblings, which had been hushed during the colder " seasons, now begin to animate the fields ; every grove and bush "resounds with the challenge of anger, or the call of allurement." Who does not believe the reluctance with which Goldsmith describes himself quitting that "most beautiful part of creation. These " splendid inhabitants of air possess all those qualities tfiat can soothe " the heart and cheer the fancy. The brightest colours, the roundest " forms, the most active manners, and the sweetest music. In " Bending the imagination in pursuit^f these, in following them to "the chirping grove, the screaming precipice, or the glassy deep, «« the mind naturally lost the sense of its own situation, and, ■ 'attentive to their little sports, almost forgot the Task of describing S98 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [dock it. "them. Innocently to amuse the imagination in this dream " of life is wisdom . . every rank and state of mankind may find " something to imitate in those delightful songsters, and we may "not only employ the time, but mend our lives by the contem- "plation." The reader will not fail to mark a certain subdued Badness in this passage, and to give all the signifioanc to that word Task, which it is manifest Goldsmith intended by printing it in capitals. Infinitely might such extracts, fresh as the summer fields and sunshine, be prolonged ; and let me not omit to add that this intense love for all living creatures is but another form of his worship of nature. Nothing inspires his indignation so strongly as any cruelty practised against them. His remarks in this section of his book, on ai'tiflcial moulting, on the manner of training hawks, on the sadness of caged birds, simply express the spirit which rouses him always against every form of cruelty or pain. There is a touching passage on that "humble useful " creature," the ass, which might have been written by my uncle Toby himself. And who may resist the quaint kindly humour with which he celebrates another domestic creature equally service- able and equally despised 1 Winding up a laughable statement of the absurdities of the gander with the sly remark that "it is pro- " bable there is not a more respectable animal on earth — to a goose," ho thus continues of the latter: "I feel my obligations to this " animal every word I write ; for, however deficient a man's head " may be, his pen is nimble enough upon every occasion : it is ' ' happy indeed for us, that it requires no great efibrt to put it in " motion." Very touching, too, is the anecdote he relates of the she-fox and her cub, which " happened while I was writing this "history," and to which he again refers in another passage. And exactly the same humane feeling it is which elicits his dis- approval of all efforts, however ingenious or laborious, to bring animals " under the trammels of human education. It may," he admits of the animal so taught, "be an admirable object for " human curiosity, but is very little advanced by all its learning " in the road to its own felicity." Nor is his pity and sympathy loss strongly moved for poor little human children subjected pre- maturely to an inteUeotual torture, for which their faculties are equally unprepared. "I have seen many a little philosophical " martyr whom I wished, but was unable to relieve." Were it but for the humanity and beauty of such passages alone, then, this Ammated Nature must surely always be considered as on the whole a surprising specimen of task-work, and a most happy piece of imitation of nature ; allowance being made for the circum- stances in which its drudgery was undergone, and which the course his necessities now obliged him to take did i^ot tend to relieve, CHAP. XII.] FAMB ACQUIEED AND TASEWOKK EESUMED. S39 "I have taxed my scanty drcnmstaiices in procuring books which "are on the subject of all others the most expensiTe," was a touching confession he did not scruple to make in the preface he did not live to see prefixed to the work. Pressed and hunted in other ways akeady by snch " scanty circumstances," he now induced Griffin to advance Tiiin what TR Tna.iTip .f1 to be paid upon the copyright ; acknowledged the receipt and executed the assignment in June ; and had then received and paid away the whole eight hundred guineas, while upwards of a third of his labour remained stiU unperformed. Not was this aU. He had involved himself in an undertaking to If ewbery, to supply another tale like the Vicar of Wakefield ; some years had elapsed since the unredeemed promise was made ; and a portion of a tale submitted to the publisher had lately been returned with intimation of disapproval It appears to have been a narrative version of the plot of the Good^natwred Man, and on that ground objected to. So much was long remembered by Miss Mary Homeck, to whom, and to her sister, Goldsmith afterwards read such chapters as he had written ; and it may be worth stating in connection with this fact, which Hazlitt heard from Mrs. Gwyn herself in Northcote's painting room, that Southey notices in his Orrvniana a fraud he supposes to have been practised on Goldsmith's reputation in France, by the announcement, in a list of books at the end of a volume published in the year of his death, of a translation from the KTig liab entitled " Histoire de Francois With, " ou le Triomphe de la Bienfaisance, par VoAiiewr du Minisire de " Waikefield." It is suggested that this may have been the incom- plete chapters left by Goldsmith, thought unworthy of publication here, concluded by some inferior hand, and sold to the SVench market ; but the account I have received of the utter commonplace of the English original, quite excludes the possibility of Goldsmith's having had anything whatever to do with it. Another labour that occupied Goldsmith in the Edgeware cottage was the abridgment of his Soman History ; and this was probably the time when he tried unsuccessfully to lighten his various toil by mean'? of extraneous assistance. Exceptions may of course be stated to every rule, but it will be found, I think, that writers of the best style are generally the least able to find any relief in dictating to others. "When Doctor Goldsmith," says the kindly biographer of the good Jonas Han way, "to relieve " himself from the labour of writing, engaged an amanuensis, he " found himself incapable of dictation ; and after eyeing each " other some time, unable to proceed, the Doctor put a guinea " in his hand, and sent biTn away : but it was not so with " Mr. Hanway ; he could compose faster than any person could 400 OLIVEK GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book 17. "write." No doubt; nor was such information as Mr. Hanway had to contribute at all likely to be the worse for his fast compo- sition, whereas Goldsmith perhaps eyed his. wondering amanuensis all the more wistfully and silently, because of a misgiTing connected with the somewhat scant information to be then and there imparted. Still, of his historical task-work it is to be said quite as truly as of the delightful Animated Naiu/re, that such defects of imperfect research as it exhibited, were coimterbalanced bj sim- plicity of diction, a lucid beauty of narration, and perfect unaffected- ness of style ; and that schoolboys have more profited by the one than lost by the other. Johnson said, as we have seen, that he would make a yery fine natural history book, though if he could distinguish a cow from a horse, that he believed to be the extent of his scientific knowledge ; and the same will have to be said of his other history books, even though his general historical know- ledge should be measured by the anecdote of Gibbon's visit to him in the Temple some few months hence, when he looked up from the manuscript of his Grecian, History which he happened to be writing, asked of his scholarly visitor the name of the Indian king who gave Alexander so much trouble, and on Gibbon face- tiously answering Montezmna, gravely wrote it down. But his ignorance in this and other respects I have shown to be absurdly over-stated. The purse he had so often to take out was not so often empty. What Johnson says may be true of the few last years of his Ufe, that he was at no pains to fiU his mind with knowledge ; that transplanting it from one place to another, it did not settle, and so he could not teE what was in his own books : but it should be limited by those years of his hfe, judged by the distractions which then beset him, and accompanied with the admission which Johnson did not omit, that the world had taught him knowledge where books had not ; that whatever he wrote, he did better than any other man coidd do ; that he weU deserved his place in Westminster Abbey, and that every year he lived he would have deserved it better. It is astonishing how many thoughts, familiar now as household words, originated with Gold- smith, even to the famous saying that it was not so much to express as to conceal our wants that language had been given us ; whUe, loose and ill-oonsidered as much of his philosophy occasionally is, his Essays and Citizen of the World contain views of hfe and economy, political and social, which for subtlety and truth Burke never surpassed, nor the far-seeing wisdom of Adam Smith Himself. To that fragmentary way of writing, the resource of his days of poverty, his present narrow necessities seemed again to have driven him back .: for, besides the Edgeware labours just named, the latest of the Essays in the collection which now «fiAt. xlii.] ttJPPKTS Aa? DEiJRt-LASE ANlJ KtSEWaEaK. 401 bears that title were -written in the present year. They appeared in a new magazine, started by his atiquaintance Captain (so called, but strictly Lieutenant) Thompson and other menibers of the old Wednesday-club : and comprised a highly humorous paper ■*. And tero it will perhaps be worth, adding, that from one -frho, in the larger of the two theatres, and with notable reference to those very puppets of Versailles, was afterwards doomed to be busy in both pulling and snapping the strings, Goldsmith received this same year a quite voluntary tribute to his fame. A correSjpohdeilt "in the huimble station of an officer of excise,'' sent him a pamphlet-memorial of the case of his brother officers ; told him that the literary fame of Doctor Goldsmith (whom he addresses Honowred Sir) had induced him to present it ; said that he had some few questions to trouble Doctor Goldsmith with, and should esteem his company for an hour or two, to partake of a bottle of wine or anything else, as a singular favour ; and added that the Doctor's unknown humble servant, and admirer, woidd take the liberty of waiting on him in a day or two. The writer WM Thomas Paine, whom this pamphlet on the excise introduced to Franklin, whom Franklin within twelve months sent to America, who transacted memorable business in the establishment of a republic there, and who became subsequently citizen of another as famous republic, and deputy in its National Convention for the department of Calais. Goldsmith had suffered severe illness in the summer from a disease (strangury) induced by sedmitary habit ; on its return in the autumn, had obtained such rehef from the fashionable fever- medicine of the day, as to become almost as great a bigot as Horace Walpole to the miraculous powers of James's powders ; and now, after visits to Mr. Cradock, Lord Clare, and Mr. Langton, was settled for the winter in London. I trace him to Covent-garden theatre with George Steevens on an occasion so special, — ^it was to see MackUn, now nearly eighty years of age, perform the part of lago, — ^that they had prevailed upon Johnson to accompany them. This was the winter, I should add, when Northcote became Reynolds's pupil, and he remembered none of the Leicester-square visitors of the time so vividly as Goldsmith. He had expressed great eagerness to see him ; soon afterwards the poet came to dine ; and " This is Doctor Goldsmith," said Sir Joshua, " pray why did you wish to see him ? " Confused by the suddenness of the question, which was put with designed abrupt- ness, the youth could only stammer out " Because he is a notable " man ; " whereupon, the wmd in its ordinary sense appearing very oddly misapplied, both^^oldsmith and Beynolds bvtrst out laughing, and the latter protested that ia future his friend should always be the notable man. Korthcote explains that he meant to say he was a man of note, or eminence ; and adds that he was very unaffected and good-natured, but seemed totally ignorant of the art of painting, and indeed often with great gaiety confessed CHAP, xni.] PUPPETS AT DKUUY-LANB AND ELSEWHERE. 405 as muci. Nevertheless, he used at Burke's table to plunge into art-discussions ■with Barry, when the latter returned from abroad the year following this ; and would punish Barry's dislike of Sir Joshua, manifested even thus early, by disputing openly the subtlest dogmas with that irritable gemus, or perhaps by laughing -secretly as he put in practice a strict adherence to the two rules "which formed George Primrose's qualification for setting up as cognoscente : " The one always to observe, the picture might "have been better if the painter had taken more pains ; and "the other, to praise the works of Pietro Perugino." (Lord Byron delighted in the truth and wit of these rules, and often repeated ohem to Mr. Eogers in Italy.) With Burke himself, Northcote says, he overheard Goldsmith sharply disputing one day in Sir Joshua's painting-room about the character of the King ; when, BO grateful was he for some recent patronage of his comedy (it was a few months after the present date), and so outrageous and unsparing was Burke's anti-monarchical invective, that, unable any longer to endure it, he took up his hat and left the room. Another argument which Northcote overheard at Sir Joshua's dinner-table, was between Johnson and Goldsmith ; when the latter put Venice Preserved next to Shakespeare for its merit as an acting play, and was loudly contradicted by the other. " Pooh ! " roared Johnson. " There are not forty decent lines " in the whole of it. What stuff are these ! " And then he quoted as prose, Pierre's scomfUl reproach to the womanish JaflSer. " What feminine tales hast thou been listening to, of unair'd " shirts, catarrhs, and tooth-ache, got by thin-soled shoes ?" To which the unconvinced disputant sturdEy repKed, " True ! To be " sure ! That is very like Shakespeare." Goldsmith certainly had no great knowledge of the higher secrets of criticism, and was guilty of very monstrous and very siUy heresies against the master-poet (as in his papier on Metaphor in the Essays) ; but here his nption was right enough. He meant to say that Shakespeare had the art possessed only by the greatest poets, of placing in natural con- nection the extremes of the familiar and imaginative : which Garrick would have done well to remember before he began to botch Samlet. Another impression wUkh remained with North- cote's old age, derived from these scenes of his youth, was that the "set" at Sir Joshua's were somewhat intolerant of such as did not belong to their party, jealous of enlarging it, and chary of admitting merit to any new comer. Thus he remembered a new poem coming .o^i?that was sent to B«ynolds, who had instructed his servant §Slph to bring it in after dinner : when presently Goldsmith^ laid hold of it, feU. into a rage with it before he had rgfid £^ doapfi lines, ^nd exclaiming, " what wretched s^\S is Jiere 1 406 OLIYEK GOLDSMITH'S Llta AND TIMES [book iv. "what cursed nonsense that is \" kept all the while cutting at every line almost through the paper with his thumb nail. " Nay, "nay," said Sir Joshua, snatching the volume, "don't do so : you " shall not spoil my book, neither." In like manner, Northcote adds, he recollects their making a dead set at Cumberland. They never admitted him as one of themselves ; they excluded him from the club ; Reynolds never asked him to dinner ; and from any room where he was. Goldsmith would have flung out as if a dragon had been there. It was not till his life ■was just about to close that he became tolerant of the condescending attentions of the fretful Cumberland. To these recollections of Northcote, some by Mr. Cradock may be added. "When it was proposed one day to go down to Lichfield, and, in honour of Johnson and Garrick, act the Bea/ux Stratagem among themselves there, all the famous people of the club taking part in it, "then," exclaimed Goldsmith, "I shall certainly play "Scrub. I should like of all things to try my hand at that " character." One would have liked no less to have seen him play it, and heard the roar that would have given a personal turn to the cunning serving-man's famous assertion, " I believe they talked of " me, for they laughed conswmedhj." But his brogue would have been a difficulty. Even Burke's brogue was no small disadvantage to him ; and Goldsmith had hardly improved his, since those Dunciad-days when he would object to the exquisite bad rhyming of hey with 6c ("let hey be called hee, and then it wiU rhyme with 6e," said one of his criticisms for Griffiths, "but not otherwise"): indeed, says Cooke, he rather cultivated his brogue than got rid of it. Malone's authority would have us doubt, too, whether his emphasis, even foi Scrub, would always have been right ; seeing that, being at dinner one day with him and Johnson, he gave an example to prove that poets ought to read and pronounce verse with more accuracy and spirit than other men, by beginning the ballad At Tipton on the Sill with a most emphatic on. Farqiihar's humour, nevertheless, might have gaiued as much as it lost ; and the private play could not have spared such an actor. Soon after this, Bichard Burke reinforced the party with his wit and his whim, — Garrick having succeeded, where Edmund supposed that his own influence had failed, in getting from Lord North another year's leave of absence from Grenada, — and his return led to the establishment of a temporary dining-club at the St. James's coffee-house, the limited numbers of the Gerraid-street club excluding both him and Garrick from present membership there. Cumberland, who became after- wards an occasional guest, correctly attributes its origin to Burke, though he misstates everything else connected with it : and here Cradock, mistaking it for the club, remembered to have heard much «HAP. XIII.] PUPPETS AT jmURY-LANE AND ELSEWHERE. 407 animated talk in which Kiohard Burke made himself very prominent, and seemed the most free and easy of the company. Its members, who had the privilege of introducing strangers to their meetings, used to dine at each other's houses also, less frequently ; and Goldsmith indulged himself now and then in very oddly assorted assemblages at his chambers after the dinner, which, in allusion to the fashionable bjJl-rooms of the day, he called his " little Comelys." More rarely, at meetings that became afterwards more famous, the titled people who jostled against writers and artists at Shel- bume-house in Berkeley-square might be seen wondering or smiling at the simple-looking Irishman who had written the Deserted Village. There were Mrs. Vesey's parties, too, more choice and select than Mrs. Montagu's, her friend and imitator ; and at both we have traces of Goldsmith — " your wild genius," as Mrs. Vesey's statelier friend Mrs. Carter calls him. These ladies had got the notion of their blue-stocking routs from the Du Duf- fands, and I/Espinasses, at the last French peace ; but alas ! the Montesquieus, Voltaires, and Du Ch4telets, the De Launays, Hainaxdts, De Choiseuls, and Condorcets, were not always forth- coming in HUl-street or Portman-square. In truth they seem to have been dull enough, those much-talked about r^-imions ; though sometimes enlivened by Mrs. Vesey's forgetfulness of her own name, and sparkling at all times with Mrs. Montagu's diamonds and bows. Mrs. Thrale's were better ; and though the lively little lady made a favourite jest of Goldsmith's simple ways, he passed happy days with Johnson both in Southwark and Streatham. Still, perhaps, his happiest time was when he had Johnson to himself ; when there were no listeners to talk for ; when to his half-childish frolicking absurdities, Johnson lowered aU that was predominant or intolerant in his great fine nature ; and together they came sporting from Gerrard-street to the Temple, or, when the club did not meet, had supper by themselves at an adjoining tavern in Soho. This was that once famous Jad^s, since Walker's, in Dean-street, kept by a singer of Garrick's company (Jack Boberts), and patronised by Garrick and his friends, which, in all but the life that departed from it when they departed, to this day exists unchanged ; qtute uavexed by disturbance or improve- ment ; haunted by the ghosts of guests that are gone, but not much visited by guests that live ; a venerable reUc of the sUll life of Goldsmith's age possessed by an owner who is venerable as itself, and whose memory, faithful to the past, now lives altogether with the shades that inhabit there. (That was written in 1848. It now, in 1855, exists no longer ; the venerable "Walker having become himself a shadow. ) Of maay pleasant ' ' tete- VtSte suppers " 408 OLIVEE, GOLDSMITH'a LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. this vras tlie scene ; and here Goldsmith would seem coldly to have perpetrated very ancient sallies of wit, to half-grumbling half- laughing accompaniment from Johnson. " Sir," said the sage one night, as they supped off rumps and kidneys, " these rumps are " pret^ little things ; but then a man must eat a great many of " thenl before he fills his belly." " Aye, but how many of them," asked Goldsmith innocently, " would reach to the moon ! " " To •" the moon ! " laughed Jolmson ; "ah, Goldy, I fear that exceeds " your calculation." "Not at all, sir," says Goldsmith, "I think " I could tell." " Pray then, sir," says the other, " let us hear." " "Why," and here Goldsibith instinctively, no doubt, got as far from Johnson as he could, " one, if it were long enough." " Well, " sir, I have deserved it," growled the philosopher. " I should not " have provoked so foolish an answer by so foolish a question." But Goldsmith's mirth is from a heart now ill at ease. Every day's uncertainty as to his comedy is become fraught with serious consequence to him, and Colman still delays his answer. The recollection of former mortifications no doubt sadly recurred, and with it came back the old distrusts and bitter self-misgivings. Cooke informs us that Goldsmith accidentally, at this time, met with an old acquaintance ia a chop-house (most probably himself, for he elsewhere complains that the Doctor's acquisition of more important friends had made their latter intercourse infrequent), and mentioning that he had written a comedy about which the manager seemed to have great doubts, asked biTn to listen to the plot and give him his candid opinion of it; The Doctor, Cooke proceeds, then began to tell the particulars of his plot, in his strange, uncouth, deranged manner, from which his friend the critic could only make out that the principal part of the business turned upon one gentleman mistaking the house of another for an inn ; at which the critic shook his head and said " he was a&aid " the audience, under their then sentimental impressions, would " think it too broad and farcical for comedy." Goldsmith looked very serious at this ; paused for some time ; and at last, taking the other by the hand, "piteously" exclaimed, "I am much " obliged to you, my dear friend, for the candour of your opinion : " but it is all I can do ; for, alas, I find that my genius, if ever I " had any, has of late totally deserted me." Alas, poor Goldy ! It was the feeling that prompted this, and no other, which also prompted his innocent, vain absurdities ; and which made him even think, if the same friend's account is to be accepted gravely, that " speechifying" was all a knack, and that he knew of nothing to prevent himself making any day quite as good a speech as Edmund Burke. " How well this post-boy drives," said Jolmson to Boswell, rubbifig his bapds with joy for th? rapid rootigu ; CHAP. XIV.] SBE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 403 " now if Goldy were here, he'd say he could drive better." And simply because he could not drive at aU. Sadly distrusting what he could do, he thought to set the balanpe straight by bragging of trhat he could not do. ra-B CHAPTER XIV. — ♦ — SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 1772—1773. fBVBB was anything like a tone of doleful distrust so little called for, as in the case of the comedy of She Stoops to Conquer. Goldsmith had here again, as in the Good Natwred ^JTa Man, taken his stand on the sincere broad ground of character and humour, where time has fixed him so firmly ; and the final critical verdict has passed which may spare any otner criticism on this last legacy of laughter he was now to leave us.^ Many are the sterling comedies that hold possession of the stage, cleverly exacting much cabn enjoyment, while they chasten all tendency to intemperate mirth : but the family of the Hardcastles, Young Marlow, and Tony Lumpkin, are not akin to those. Let the manager be chary of introducing them, who desires to keep the enjoyment of his audience within merely reasonable bounds. When Mr. Hardcastle, anxious to initiate Diggory and his too familiar fellow-servants into the small decorums of social life, warns them against talkativeness, and tells them that if he should happen to say a good thing or tell a good story at table, they are not all of them to burst out laughing as if they formed part ot the company, Diggory makes prompt answer, " Then ecod, your " worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the Gun-Room ; " I can't help laughing at that . . he ! he ! he ! ... for the soul " of me. We have laughed at that these twenty years . . ha ! ha ! " ha ! " and his worship, joining in the laugh, admits the story is a good one (surely it must have been a real one, and can no F S A exhume it, so as to tell us what it was !) and consents to make it an exception. So must exception be made now and then, in the case of comedies. ^With muscles only imperceptibly moved, we may sit out some dozen volumes or so of Mrs. Inchbald's Collection: but at She Stoops to Conquer, we expand into a roar. The " Throe " joUy Pigeons " itself never had greater fun going forward in it ; and, though genteel critics have objected to the comedy that it contaios low characters, just as Mrs. Hardcastle objected to the ftlc-house, the whole spirit of the disapproval seems to fade befor* *10 OLIYEE GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. Tony's sensible remark, when his mother wants him to desert the Kgeons and disappoint the low fellows. " As for disappointing " them, I shoiJd not so much mind ; but I can't abide to disap- " point mysdf.'y But in truth that objection, strongly as it has been urged, is quite untenable, and the verdict of four generations of playgoers must be held to have definitively passed against the judgment of the fine-gentlemen critics. No one was so bitter about it as Horace Walpole, who protested that the heroine had no more modesty than Lady Bridget, that the author's wit was as much manqu^ as the lady's, that all the merit was in the comic situations, that, in short, the whde view of the piece was low humour, and no humour was in_jt* The worth of a man's judgment of what is low, however, is perhaps not unfairly to be tested by comparison with his judgment of what is high, since the terms are but relative after all ; and it may be well to interpose, that thinking thus of the author of She Stoops to Conquer, it was the belief of the same fastidious critic that the dramatic works of Mr. Jephson, who had happened to write a play founded on the Castle of Otranto, were destined to live for ages, and that his Law of Lombardy was superior to all Beaumont and Ketcher. How opposite is the truth to aU this (as well in Mr. Goldsmith's asm Mr. Jephson's case), we can all of us now perceive and admit. 4-J2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND MMEg. [S"'"' '^ ■virtue (it was the night :yheii Burke announced his famous judgment, that from all the large experience he had had, he had learnt to thinli better of mankind), the conver sation concluded thus. " I mi- " derstand," said Burke, " the " hogshead of claret which this " society was favom'ed I " Avith by our friend the "dean" (Bar- nard) "is nearly "out; I think "he should be "written to, to "send another "of the same kind. Let the request be made with a happy ambiguity of ■' expression, so that we may have the chamce of his sending it also as ■'a present." "I am willing," observed Johnson, "to offer my services as secretary on this occasion." " As many as are for Doctor "Johnson being secretary," cried another member, " holdup youi cnAP. XVI.] THE CLUB. 483 hands. Carried miammously." " He will be our dictator," said Boswell. "No," returned Johnson, "the company is to dictate to " me. I am only to write for wine; and I am quite disinterested, " as I drink none ; I shall not be suspected of having forged "the application. I am no more than humble scribe." " Then," interposed Burke, invetera;te punster that he was, " you shall ^e- " scribe." " Very well,." cried BosweU ; " the first play of words " to-day." " No, no," interrupted Keynolds, recalling a previous bad pun of Burke's " the bvMs in Ireland." " Were I your dictator," resumed Johnson, " you should have no wine. It would be my " business cavere ne quid deirimenti SespvbUca caperet, and wine is " dangerous. Rome," he added smiling, "was ruined by luxury." " Then," protested Burke, " if you allow no wine as dictator, you " shall not have me for your master of the horse." The club lives again for us very pleasantly, in this good-humoured friendly talk. Sis days after Boswell's election, he was with Johnson, Gold- smith, and Langton, among the guests at the dinner table of booksellers Dilly in the Poultry. They were dissenters ; and had asked two ministers of their own persuasion, Doctor Mayo and Mr. Toplady, to meet their distinguished guests. The conversation first turning upon natural history, Goldsmith contributed to it some curious facts about the partial migrations of swallows ("the stronger "ones migrate, the others do not"), and on the subject of tho nidifioation of birds seemed disposed to revive the old question of instinct and reason. " Birds build by instinct," said Johnson ; " they never improve ; they build their first nest as well as any " one they ever build." "Yet we see," remarked Goldsmith, " if " you take away a bird's nest with the eggs in it, she will make a "slighter nest and lay again." "Sir," said Johnson, "that is "because at first she has full time and makes her nest deliberately. " In the case you mention she is pressed to lay, and must therefore "make her nest qiiickly." To which Goldsmith merely added that the nidifioation of birds was " what is least known in natural history, " though one of the most curious things in it." But this easy flow of instructive gossip did not satisfy Boswell. He saw a great opportunity, with two dissenting parsons present, of making John- son " rear " ; and so straightway •' introduced the subject of "toleration." Johnson and the dissenters disagreed of course ; and when they put to him, as a consequence of his argument, that the persecution of the first Christians must be held to have been perfectly right, he frankly declared himself ignorant of any better way of ascertaining the truth than by persecution on the one hand and endurance on the other. "But how is a man to act, sir?" asked Goldsmith at this point. " Thougli firmly convinced of the truth *' of his doctrine, may he not think it wrong to expose himsplf to 2f 134 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. "persecution 1 Has he a right to do so ! Is it not, as it were, " committing voluntary suicide ? " "Sir, as to voluntary suicide, "as you call it,"' retorted Johnson, "there are twenty thousand ' ' men who wUl go without scruple to be shot at, and mount a breach "for fivepence a-day." "But," persisted Gcldsmith, "have they "a moral right to do this T' Johnson evaded the question by asserting that a man had better not expose himself to martyrdom who had any doubt about it. " He must be convinced that he " has a delegation from Heaven." " Nay," repeated Goldsmith, apparently unconscious that he was pressing disagreeably on John- sou. " I would consider whether there is the greater chance of " good or evil upon the whole. If I see a man who has fallen into " a well, I would wish to help him out ; but if there is a greater " probability that he shall pull me in, than that I shall pull him " out, I would not attempt it. So, were I to go to Turkey, I " might wish to convert the grand signior to the Christian "faith ; but when I considered that I should probably be put to " death without effectuating my purpose in any degree, I should " keep myself quiet." To this Johnson replied by enlarging on perfect and imperfect obligations, and by repeating that a man to be a martyr, must be persuaded of a particular delegation from Heaven. "But how," still persisted Goldsmith, "is this to be " known ? Our first reformers, who were bvunt for not believing "bread and wine to be Christ — " "Sir," interrupted Johnson, loudly, and careless what unfounded assertion he threw out to interrupt him, "they were not burnt for not believing bread and "wine to be Christ, but for insulting those who did." What with his dislike of reforming protestants and his impatience of contradiction, Johnson had now become excited to keep the field he had so recklessly seized, and iu such manner that none should dispossess him. Goldsmith suffered accordingly. Boswell describes him during the resumption and continuation of the argument, into which Mayo and Toplady again resolutely plunged with their antagonist, sitting in restless agitation from a wish to get in and " shine ; " which certainly was no unnatural wish after the unfair way he had been ousted. IFindiog himself still excluded, however, he had taken his hat to go away ; but yet remained with it for some time in his hand, like a gamester at the close of a long night, lingering still for a favourable opening to finish with success. Once he began to speak ; and found himself overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the " table, and did not perceive his attempt. " Thus disappointed of " his wish to obtain the attention of the company," says BosweU, " Goldsmith in a passion threw down his hat, looking angrily at " Johnson, and exclaiming in a, bitter tone. Take it," At thi? CHAP. XTi.] THE CLUB. 435 moment, Toplady being about to speak, and Johnson uttering some sound which led Goldsmith to think he was again beginning, and was taking the words from Toplady, " Sir," he exclaimed, venting his own envy and spleen, according to BosweU, under the pretext of supporting another person, " the gentleman has heard " you patiently for an hour ; pray allow us now to hear him.'' " Sir," replied Johnson sternly, " I was not interrupting the "gentleman. I was only giving him a signal of my attention. " Sir, you are impertinent." Goldsmith made no reply, but con- tinued in the company for some time. He then left for the club. But it is very possible he had to call at Covent-gardeu on his way, and that for this, and not for Boswell's reason, he had taken his hat early. The actor who so served him in Young Marlow, Lee Lewes, was taking his benefit this seventh of May ; and, for an additional attraction. Goldsmith had written him the " occa- "sional" epilogue I formerly mentioned, which Lewes spoke in the character of Harlecjuin, and which was repeated (for the interest then awakened by the writer's recent death) at his benefit in the following year. But if he called at the theatre, his stay was brief ; for when Johnson, Langton, and Boswell appeared in Gerrard-street, they found him sitting with Burke, Garrick, and other members, "silently brooding," says Boswell, "over Johnson's "reprimand to him after dinner." Johnson saw how matters stood, and saying aside to Langton, "I'U make Goldsmith forgive " me," called to him in a loud voice, " Doctor Goldsmith ! some- " thing passed to-day where you and I dined : I ask your pardon." To which Goldsmith at once "placidly" answered, " It must be " much from you, sir, that I take Ul." And so at once, Boswell adds, the difference was over, and ±hey were on as easy terms a.' ever, and Goldy rattled away as usual. The whole story is to Goldsmith's honour. Not so did the reverend Percy or the reverend Warton show Christian temper, when the one was called insolent and the other uncivil ; not .so could the onurtly-bred Beauclerc or the country-bred Doctor Taylor restrain themselves, when Johnson roared ihem down ; not so the gentle Langton and unruffled Beynolds, when even they were called intemperate ; not so the historic Robertson, though com- paring such rebukes of the righteous to excellent oil which breaks not the head, nor the philosophic Burke, drily correcting the historian with a suggestion of " oil of vitriol ; " — ^not so, in short, with one single submissive exception, any one of the constant victims to that forcible spirit and impetuosity of manner, which, a? the submissive victim admits, spared neither sex nor age. But Boswell was not content that the scene should have passed ns i1 did. Two days after, he called to take leave of Goldsmith ^d Sciences, the scheme on which Goldsmith had built so K./ 'ak much, was an utter and quite hopeless failure ; and, under the immediate pang of feeling this, the alteration of his fisrt comedy for Garrick, even upoa Garrick's own conditions, cniP. xvLu.j THE CLOUDS STILL GATHEKING. 447 would seem to have suddenly presented itself as one of those " artifices of acquisition" which. Johnson alleges against him. He wrote to the manager of Drury-lane. The letter has by chance survived, is obligingly communicated to me by its present possessor, and of the scanty collection so preserved is probably the worst composed and the worst written. As well in the manner as in the matter of it, the writer's distress is very painfully visible. It has every appearance, even to the wafer hastily thrust into it, of having been the sudden .suggestion of necessity ; it is addressed, without date of time or place, to the Adelphi (where Garrick had lately purchased the centre house of the newly built terrace) ; nor is it unlikely to have been delivered there by the messenger of a sponging-house. A fao-simile of its signature, which may be com- pared with Goldsmith's ordinary hand-writiug in a previous page, wUl show the writer's agitation, and perhaps account for the vague distraction of his grammar. Mt Dear Sie, Your saying you would play my Good-natured Man makes me Tvisli it. The money you advanced me upon Newbery's note I have the niortiflcatiou to find is not yet paid, but he says he will in two or three days. What I mean by this letter is to lend me sixty pound for which I will give you Newbeiy's note, so that the whole of my debt will be an hundred for which you shall have Newbery's note as a security. This may be paid either from my alteration if my benefit should come to so much, but at any rate I will take care you shall not be a loser. I will give you a new character in my comedy and knock out Lofty which does not do, and will make such alterations as you direct. f4p The letter is indorsed in Garrick's handwriting as " iidd- " smith's parktver." But though it would thus appear to have inspired little sympathy or confidence, and the sacrifice of Lofty had come too late and been too reluctant, Garrick's answer, begged so earnestly, was not unfavourable. He evaded the altered c 3medy ; spoke of the new one already mentioned between them ; and offered the money required on Goldsmith's own acceptance. The small worth of the security of one of Newberj's notes (though US OLIVEU GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it the publisher, with his experience of the comedy in hand, would doubtless gladly have taken his chance of the renovated comedy), he had some time proved. Poor Goldsmith was enthusiastic in acknowledgment. Nor let it be thought he is acting unfairly to Newbery, in the advice he sends with his thanks. The pub^her had frankly accepted the chances of a certain copyright, and had no right to wait the issue of those chances before he assumed the liability they imposed. The present note exhibits such manifest improvement in the writing as a sudden removal of a sore anxiety might occasion ; but the writer's usual epistolary neatness is stiU absent from it. It is hastily folded up in three-oomer'd shape, is also sealed with wafer, and also indorsed by Garrick " Goldsmith's "parlaver." Mr Dear Fbikhd, I thank yon ! I wish I could do something to serve yon. I shall have a comedy for you in a season or tivo at furthest that I believe irill be worth your acceptance, for I fancy I will make it a fine thing. You shall have the refusal. I wish you would not take up Newbery's note but let Waller [probably a mistake for Wallis, Garrick's solicitor] tease him, without however coming to extremities ; let him haggle after him and he will get it. He owes it and will pay it. I'm sorry you are ill. I will draw upon you one month after date for sixty pound and your acceptance will be ready money, part of which I want to go down to Barton with. May God preserve my honest little man, for he has my heart. Ever, Oliver Goldsmith. Barton was a gleam of sunshine in his darkest days. There, if no where else, he could stiU strive to be, as in his younger time, " well when he was not ill, and pleased when he was not angry." It was the precious maxim of Reynolds, as it had been the selectest wisdom of Sir William Temple. Reynolds himself, too, their temporary disagreement forgotten, gave him much of his society on his return : observing, as he said afterwards, the change in his manner ; seeing how greatly he now seemed to need the escape from his own thoughts, and with what a look of distress he would suddenly start from the midst of social scenes he continued still passionately fond of, to go home and brood over his misfor- tunes. Only two more pictures really gay or bright remain in the life of Goldsmith. The last but one is of himself and Sir Joshua at Vauxhall. And not the least memorable figures in that sauntering crowd, though it numbered princes and ambassadors then, — and on its tide and torrent of fashion, floated all the beauty of the time, — and through its lighted avenues of trees, glided cabinet ministers and their daughters, royal dukes and their wives, agreeable "young ladies and gentlemen of eighty-two," and all the red-heeled macaronies, — were those of the President, and the ancient history Professor, of the Royal Academy. A little later we trace Goldsmith from Vauxhall to tho theatre, but any gaiety aaip. xvui.] TUE CLOUDS STILL GATHERING. 4*9 or enjoyment there is not so certain. Kelly had tried a fourth comedy {The School for Wives), under a feigned name, and with somewhat better success than its two immediate predeces- sors, though it lived but a few brief nights ; and Beauclero, who writes to teU Lord Charle- mont of the round of pleasures Goldsmith and Joshua had been getting into, and which had prevented their attending the club. 450 OLIVEE aOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. liad told Mm also, but a few weeks before, that the new comedy was almost killing the poor poet with spleen. Yet it had been at Beauolerc's own house, and on the very night when the comedy was produced, that there shone forth the last laughter-moving picture I may dwell upon, in the chequered life now quickly draw- ing to its close. Groldsmith had been invited to pass the day there, with the Garricks, Lord and Lady Edgeoumbe, and Horace Walpole ; and there seems to have been some promise that Garrick and himself were to amuse the company in the evening with a special piece of mirth, the precise nature of which was not disclosed. But unfor- tunately the new comedy was coming on at Drury-lane, and soon after dinner the great actor fell into a fidget to get to the theatre, and all had to consent to wait his return. He went away at half- past five, and did not re-appear till ten ; the rest meanwhile providing what present amusement they could, .to relieve the dulness of amusement in expectancy. The burden fell ' on Walpole : and " most thoroughly tired I was," says that fastidious gentleman, "as I knew I should be, I who hate the playing off a " butt." Why this task should have been so fatiguing in the special case, Horace proceeds to explain by a peculiarity in the butt in question. " Goldsmith is a fool, the more wearing for " ha/omg some sense." However, aU. fatigue has an end, and at last Garriok came back from the play, and the promised fun began. The player took a seat enveloped in a cloak, the poet sat down in his lap, and the cloals was so arranged as to cover the persons of both, excepting imly Goldsmith's head and Ganick's arms, which seemed no longer to belong to separate bodies, but to be part of one and the same. Then, from the head, issued one of the gravest heroic speeches out of Addison's Goto, while the arms made nonsense of every solemn phrase by gestures the most extravagantly humorous and inappropriate. It is a never failin g effect of the broadest comedy, in the hands of very ordinary performers ; and, with such action as Garrick's to burlesque the brogue and gravity of Gold- smith, must surely have been irresistible. The reader who has any experience of Christmas games, will doubtless remember having given in his own time many a laugh to this " Signor Mufti," as personated on that Christmas night eighty years ago. Mrs. Gwatkin, Sir Joshua Reynolds's younger niece, told also what she had seen of it, as personated by the same actors, to Mr. Haydon, who related it in his diary long before Horace Walpole's anecdote was published. '♦ The most dehghtflil man," according to the old lady's account to Haydon, when she was gathering up the memories of her youth, "was Goldsmith. She saw him and Garrick keep an CHAP, xviii.] THE CLOUDS STILL GATHEEIStf. 451 " immense party laughing till they shrieked. Garrick sat on " Goldsmith's knee; a table-cloth was pinned imder Garrick's chin, " and brought behind Goldsmith, hiding both their figures. Gairiok "then spcke, in his finest style, Hamlet's speech to his father's " ghost. Goldsmith put out his hands on each side of the cloth, "and made burlesque action, tapping his heart, and putting his "hand to Garrick's head and nose, all at the wrong time." Here the reader will observe, the actors had not orly reversed their parts, but were rejoicing in a better audience tnan they appear to have had at Beauclero's. "For how could one laugh," protests Horace Walpole, after describing the thing as he saw it there, "when one had expected this for four hours?" So perhaps he, and Beauclerc, and Lord Edgecumbe fell back once again on what this had interrupted, and closed up the night with the pleasanter mirth of playing off head and arms in a more mischievous game. "It was the night of a new comedy," says Walpole, "called the " School for Wimes, which was exceedingly applauded, and which " Charles Fox says is execrable. Garrick had at least the chief " hand in it ; and I never saw anybody in a greater fidget, nor " more vain when he returned." Here, then, with Garrick full of the glories of a new play, in some degree aimed against the broadly-laughing school of Goldsmith, — its author publicly reported to be Major (afterwards Sir William) Addington, and by some suspected to be Horace Walpole himself, — ^its first night's success already half-threatening a sudden blight to the hard-won laurels of Young Marlow and Tony Lumpkin, — here surely were all the materials of undeniable sport ; and who will doubt that such a joke, if started, was in such company more eagerly enjoyed than the other more harmless Christmas game ? or that the courtly and sarcastic Beauclerc was not only too happy in the opportunity it afterwards gave bim of writing to his noble correspondent : " We "have a new comedy here which is good for nothing ; bad as it " is, however, it succeeds very well, and almost killed Goldsmith "with envy." Cradock's account of what was really killing him is somewhat different from Beauclero's, and will perhaps be thought more authentic. Although, according to the same letter of the Beau's, all the world but himself and a million of vulgar people were then in the ooimtry, Cradock had come up to town to place his wife under the care of a dentist, and had taken lodgings in Norfolk-street to be near his friend. He found Goldsmith much altered, he says ; at times, indeed, very low ; and he passed his mornings with him. He induced binn once to dine in Norfolk street ; but his usual cheerfulness had gone, " and aU was forced. ' The idea occurred to Cradock that money might be raised by a i62 OLIVKB GOLBSMITH'S LIFE ANB TIMES. [book iv. special subscription-edition of the Traveller and Deserted Village, if consent could be obtained from tbe holders of the copyrights. "Pray do what you please with them," said Goldsmith, sadly. But he rather submitted, than encouraged, says Cradock ; and the scheme fell to the ground. " Oh, sir," said two sisters named Gun, milliners, who lived at the comer of Temple-lane, and were among Goldsmith's creditors, " sooner persuade him to let us " work for him gratis, than suffer Tiim to apply to any other. We " are sure that he will pay us if he can." Cradock ends his melancholy narrative by expressing his conviction that, if Gold- smith had freely laid open all the debts for which he was then responsible, his zealous friends were so numerous that they would as freely have contributed to his relief. There is reason to presume as much of Eeynolds, certainly ; and that he had even offered his aid. " I mean," Cradock adds, " here expUcitly to assert only, ' ' that I believe he died miserable, and that his friends were " not entirely aware of his distress." Truly, it was to assert enough. CHAPTEE XIX. RETALIATION. 1773-1774. Ybt, before this delightful writer died, and from the depth of the distress in which his labours, struggles, and enjoyments mi A Isft him, his genius flashed forth once more. Johnson had returned to town after his three months' tour in the Hebrides ; parliament had again brought Burke to town ; Bichard Burke was in London on the eve of his return to Grenada ; the old dining party had resumed their meetings at the St. James' coffee-house, and out of these meetings sprang Hetaliation. More than one writer has professed to describe the particular scene from which it immediately arose, but their accounts are not always to be reconciled with what is certainly known. The poem itself, how- ever, with what was prefixed to it when published, sufficiently explains its own origin. What had formerly been abrupt and strange in Goldsmith's manners had now so visibly increased, as to become matter of increased sport to such as were ignorant of its cause ; and a proposition, made at one of the dinners when he was absent, to write a series of epitaphs upon him ("his country, " dialect, and person," were common themes of wit), was put in practice by several of the guests. The active aggressors appear to have been Garrick, Doctor Barnard, Bichard Burke, and Caleb CHAP. XIX.] RETALIATION. 453 Whitefoord. Cumtjerland says he, too, wrote an epitaph ; but it ■was complimentary and grave, closing with a line to the effect that "all mourn the poet, I lament the man ;" and hence the grateful return he received. None were actually preserved (I mean of those that had given the provocation ; the ex post-facto specimens are countless) but Garrick's ; yet it will indicate what was doubt- less, unless the exception of Cumberland be admitted, the tone of aU. Here lies Nolly Goldsmitli, for shortness call'd Noll, Who wrote like an angel, but talk'd like poor Poll. This is said to have been spoken at once, while the rest were read to Goldsmith when he next appeared at the St. James' coffee- house. "The Doctor was called on for Retaliation," says the friend who published the poem with that name, "and at their "next meeting produced the following, which I think adds one "leaf to his immortal wreath." It is possible he may have been asked to retaliate, but not likely ; very certainly, however, the complete poem was not produced at the next meetiog. It was unfinished when the writer died. But fragments of it, as written from time to time, appear to have been handed about, and read at the St. James' coft'ee-house ; and it is pretty clear that not only the masterly lines on Garrick were known some time before the others, but that the opening verses, in which the proposed subjects of his pleasant satire are set forth as the various dishes in a banquet, were among the earliest so read. The course which the affair then took seems to have been, that the writers of the original epitaphs thought it prudent so far to protect themselves against an enemy more formidable than at first they had supposed they were pro- voking, by fresh epitaphs more carefully written, and in a more conciliatory spirit. Thus two sets of jeux d'esprit arose, of which only the last have been preserved ; and this explains a contradiction apparent in almost all the accounts given by the actors in the affair, who would have us. believe that verses evidently suggested by at least the opening lines of Melaliaiion, were no other than those which originally provoked and suggested that poem. Garrick's description, written as a preface to an intended col- lection of all the verses of the various writers, has been lately printed for the first time in Mr. Cunningham's ^I 4g excellent edition of the Works, and runs thus : As the cause of writing the following printed poem called SetcUiation has not yet been folly explained, a person concerned in the business begs leave to gwe the following just and minute account of the whole affair. At a meeting of a company of gentlemen, who were well known to each other, and diverting themselves, among many other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Gold jmith, who never would allow a superior in any art, from writing poetry down 464 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book iv. to dancing a hornpipe, the Doctor with great eagerness insisted upon trying his epigrammatic powers with Mr. (Jarrick, and each of them was to write the other's epitaph. Mr. Garriok immediately said that his epitaph was finished, and spoke the following distich extempore [as above given, and, except that "and" is substituted for "but" in the second line, as first printed in a memoir of Caleb Whitefoord, in the 57th volume of the Ewopean Magmsime]. Goldsmith, upon the company's laughing very heartily, grew very thoughtful, and either would not, or could not, write anything at that time : however, he went to work, and some weeks after produced the following printed poem called RetaUation, which has been much admired, and gone through -several editions. The publick in general have been mistaken in imagining that this poem was written in anger by the Doctor ; it was just the contrary ; the whole on all sides was done with the greatest good humour ; and the following poems in manuscript were written by several of the gentlemen on purpose to provoke the Doctor to an answer, which came forth at last with great credit to him in ItetalicUion, Nothing is so certain, as that the Doctor had already been pro- voked before the poems were so ■written, and that more especially the lines on Gairiok himself had been handed about before his second elaborate epitaph was composed, though this also was finished before RetaliaUon assumed even the form va. which it was left at its author's death. The account given by Cumberland does not greatly differ from Garrick's, but he describes the pro- position to write extempore epitaphs as not directed against Goldsmith specifically, but embracing "the parties present." Pen and ink were called for, and Garrick off-hand wrote an epitaph with a great deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we committed to the grave. The Dean also gave him an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the Dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson nor Burke wrote anything, and when I perceived Oliver was rather sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention which indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of burlesque with theirs, I thought it time to press the joke no farther, and wrote a few couplets at a side table, which when I had finished and was called upon by the company to exhibit. Goldsmith with much agitation besought me to spare him, and I was about to tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in' a loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all recollection of them, and in fact they were little worth remembering, but as they were serious and complimentary, the effect they had upon Goldsmith was the more pleasing for being so entirely unex- pected. . . At our next meeting he produced his epitaphs. , . As he had served up the company under the similitude of various sorts of meat, I had in the mean time figured them under that of liquors. . . Goldsmith sickened and died, and we had one concluding meeting at my house, when it was decided to publish his Jtetaliatum. The obvious defect in all these descriptions is, that the various meetings are carelessly jumbled together, and that incidents, which would be easily understood if separately related, become mixed up in a maimer quite unintelligible. But an unpublished letter of OHAP. XIX.] RETALIATION. 455 Cumberland'a to Ganick is now before me, which seems, to a great extent, to confirm what has been quoted. It was probably written after Goldsmith's death (the epitaph-writing thus set on foot con- tinued till after BetaUaUon was published), for, besides the meeting to which it more immediately refers, it appears to describe retro- spectively what had taken place when Cumberland's "Uqnor" verses were first produced, and this may have been done in answer to some question put by Garrick with a view to that proposed ■collection of all the poems to which his statement was meant to be the preface. Be this as it may, the letter is highly characteristic. Here, as in everything of Cumberland's, it is most amusing to see to what an alarming extent he and his affairs, his writings, or the writings of which he is the object, occupy the scene. One might imagine, in reading it, that it was Bichard Cumberland who had given all its interest to an incident which, but for Goldsmith, would not have lived in memory for a day. It is not as the author of his own umnortal epitaphs, but simply as the recitator acer6«s of Cumberland's temporary trash, that Goldsmith is prominent here ! We missed your society much on Wednesday last, and I may say to me in particular it was a singular loss, for in your place there came Mr. WMtefoord with his pcclcets crammed with epitaphs. Two of them did me honour, and hy implication yourself ; as the turn of both was a mock lamentation over me from you, with a most severe and ill-natored InveotiTe principally collected from the strictures of Mr. Bickerstaff, and thrown upon me with a dung-fork. But of myself and him, enough. Doctor Goldsmith's Dinner was very ingenious, hut evidently written with haste and negligence. The Dishes were notliing to the purpose, but they were followed by epitaphs that liad humour, some satire and more panegyric. You had your share of both, but the former very sparingly, and in a strain to leave nothing behind, not at all in the character of Mr. Whito- foord's muse. My wine was drank very cordially, though it was very iU-poured out by Doctor Goldsmith, who proved himself a recitator acerbvs. The Dean of Derry went out and produced an exceedingly good extempore in answer to my Wine, which had an excellent effect. Mr. Beauclerc was there, and joined with every one else in condemning the tenor of Mr. Whitefoord's invective, who, I believe, was brought maliciously enough by Sir Joshua. Cumberland characterises the famous epitaph on GarricE not unfairly. This was a subject which the author of Metaliation had studied thoroughly ; most familiar had he good reason to be with its lights and its shadows ; very ample and various had been his personal experience of both ; and whether anger or adulation should at last predominate, the reader of this narrative of his life has had abundant means of determining. But neither were visible in the character of Garrick. Indignation makes verses, says the poet j yet win the verses be all the better, in proportion as the indigna- tion is not seen. The lines on Garrick are quite perfect writing. Without anger, the satire is finished, keen, and uncompromising; ; 456 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TISIES. [book iv. the wit is adorned by most discriminating praise ; and the ti-ith is all the more merciless for exquisite good manners and good taste. The epitaph writers might well be alarmed. Garrick re- turned to the charge, with a nervous desire to roretaliate ; and elaborated a longer and more malicious epitaph with some undoubt- edly clever lines in it, which he afterwards did not scruple to read to his friends (among them to poet laureate Pye and his wife) as having preceded and given occasion for Goldsmith's. Several of the other assailants submissively deprecated Goldsmith's wrath, in verses that still exist ; and the flutter of fear became very percep- tible. "Retaliation," says Sir Walter Scott, "had the effect " of placing the author on a more equal footing with his society " than he had ever before assumed." Fear might doubtless have had that effect, if Goldsmith could have visited St. James'-street again : but a sterner invitation awaited him. Allusions to Kenrick show that he was stiU writing his retaliatory epitaphs iu the middle of February ; such of them as escaped during composition were limited to very few of his acquaintance ; and when the publication of the poem challenged wider respect for the writer, the writer had been % week in his grave. Other brief passages of the poem which were handed about at he same time with the character of Garrick, Burke is said to have received under solemn injunctions of secrecy ; which he promised to observe if they had passed into no other hands, but from which he released himself with all despatch when told that Mrs. Cholmondeley had also received a copy. It would be curious to know if, in the manuscript confided to him, he found that imaginary epitaph in which his own entire career as well as character was expressed, in which with a singular forecast the future was aU seen from the present, and the loftiest admiration only served with exquisite art to indicate defects which were to spring, as too surely and soon they did, from the very wealth and exuberance of his genius. As clearly as we, who axe now able to measure by the uses to which the practical philosophy of his politics is still available, the nobler political uses to which, while he lived, he might have applied such genius, had Goldsmith's penetration already discovered that its limited service was the certain proof of its misdirection. Already, even thus early in his history, there was one friend who was able to pierce through the over-refinings of his intelleot to its unavailing and impractical issues. And among all the men in familiar intercourse with him, or belonging to the society of which he was the leading ornament, he was here first to be told the truth by that member of the circle whose opinions on such a theme perhaps all would have hailed with laughter. Burke was only upon the threshold of his troubled though great career ; he hsvd yet to Uvs CHAP. XIX. RETALIATION. 457 twenty-seven years of successes in every means employed, and of failures in every object sought ; when Goldsmith conceived and ■wrote the imaginary epitaph in BetaliaMon. But its truth was pro- phetic. Through the exquisite levity of its tone appeared a weight and seriousness of thought, which was found applicable to every after movement in Burke's later life ; and which now confirms as by the judgment of his time, the unsparing verdicts of history. Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it, too much ; Who, bom for the universe, narrow'd his mind. And to party gave up what was meant for mankind .... Though equal to all things, for all things unfit : Too nice for a statesman ; too proud for a wit .... In short 'twas his fate, unemplo/d, or in place, sir. To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Do we need other proof that the plan of the poem had grov\Ti far beyond its original purpose, as, " with chaos and blimders encircling his head," poor Goldsmith continued to work at it ? It became something better than "retaliation." And so, in its last lines, on which he is said to have been engaged when his fatal illness seized him, may be read the gratitude of a life. They will help to keep Reynolds immortal. Here- Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind. He has not left a wiser or better behind. His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part. His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering. When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing : When they talked of their Baphaels, Correggios, and stuff. He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. By flattery unspoiled .... It is not uupleasing to think that Goldsmith's hand should have been tracing that unfinished line when illness struck the pen from it for ever. It was in the middle of March 1774. Some little time before, he had gone to his Edgeware lodging, to pursue his labours undisturbed. Here, at length, he had finished the Anvmated Natwre ; and the last letter which remains of all that have come down to us, characteiistio of his whole life, was written concerning »hat book to a publisher, Mr. Nourse, who had bought GrifSn's original interest. It asked him to allow "his friend Griffin" to purchase back a portion of the copyright ; thanked him, at the same time, for an " over-payment," which in consideration of the completed manuscript, and its writer's necessities, Mr. Nourse had consented to make ; and threw out an idea of extending the work 458 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S. LIFE AND TIMES. [book 17. into the vegetable and fossil kingdoms. Always working, always wantiug, still asking, and hoping, and planning out fresh labour ! Here, too, he was completing the Grecian History; making another Abridgement of EngUsh History for schools ; translating Soarron's Comie Soma/nce; revising, for the moderate payment of five guineas vouchsafed by James Dodsley, and with the further condition that he was to put his name to it, a new edition of his Enquiry into Polite Lea/rni/ng ; labouring to bring into shape the compilation on Experimental PMbsophy, which had been begun eight years before ; writing his Retaliation; and making new resolves for the future. Such was the end, such the unwearying and sordid toil, to which even his sis years' term of estabUshed fame had brought Tiim ! The cycle of his life was complete ; and in the same miserable labour wherein it had begun, it was to close. Not without " resolving " to the last, and stiU hoping to begin anew. " His numerous friends," wrote Walpole to Mason, referring to this period of his life three days after its sudden close, " ne- " gleoted him shamefully at last, as if they had no business with " him when it was too serious to laugh. He had lately written " epitaphs for them all, some of which hurt, and perhaps made " them not sorry that his own was the first necessary." I do not know what excuse may have been given for this piece of scandal, but it is certain that Goldsmith had bitterly felt a reproach which Johnson gave him at their latest interview before leaving London, when, having asked him and Reynolds to dinner at the Temple to meet an old acquaintance to whom his Dictiona/ry project had re- introduced him (Doctor Eippis, who tells the anecdote), Johnson silently reproved the estravagance of a too expensive dinner, by sending away a whole " second course " untouched. Soon after that, he was taking measures to sell the lease of his Temple chambers ; and here, in Edgeware, he was telling his fanner friends that he should never again live longer than two njonths a year in London. " One has a strange propensity," says BosweU, describing a perpetual habit of his own, " to fix upon some point "of time from whence a better course of life may begin." Ah, yes ! It is so easy to settle that way what would otherwise never be settled, and comfort ourselves with a flattery of the future. We seem mended at once, without having taken the trouble of mending. Unhappily it is from the same instinctive dislike of trouble that the after-faUures of these formal resolutions come. Never will they cease, notwithstanding, till castle-building on the ground is as easy as to build castles in the air. The philosopher Bmiles at that word never, but to the last moment it is pronounced by us all. Here it was whispering to Goldsmith all sorts of en- during resolutions, when the sudden attack of an old illness OHAP. XX.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 459 warned him to seek adTice in London. This was a local disorc. jr, a strangury, which had grown from sedentary habits, and had re- qnired great care at every period of his life. It was neglect, says Dayies, which now brought it on. He describes it as occasioned by "a continual vexation of mind, arising from his involved " circumstances ; " and adds, " Death, I really believe was welcome •' to a man of his great Bensibility." In that case, the welcome visitor was come. CHAPTEB XX. ILLNESS AND DEATH. 1774. Goldsmith arrived in London in the middle of March, and obtained relief from the immediate attack of his disease, but was left struggling with symptoms of low nervous jpj fg fever. Yet he was again among his friends, and in the old haunts ; and his cordial and close relations with the Homeck family (as may be seen in the proceedings for Charles Homeck's divorce) appear in the very last traces left of In'm in the" world. On Friday, the 25th of March, he seems to have been especially anxious to attend the club (Charies Fox, Sir Charles Bunbury, George Steevens, and Doctor George Fordyce had just obtained their election) ; but in the afternoon of .that day he took to his bed, and at eleven o'clock at night a very benevolent as well as skilful surgeon-apothecary, named Hawes, who lived in the Strand, whom Goldsmith was in the habit of consulting, and to whose efforts to establish a Humane Society he had given active sympathy and assistance, was sent for. He found Goldsmith complaining of violent pain, extending over all the forepart of his head ; his tongue moist, his pulse at ninety, and his mind made up that he should be cured by James's fever-powders. He had derived such benefit from this fashionable medicine in previous attacks, that it seems to have left him with as obstinate a sense of its universal efficacy as Horace Walpole had, who swore he should take it if the house were on fire. Mr. Hawes saw at once, however, that, his complaint being more of a nervous affection than a febrile disease, such a remedy would be dangerous ; that it would force too large and sudden an exhaustion of the vital powers, to enable him to cope with the disorder ; and he implored him not to think of it. For more than half an hour, he says, he sat by the bed-side lurging its probable danger ; " vehemently entreating " his difficult patient ; but unable to prevail upon Mm to promise that he would 460 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. not reaort to it. Hawes then, after formal protest, said he had one request to' make of him. " He very warmly asked me what '■that was." It was that he would permit his friend Doctor For- dyce, who had formerly attended him, to be called in at once. He held out against this for some time ; endeaToured to raise an obstacle by saying Fordyce was gone to spend the evening in Crer- raid-street (" where," poor Goldsmith added, "I should also have "been if I had not been indisposed"); and at last reluctantly consented. "Well, you may send for him, if you will." Hawes dispatched the note to Gerraxd-street ; and Fordyce, arriving soon after Hawes had left, seems to have given Goldsmith a warning against the fever-medicine as strong, but as unaTadling. Hawes gent medicine and leeches soon after twelve ; and, in the hope that Fordyce would have succeeded where he had failed, did not send the fever-powders ordered. But Goldsmith contiaued obsti- nate. The leeches were applied, the medicine rejected, and the lad who brought them both from Hawes's surgery was sent back for a packet of the powders. So far, in substance, is the narrative of Hawes ; which there is no ground for disputing. I omit everything not strictly descriptive of the iUness ; but the good surgeon had evidently a strong regard for his patient. Other facta, in what remains to be told, appeared in formal statements subsequently published by Francis Newbery, the proprietor of the fever-powders, to vindicate the fame of his medicine. These were made and signed by Gold- smith's servant, John Eyles ; his laundress, Mary Ginger ; and a night nurse, Sarah Smith, called in on the second day of the ill- ness. As soon as Goldsmith took the powder sent biTn from the Strand, he protested it was the wrong powder ; was very angry with Hawes ; threatened to pay his biU next day, and have done with him ; and certainly dispatched Eyles, ia the afternoon of that day, for a fresh packet from Newbery's. He sent at the same time for his laundress (she was wife of the head-porter of the Temple), to " come and sit by him, until John returned ; " described him- self, when she arrived, as worse ; and damned Hawes (" those " were his very words ") for the mistake he had made. In the afternoon and night of Saturday, two of the fresh powders were administered, one by the servant, the other by the nurse. The nurse was also dispatched for another apothecary, named Maxwell, living near St. Dunstan's church, who came, but declined to act as matters then stood ; and from that time "the patient followed the " advice of his physiciajis." He was too ill to make further resis- tance. Such is the substance of the evidence of the servants ; in which a somewhat exaggerated form was given to what might in itself be substantially true, y^t in no way affect the veracity of OHAp. XX.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 461 Mr. Hawes. If poldsmith asserted that a wrong powder had been sent, the sudden impulse to think so was not perhaps unnatural, after the course he had unwisely persisted in ; but that Hawes" really made the mistake, is not credible. Beynolds and Bvirke made later investigation, and wholly acquitted him ; a recent inquirer and intelligent practitioner, Mr. White Cooper, confirms strongly the opinion on which he seems to have acted ; nor did poor Goldsmith himself very long adhere to the charge he had made. Mr. Hawes (the substance of whose brief narrative I resume, with such illustrations as other sources have supplied) did not see his patient when he called on Saturday morning. " His master was " dozing, he lay very quiet," was the announcement of Eyles. He called again at night ; when, " with great appearance of concern," the man told him that everything was worse. Hawes went in, • and found Goldsmith extremely exhausted and reduced, his pulse very quick and small ; and on iaquiring how he did, " he sighed " deeply, and in a very low voice said he wished he had taken my " friendly advice last night." To other questions he made no answer. He was so weak and low that he had neither strength nor spirit to speak. There was now, clearly, danger of the worst ; and Fordyce next day proposed to call another physician, naming Doctor Turton, into consultation. Goldsmith's consent was ob- tained to this step at eight o'clock on Monday morning, and Hawes retired altogether from attendance. The patient had again passed a very bad night, " and lay absolutely sunk with weakness." Fordyce and Turton met that day ; and contiuued their consul- tations twice daily, till all was over. A week passed : the symptoms so fluctuating in the course of it, and the evidence of active disease so manifestly declining, that even sanguine expectations of recovery would appear to have been at one time entertained. But Goldsmith could not sleep. His reason seemed clear ; what he said was always perfectly sensible ; " he was at times even cheerful;" but sleep had deserted him, his appetite was gone, and it became obvious, in the state of weak- ness to which he had been reduced, that want of sleep might in itself be fatal. It then occurred to Doctor Turton to put a very pregnant question to his patient. " Tour pulse," he said, "is in" " greater disorder than it should be, from the degree of fever " which you have. Is yowr mmd at ease ?" " No, it is not," was Goldsmith's melancholy answer. They are the last words we are to hear him utter in this world. The end arrived suddenly and I unexpectedly. He lay in the sound and calm sleep which so anxiously had been looked for, at midnight on Sunday the 3rd of April ; his respiration was easy and natural, his skin warm and 462 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book it. moist, and the favourable turn was thought U have come. But at four o'clock in the morning the apothecary Maxwell was called up in haste, and found him in strong convulsions. These continued ■without intermission ; he sank rapidly ; and at a quarter before five o'clock on the morning of Monday the 4th of April 1774, having then lived five months beyond his forty-fifth year, Oliver Goldsmith died. When Burke was told, he burst into tears. Beynolds was in his painting-room when the messenger went to him : but at once he laid his pencil aside, which in times of great family distress he had not been known to do ; left his painting-room, and did not re-enter it that day. Northcote describes the blow as the "severest "Sir Joshua ever received." Nor w»s the day less gloomy for Johnson. " Poor Goldsmith is gone" was his anticipation of the evil tidings. " Of poor dear Doctor Goldsmith," he wrote three months later to BosweU, " there is little more to be told. He " died of a fever, I am afraid more violent by uneasiness of " mind. His debts began to be heavy, and all his resources were " exhausted. Sir. Joshua is of opinion that he owed not less than " two thousand pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before ?" 7 He spoke of the loss for years, as with the tenderness of afT^oent grief; and in his little room hung round with portraits of his' favourite friends, even as Swift had his adorned with the "justi " half-a-dozen" that he really loved away fi:om Laxacor, Goldsmitlf had a place of honour. " So, your wild genius, poor Doctor Gold- " smith, is dead," wrote Mrs. Carter to Mrs. Vesey. "He was just " going to publish a book called Anmated Natn/re : I believe a " compilation of Natural History. He died of a fever, poor " man. I am sincerely glad to hear he has no family, so his loss " will not be felt in domestic life." The respectable and learned old lady could not possibly know in what other wndomestio ways it might be felt. The stair-case of Srick-court is said to have been filled with mourners, the reverse of domestic ; women without a home, without domesticity of any kind,, with no friend but him they had come to weep for ; outcasts of that great, solitary, wicked city, to whom he had never forgotten to be kind and charitable. And he had domestic mourners too. His cofSn was re-opened at the request of Miss Homeck and her sister (such was the regard he was known to have fbr them), that a lock might be cut firom his hair. It was in Mrs. Gwyn's possession when she died, after nearly seventy years. A publio Aineral was at first proposed ; and Lords Shelbumo and Louth, Reynolds, Btuke, Beauclerc, and Gairick were to have borne the pall ; but it was afterwards felt that a private ceremony would better become the circumstances in which he had died. ofiAP. XX.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. ' 463 Everything lie possessed, with such small fragments of pro^'erty as he had left at the Edgeware cottage, was of course in due time sold by public auction, including his "large, valuable, and well- " chosen library of curious and scarce books," his "household " furniture and other eflFeots : " but Bott, Griffin, and others, stiU remained with unsatisfied claims ; and his brother Maurice, who had come over to London in the month preceding the sale for the purpose of " administering" to what had been left, soon saw how hopeless it was to expect that his brother's debts would not absorb everything, and, even before the sale took place therefore, went back empty-handed as he came. For the funeral, Burke and Reynolds directed all arrangements ; Hawes saw them carried into effect (as he afterwards managed the sale of the books and furni- ture, of which he reserved, and his grandson the under-secretary at war still retains, one small and valued relic, the poet's writing desk) ; and the fifth day after his death was appointed for the ceremony. Beynolds's nephew. Palmer (afterwards Dean of Cashel), attended as chief mourner : and was accompanied by Mr, Day, afterwards Sir John Day, and judge advocate-general at Bengal ; by his relative and namesake heretofore mentioned, Bobert Day, who became the Irish judge ; and by Mr. Hawes, and his friend Mr. Etherington. These were unexpectedly joined on the morning of the funeral by Hugh Kelly, who in the presence of that great sorrow had only remembered happier and more friendly day,s, and was seen stiU standing weeping at the grave as the others moved away. So, at five o'clock on the evening of Saturday the 9th of April, the remains of Oliver Goldsmith were committed to their final resting-place in the burial groimd of the Temple Church. No memorial indicates the grave to the pilgrim or the stranger, nor is it possible any longer to identify the spot which received all that was mortal of this delightful writer. The notion of a monument in Westminster Abbey was the suggestion of Reynolds ; and he selected the spot over the south door in poet's comer, where it was subsequently placed in the area of a pointed arch, between the monuments of Gay and the Duke of Argyll. It consisted of a medallion portrait and tablet. Nollekena was the sculptor ; and, two years after Goldsmith's death, the inscription was written by Johnson. "I send you the " poor dear Doctor's epitaph," he writes to Reynolds, with grief apparently as fresh as though their loss had been of yesterday. " Read it first yourself ; and if you then think it right, show it " to the club." The principal members of the club, with other fiiends, dined soon after at Reynolds's : and so many objections were started on its being read, that it was resolved to submit them to Johnson in the form of a round robin, such as sailers adopt at 464 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book ir. sea when a matter of grievance is started, and no one ■wishes to stand first or last in remonstrance with the captain. After stating the great pleasure with which the intended epitaph had been read, and the admiration it had created for its elegant composition and masterly style "considered abstractedly," this round robin, which was dictated by Burke, went on to say that its circinnscribers were yet of opinion that the character of Goldsmith as a writer, particularly as a poet, was not perhaps delineated with all the exactness which Doctor Johnson was capable of giving it ; and that therefore, with deference to his superior judgment, they humbly requested he would at least take the trouble of revising it, and of making such alterations and additions as he should think proper upon a farther perusaL This part of the remonstrance Johnson received with good humour ; and desired Sir Joshua, who presented it, to teU the gentlemen ha would alter the epitaph in any manner they pleased, as to the sense of it. But then came the pinch of the matter. Langton, who was present when the remonstrance was drawn up, had not objected to it thus far ; but to what now was added, he refused to give his name. " But if we might venture " to express our wishes, they would lead us to request that he would " write the epitaph in BngUsh rather than in Latin, as we think that ' ' the memory of so eminent an English writer ought to be perpetuated " in the language to which his works are likely to be so lasting an " ornament, which we also know to have been the opinion of the "late Doctor himself. " Langton was too " sturdy " a classic to assent to this ; his scholarly sympathies having already invited and received, from Johnson, even a Greek lament for their common loss. The names circumscribed were those of Burke, EVancklin (the translator of Sophocles and Luciom, who miswrote his own name in signing it), Chamier, Colman, Vachell (a friend of Sir Joshua's), Eeynolds, Forbes (the Scotch baronet and biographer of Beattie), Barnard, Sheridan, Metcalfe (another great friend of Sir Joshua's, and a hmnane as well as active member of the House of Commons), Gibbon, and Joseph Warton. "I wonder," ex- claimed Johnson; when he read this part of the remonstrance, and the names, "that Joe Warton, a scholar by profession, should "be such a fool. I should have thought Mund Burke, too, "would have had more sense." TTia formal answer was not less^ emphatic. He requested Beynolds at once to acquaint his fellow mutineers, that he would never consent to disgrace the walls of Westminster Abbey with an English inscription. The Latin was accordingly placed upon the marble, where it now remains. I append a translation as nearly literal, line for line, as I could make it, consistent with an attempt to preser\'e the spirit as well as manner of the original. MAP XX.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. *<» OiivAmi Goldsmith Poetie, Physici, Historioi, qui nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornarit J sive riaus essent movendi, sive lacrymse, aSectuum potens, at lenis dominator ; ingenio snblimia, vividus, TersatiliB ; oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus : hoc monumento memoriam coluit Sodalium amor, Amicorum fides, Lectorum veneratio. Natus HibemiS, Forneiee Lonfordieoiiig in loco cui nomen Pallas, Nov. Xxix. MDCCXXXI. Eblan^ Uteris institutus, Objit Londini Apr. It. mdoolxxiv. —1 Op Oliver Goldsmith — ' Poet, Naturalist, Historian, who left scarcely any kind of writing untouched, and touched nothing that he did not adorn ; Whether smiles were to be stirred or tears, commanding our emotions, yet a gentle master ; In genius lofty, lively, versatile, in style weighty, clear, engaging — The memoryin this monument is cherished by the love of Companions, the faithfulness of Friends, the reverence of Beaders. He was born in Ireland, at a place called Pallas, (in the parish) of Forney, (and county) of Longford, on the 29th Nov. 1731. Trained in letters at Dublin. Died in London, 4th April, 1774. Sixty-one years after this monument was placed in the Abbey, it occurred to the Benchers of the Inn to which I have the honour to belong in the Temple, to contribute to the place such additional interest as it might receive from commemorating Goldsmith's con- nection with it. A simple and handsome inscribed slab of plain solid white marble was accordingly, in 1837, fixed in the church, which, when the subsequent repairs and restorations compelled its removal, was transferred to the recesses of the vestry-chamber, where it now remains interred. 2h 4«« OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. Ibook it. THIS TABLET BECOBDIITQ THAT OLIVER GOLDSMITH DIED IN THE TEMPLE ON THE 4th op APKIl, 1774, _ AND WAS BDMED IN THE ADTOISINQ OHTIBOHYAKD, WAS ERECTED BY THE BEKCHEBS OJf THE HONOtlEABLE SOCIETY OP THE INNER TEMPIiB, A.D. 1837. SIR FREDERICK POLLOCK, TREASTTUEB. I availed myself of tlie friendship of the distinguished person whose name is affixed to this tablet, at that time Treasurer of the Inner Temple, and since Lord Chief Baron, who offered to accom- pany me in a visit made in 1853 to the burial-ground of the Temple, in the hope of identifying the grave ; but we did not succeed in the object of our search. We examined unavailingly every spot beneath which interment had taken place, and every stone and sculpture on the ground ; nor was it possible to discover any clue in the register of burials which we afterwards looked through with the Master of the Temple. It simply records as " Buried 9th April, Oliver Goldsmith, M.B. late of Brick-court "Middle Temple." CHAPTEE XXI. THE REWARDS OF GENIUS. 1774. While Goldsmith lay upon his death-bed, there was much dis- cussion in London about the rights of authors. After two J. 'h decisions in the courts of common law, which declared an ' author's property to be perpetual in any work he might have written, the question had been brought upon appeal before the Houi.e of Lords, where the opinions of the judges were taken. This was that dignified audience in whose ears might still be ring- ing some echo of the memorable words addressed to them by Lord Chesterfield. " Wit, my Lords, is a sort of property — ^the pro- " perty of those who have it, and too often the only property they " have to depend on. It is, indeed, but a precarious dependance. " We, my Lords, thank God, have a dependance of another kind." Safe in that dependance of another kind, what was their judgmenti CHAP. XXL] THK REWARDS OF GENIUS. 467 then, as to the only property which not the least distinguished of their fello-w; citizens had entirely and exclusively to count upon for subsistence and support. First for the opinions of the judges. Five declared their belief that, by the common law of England, the sole right of multiplying copies of any work was vested for ever in him, by the exercise of whose genius, faculties, or industry, such work had been produced ; and that no enactment had yet been passed, of force to limit that estate in fee. The special verdict in the case of Millar v. Taylor had found it as a fact, " that before the reign of Queen Anne it " was usual to purchase from authors the perpetual copyright of " their books, and to assign the same &om hand to hand for " valuable considerations, and to make them the subject of family " settlements ; " and, in the subsequent elaborate judgment, Lord Mansfield, Mr. Justice WiUes, and Mr. Justice Aston concurred in holding that copyright was stUl perpetual by the common law, and not limited, except as to penalties, by the statute. Six other judges, on the contrary, held that this perpetual property which undoubtedly existed at conmion law, had been reduced to a short term by an act passed in the reign of Queen Anne, somewhat strangely entitled (if this were indeed its right construction) as for the encouragement of literature. Chief Justice Mansfield's opinion would have equalised these opposing judgments in the House of Peers ; but, though retaining it stilL as strongly as when it had decided the right in ]iis own court, the highest tribvmal of common law, he thought it becoming not then to repeat it. Lord Camden upon this moved and carried a reversal of Lord Mansfield's decision, by reversing the decree which had been founded upon it. The House of Lords thus declared the statute of Anne to have been a confiscation to the public use, after a certain brief term, of such rights of property in the fruits of his own labour and genius, as, up to the period of its enactment, an author had undoubtedly possessed. Lord Camden glorified this result for the sake of literature itself. For he held that Genius was not intended for the benefit of the individual who possessed it, but for the universal benefit of the race ; and, believing Fame to be its sufficient reward, thought that all who deserved so divine a recompense, spuming delights and living laborious days, should scorn and reject every other. The real price which Genius sets upon its labours, he fervently exclaimed, is Immortality ; and posterity pays that. On the other hand, Mr. Justice WiUes announced an opinion hardly less earnest in its tone, to the effect that he held it to be wise in every state to encourage men of letters, without precise regard to what tho measure of their powers might be ; and that the easiest and most equal way of doiag it, was by securing to them the property of 468 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TIMES. [book vi. their own workB. By that means, nobody contributed who was not willing ; and though a good book might be run down, and a bad one cried up, for a time, yet sooner or later the reward would be fairly proportioned to the merit of the work. " A writer's " fame," added this learned and upright judge, " will -not be the " less, that ho has bread ; without being under the necessity, that " he may get bread, of prostituting his pen to flattery or to party." Such interest as society showed in the discussion,, went whoUy with the majestic sentiments of Camden. " The very thought," wrote Lord Chatham to Lord Shelbume, " of coining literature "into ready rhino ! Why, it is as illiberal as it is illegal." So runs the circle of injustice. Attempt to get social station by your talents, and you are illiberal ; use your talents without social station to commend them, and you are despised. It is neverthe- less probable that the reader who may have accompanieli me through this narrative thus far, will think it not "illiberal" to put these rival and opposing doctrines to the practical test of tho Life and Death it has recorded. To that, in the individual case, they may now be left ; with such illustrative comment from the nature and the claims of Goldsmith's writings, and the peculiarities of his character, as already I have amply supplied. Let this be added. The debt which Lord Camden proclaimed due to genius (though, from his conduct on the only occasion when they met, he probably did not think it due to Goldsmith), has to this date been amply paid in the fame of the Vicar of Wakefield, the Citizen of the World, the Deserted Village, She Stoops to Conquer, and the Traveller. Goldsmith died in the prime of his age and his powers, because his strength had been overtasked and his mind was ill at ease ; but, by this, the world's enjoyment of what he left has been in no respect weakened or impaired. Nor was his lot upon the whole an unhappy one, for him or for us. Natiu:e is vindicated in the sorrows of her favourite children ; for a thousand enduring and elevating pleasures survive, to redeem their temporary sufferings. The acquisition of wealth, the attainment of tranquUUty ajid worldly ease, so eagerly coveted and unscrupulously toiled for, are not themselves achieved without attendant losses ; and not without much to soften the harshness of anxiety and poverty, to show what gains may be saved out of the greatest apparent disadvantage, and to render us all some solid assistance out of even his thriftless, imprudent, insolvent circum- stances, had Goldsmith lived and died. He worthily did the work that was in him to do ; proved himself in his garret a gentleman of nature ; left the world no ungenerous bequest ; and went his anknown way. Nor have posterity been backward to acknowledge the debt which his contemporaries left them to discharge ; and it CHAP. XXI.] THE REWARDS OF GENIUS. 469 is with calm, unruffled, joyful aspect on the one hand, and with grateful, loving, eager admiration on the other, that the creditor and his debtors at length stand face to face. All this is to the world's honour as well as gain ; which has yet to consider, notwithstanding, with a view to its own larger profit in both, if its debt to the man of genius might not earlier be dis- charged, and if the thorns which only become invisible beneath the laurel that overgrows his grave, should not rather, while he lives, be plucked away. But it is not an act of parliament that can determine this ; even though it were an act to restore to the man of letters the rights of which the legislature has thought fit to deprive him. The world must exercise those higher privileges which legislation follows and obeys, before the proper remedy can be found for literary wrongs. Mere wealth would not have sup- plied it in Goldsmith's day, and does not supply it in our own. Hiis book has been written to little purpose, if the intention can be attributed to it of claiming for the literary man either more money than is proportioned to the work he does by the apprecia- tion it commands, or immunity from those conditions of prudence, industry, and a knowledge of the multiplication table, whifh are inseparable from success ia all other walks of life. But, with a design far other than that, one object of it has been to show that the very character of the writer's calling, by the thoughts which he creates, by the emotions he is able to inspire, by the happiness he may extend to distant generations, so far places him on a different level from the tradesman, merchant, lawyer, or physician, who has his wares and merchandise or advice to sell, that whereas in the latter case the service is as definite as the reward due to it, in the former a balance must be always left, which only time can adjust fairly. In the vast majority of cases, too, even the attempt at adjustment is not made until the tuneful tongue is silent, and the ear deaf to praise ; nor, much as the extension of the public of readers has done to diminish the probabilities of a writer's suffering, are the chances of his lot bettered even yet, in regard to that fair and full reward. Another object of this book has therefore been to point out, that literature ought long ago to have received from the state an amount of recognition, which would at least have placed its highest cultivators on a level with other and not worthier recipients of its gratitude. The lapse of time, in widening and enlarg- ing the dominion of intellect, has not lessened this grave necessity. The mind of the nation now more than ever claims to be recognised for itself. More than ever it is felt as a national opprobrium that such of our countrymen as have heretofore achieved greatness, svhether in literatvire or in science, should have struggled into fame without the aid of English institutions, by waging continuous 472 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S LIFE AND TlMiia. Liioos IT, But though parliament can easily commit this wrong, it is not in such case the quarter to look to for redress. 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