PR CM S3 .17 1883 20 CE2STTS d. is. A.bAllY Pu&Ll dVTlor/ of TryE SE5T c Vol. Subscription, $50.00. R> LITERATURES LIFE BY WASHINGTON IRVING. Kaur«d at tb« Foul Office, K. V., ae second-clam mattei. Ctf jritftii, I8ta, by JuHh W. l,OV'£l.L Co «jL ♦ Toi\N • W • 1, oV£ L, L, • Co/*VPA>JY+ «£< . - .„■■ -"i - H 646 V£$EY 5TREE1 ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■^pip^^ .0TH BUTDIITG for Wi wlwm tu )m »Mtln^ from §»y toetarffor »r nowt A PERFECT TYPE -WRITING MACHINE. No invention brought out within the past twenty years | has been of more practical value than the perfected Type- Writing Machine — THE CALIGRAPH. This machine combines all the desirable features found in any type-writing machine, together with valuable improve- ments to be found in no other, and owing to its simplicity can be used by any one for all kinds of writing after a few days' practice. To Ministers, Stenographers, Copyists, and all having much writing to do, this machine has proved an inestimable boon ; to the business man with a large daily correspondence to get off it is invaluable. The Caligraph has been adopted as the STANDARD WRITING MACHINE by the leading business houses throughout the country. Illus- trated catalogue and price-list sent on application. Address BARRON & FRACKER, 27 UNION SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY. LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. BY WASHINGTON IRVING NEW YORK; JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, j^ & 1 6 Vesey Street. PREFACE, In the course of a revised edition of my works I have come to a biographical sketch of Goldsmith, published several years, since. It was written hastily, as introductory to a selection from his writings ; and, though the facts contained in it were collected from various sources, I was chiefly indebted for them to the voluminous work of Mr. James Prior, who had collected and collated the most minute particulars of the poet's history with unwearied research and scrupulous fidelity ; but had ren- dered them, as I thought, in a form too cumbrous and overlaid with details and disquisitions, and matters uninteresting to the general reader. When I was about of late to revise my biographical sketch, preparatory to republication, a volume was put into my hands, recently given to the public by Mr. John Forster, of the Inner Temple, who, likewise availing himself of the labors of the in- defatigable Prior, and of a few new lights since evolved, has produced a biography of the poet, executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace and an eloquence, that leave nothing to be de- sired. Indeed it would have been presumption in me to under- take the subject after it had been thus felicitously treated, did I not stand committed by my previous sketch. That sketch now appeared too meagre and insufficient to satisfy public de- mand ; yet it had to take its place in the revised series of my works unless something more satisfactory could be substituted. Under these circumstances I have again taken up the subject, and gone into it with more fulness than formerly, omitting none of the facts which I considered illustrative of the life and character of the poet, and giving them in as graphic a style as I could command. Still the hurried manner in which I have had to do this amidst the pressure of other claims on my atten- tion, and with the press dogging at my heels, has prevented me from giving some parts of the subject the thorough han- dling I could have wished. Those who would like to see it 4 PREFACE. treated still more at large, with the addition of critical disqui- sitions and the advantage of collateral facts, would do well to refer themselves to Mr. Prior's circumstantial volumes, or to the elegant and discursive pages of Mr. Forster. For my own part, I can only regret my short-comings in what to me is a labor of love ; for it is a tribute of gratitude to the memory of an author whose writings were the delight of my childhood, and have been a source of enjoyment to me throughout life ; and to whom, of all others, I may address the beautiful apostrophe of Dante to Yirgil : Tu se' lo mio maestro, e '1 mio autore: Tu se' solo colui, da cu' io tolsi Lo bello stile, che m' ha fato onore. A W. I. Sunnyside, Aug. 1, 1849. OLIVER GOLDSMITH: A BIOGRAPHY. CHAPTER I. BIRTH AND PARENTAGE— CHARACTERISTICS OP THE GOLDSMITH RACE — POETICAL BIRTHPLACE — GOBLIN HOUSE— SCENES OP BOY- HOOD— LISSOY— PICTURE OP A COUNTRY PARSON — GOLDSMITH'S SCHOOLMISTRESS — BYRNE, THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER— GOLD- SMITH'S HORNPIPE AND EPIGRAM— UNCLE CONTARINE— SCHOOL STUDIES AND SCHOOL SPORTS — MISTAKES OP A NIGHT. There are few writers for whom the reader feels such per- sonal kindness as for Oliver Goldsmith, for few have so emi- nently possessed the magic gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We read his character in every page, and grow into familiar intimacy with him as we read. The artless be- nevolence that beams throughout his works; the whimsical, yet amiable views of human life and human nature ; the un- forced humor, blending so happily with good feeling and good sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleasing melan- choly ; even the very nature of his mellow, and flowing, and softly-tinted style, all seem to bespeak his moral as well as his intellectual qualities, and make us love the man at the same time that we admire the author. While the productions of writers of loftier pretension and more sounding names are suf- fered to moulder on our shelves, those of Goldsmith are cher- ished and laid in our bosoms-.. We do not quote them with os- tentation, but they mingle with our minds, sweeten our tem- pers, and harmonize our thoughts ; they put us in good humor 12 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. with ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they make iis happier and better men. An acquaintance with the private biography of Goldsmith lets us into the secret of his gifted pages. We there discover them to be little more than transcripts of his own heart and picturings of his fortunes. There he shows himself the same kind, artless, good-humored, excursive, sensible, whimsical, in- telligent being that he appears in his writings. Scarcely an adventure or character is given in his works that may not be traced to his own parti-colored story. Many of his most ludi- crous scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from his own blunders and mischances, and he seems really to have been buffeted into almost every maxim imparted by him for the instruction of his reader. Oliver Goldsmith was born on the 10th of November, 17£8, at the hamlet of Pallas, or Pallasmore, county of Longford, in Ireland. He sprang from a respectable, but by no means a thrifty stock. Some families seem to inherit kindliness and incompetency, and to hand down virtue and poverty from generation to generation. Such was the case with the Gold- smiths. ' ' They were always, " according to their own accounts, ! ■ a strange family ; they rarely acted like other people ; their hearts were in the right place, but their heads seemed to be doing anything but what they ought."—" They were remark- able," says another statement, "for their worth, but of no cleverness in the ways of the world." Oliver Goldsmith will be found faithfully to inherit the virtues and weaknesses of his race. His father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, with hereditary im- providence, married when very young and very poor, and starved along for several years on a small country curacy and the assistance of his wife's friends. His whole income, eked out by the produce of some fields which he farmed, and of some occasional duties performed for his wife's uncle, the rector of an adjoining parish, did not exceed forty pounds. " And passing rich with forty pounds a year." He inhabited an old, half rustic mansion, that stood on a rising ground in a rough, lonely part of the country, overlook- ing a low tract, occasionally flooded by the river Inny. In this house Goldsmith was born, and it was a birthplace worthy of a poet ; for, by all accounts, it was haunted ground. A tradition handed down among the neighboring peasantry states that, in OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 13 after years, the house, remaining for some time untenanted, went to decay, the roof fell in, and it became so lonely and for- lorn as to be a resort for the ' ' good people" or fairies, who in Ireland are supposed to delight in old, crazy, deserted man- sions for their midnight revels. All attempts to repair it were in vain ; the fairies battled stoutly to maintain possession. A huge misshapen hobgoblin used to bestride the house every evening with an immense pair of jack-boots, which, in his efforts at hard riding, he would thrust through the roof, kick- ing to pieces all the work of the preceding day. The house was therefore left to its fate, and went to ruin. Such is the popular tradition about Goldsmith's birthplace. About two years after his birth a change came over the cir- cumstances of his father. By the death of his wife's uncle he succeeded to the rectory of Kilkenny West ; and, abandoning the old goblin mansion, he removed to Lissoy, in the county of Westmeath, where he occupied a farm of seventy acres, situ- ated on the skirts of that pretty little village. This was the scene of Goldsmith's boyhood, the little world whence he drew many of those pictures, rural and domestic, whimsical and touching, which abound throughout his works, and which appeal so eloquently both to the fancy and the heart. Lissoy is confidently cited as the original of his "Au- burn" in the " Deserted Village ;" his father's establishment, a mixture of farm and parsonage, furnished hints, it is said, for the rural economy of the Vicar of Wakefield; and his father himself, with his learned simplicity, his guileless wis- dom, his amiable piety, and utter ignorance of the world, has been exquisitely portrayed in the worthy Dr. Primrose. Let us pause for a moment, and draw from Goldsmith's writings one or two of those pictures which, under feigned names, rep- resent his father and his family, and the happy fireside of his childish days. "My father," says the "Man in Black," who, in some re- spects, is a counterpart of Goldsmith himself , "my father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed of a small living in the church. His education was above his fortune, and his generosity greater than his education. Poor as he was, he had his flatterers poorer than himself ; for every dinner he gave them, they returned him an equivalent in praise ; and this was all he wanted. The same ambition that actuates a monarch at the head of his army influenced my father at the head of his lable ; he told the story of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed, 14 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. at; he repeated the jest of the two scholars 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 all the world, and he fancied all the world loved him. lC As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the very extent of it; he had no intention of leaving his children money, for that was dross ; he resolved they should have learning, for learning, he used to observe, was better than silver or gold. For this purpose he undertook to instruct us himself, and took as much care to form our morals as to improve our under- standing. We were told that universal 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 necessary qualifica- tions of getting a farthing. " In the Deserted Village we have another picture of his father and his father's fireside : " His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose 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, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began." The family of the worthy pastor consisted of five sons and three daughters, Henry, the eldest, was the good man's pride and hope, and he tasked his" slender means to the utmost in educating him for a learned and distinguished career. Oliver was the second son, and seven years younger than Henry, who was the guide and protector of his childhood, and to whom he was most tenderly attached throughout life. QUver's education began when he was about three years OLIVER GOLDSMITH. fg old ; that is to say, he was gathered tinder the wings of one of those good old motherly dames, found in every village, who cluck together the whole callow brood of the neighborhood, to teach them their letters and keep them out of harm's way. Mistress Elizabeth Delap, for that was her name, flourished in this capacity for upward of fifty years, and ifc was the pride and boast of her declining days, when nearly ninety years of age, that she was the first that had put a book (doubtless a hornbook) into Goldsmith's hands. Apparently he did not much profit by it, for she confessed he was one of the dullest boys she had ever dealt with, insomuch that she had some- times doubted whether it was possible to make anything of him : a common case with imaginative children, who are apt to be beguiled from the dry abstractions of elementary study by the picturings of the fancy. At six years of age he passed into the hands of the village schoolmaster, one Thomas (or, as he was commonly and irreverently named, Paddy) Byrne, a capital tutor for a poet. He had been educated for a pedagogue, but had enlisted in the army, served abroad during the wars of Queen Anne's time, and risen to the rank of quartermaster of a regiment in Spain. At the return of peace, having no longer exercise for the sword, he resumed the ferule, and drilled the urchin populace of Lissoy. Goldsmith is supposed to have had him and his school in view in the following sketch in his Deserted Village : " Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom 'd furze unprofitablj" gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Convey d the dismal tidings when he frown'd: Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge: In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 1$ OLIVER GtiZMMXfA While words of learned length and thund'ring sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around— And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew." There are certain whimsical traits in the character of Byrne, not given in the foregoing sketch. He was fond of talking of his vagabond wanderings in foreign lands, and had brought with him from the wars a world of campaigning stories, of which he was generally the hero, and which he would deal Lorth to his wondering scholars when he ought to have been teaching them their lessons. These travellers' tales had a powerful effect upon the vivid imagination of Gold- smith, and awakened an unconquerable passion for wander- ing and seeking adventure. Byrne was, moreover, of a romantic vein, and exceedingly superstitious. He was deeply versed in the fairy superstitions which abound in Ireland, all which he professed implicitly to believe. Under his tuition Goldsmith soon became almost as great a proficient in fairy lore. From this branch of good-for- nothing knowledge, his studies, by an easy transition, ex- tended to the histories of robbers, pirates, smugglers, and the whole race of Irish rogues and rapparees. Everything, in short, that savored of romance, fable, and adventure was congenial to his poetic mind, and took instant root there ; but the slow plants of useful knowledge were apt to be overrun, if not choked, by the weeds of his quick imagination. Another trait of his motley preceptor, Byrne, was a disposi- tion to dabble in poetry, and this likewise was caught by his pupil. Before he was eight years old Goldsmith had con- tracted a habit of scribbling verses on small scraps of paper, which, in a little while, he would throw into the fire. A few of these sibylline leaves, however, were rescued from the flames and conveyed to his mother. The good woman read them with a mother's delight, and saw at once that her son was a genius and a poet. From that time she beset her husband with solicitations to give the boy an education suitable to his talents. The worthy man was already strait- ened by the costs of instruction of his eldest son Henry, and had intended to bring his second son up to a trade ; but the mother would listen to no such thing ; as usual, her influence prevailed, and Oliver, instead of being instructed in some humble but cheerful and gainful handicraft, was devoted to poverty and the Muse. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 17 A severe attack of the small- pox caused him to be taken from under the care of his story-telling preceptor, Byrne. His malady had nearly proved fatal, and his face remained pitted through life. On his recovery he was placed under the charge of the Rev. Mr. Griffin, schoolmaster of Elphin, in Roscommon, and became an inmate in the house of his uncle, John Goldsmith, Esq., of Bally oughter, in that vicinity. He now entered upon studies of a higher order, but without making any uncommon progress. Still a careless, easy facility of disposition, an amusing eccentricity of manners, and a vein of quiet and peculiar humor, rendered him a .general favorite, and a trifling incident soon induced his uncle's family to concur in his mother's opinion of his genius. A number of young folks had assembled at his uncle's to dance. One of the company, named Cummings, played on the violin. In the course of the evening Oliver undertook a hornpipe. His short and clumsy figure, and his face pitted and discolored with the small-pox, rendered him a ludicrous figure in the eyes of the musician, who made merry at his expense, dubbing him his little iEsop. Goldsmith was nettled by the jest, and, stopping short in the hornpipe, exclaimed, " Our herald hath proclaimed this saying, See iEsop dancing, and his monkey playing." The repartee was thought wonderful for a boy of nine years old, and Oliver became forthwith the wit and the bright genius of the family. It was thought a pity he should not receive the same advantages with his elder brother Henry, who had been sent to the University ; and, as his father's circumstances would not afford it, several of his relatives, spurred on by the representations of his mother, agreed to contribute toward the expense. The greater part, however, was borne by his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarine. This worthy man had been the college companion of Bishop Berke- ley, and was possessed of moderate means, holding the living of Carrick-on-Shannon, He had married the sister of Gold- smith's father, but was now a widower, with an only child, a daughter, named Jane. Contarine was a kind-hearted man, with a generosity beyond his means. He took Goldsmith into favor from his infancy; his house was open to him during the holidays; his daughter Jane, two years older than the poet, ™ Qe * h*.** ^ Q T-iy playmate; and uncle Contarine continued 18 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. to the last one of his most active, unwavering, and generous friends. Fitted out in a great measure by this considerate relative, Oliver was now transferred to schools of a higher order, to prepare him for the University ; first to one at Athlone, kept by the Eev. Mr. Campbell, and, at the end of two years, to one at Edgeworthstown, under the superintendence of the Eev. Patrick Hughes. Even at these schools his proficiency does not appear to have been brilliant. He was indolent and careless, however, rather than dull, and, on the whole, appears to have been well thought of by his teachers. In his studies he inclined toward the Latin poets and historians ; relished Ovid and Horace, and delighted in Livy. He exercised himself with pleasure in reading and translating Tacitus, and was brought to pay attention to style in his compositions by a reproof from his brother Henry, to whom he had written brief and confused letters, and who told him in reply, that if he had but little to say, to endeavor to say that little well. The career of his brother Henry at the University was enough to stimulate him to exertion. He seemed to be realiz- ing all his father's hopes, and was winning collegiate honors that the good man considered indicative of his future success in life. In the meanwhile Oliver, if not distinguished among his teachers, was popular among his schoolmates. He had a thoughtless generosity extremely captivating to young hearts ; his temper was quick and sensitive, and easily offended ; but his anger was momentary, and it was impossible for him to harbor resentment. He was the leader of all boyish sports and athletic amusements, especially ball-playing, and he was fore- most in all mischievous pranks. Many years afterward, an old man, Jack Fitzimmons, one of the directors of the sports and keeper of the ball-court at Ballymahon, used to boast of having been schoolmate of "Noll Goldsmith," as he called him, and would dwell with vainglory on one of their exploits, in robbing the orchard of Tirlicken, an old family residence of Lord Annaly. The exploit, however, had nearly involved dis- astrous consequences; for the crew of juvenile depredators were captured, like Shakespeare and his deer-stealing col- leagues, and nothing but the respectability of Goldsmith's connections saved him from the punishment that would have awaited more plebeian delinquents. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 19 An amusing incident is related as occurring in Goldsmith's last journey homeward from Edgeworthstown. His father's house was about twenty miles distant ; the road lay through a rough country, impassable for carriages. Goldsmith pro- cured a horse for the journey, and a friend furnished him with a guinea for travelling expenses. He was but a stripling of sixteen, and being thus suddenly mounted on horseback, with money in his pocket, it is no wonder that his head was turned. He determined to play the man, and to spend his money in independent traveller's style. Accordingly, instead of pushing directly for home, he halted for the night at the little town of Ardagh, and, accosting the first person he met, in- quired, with somewhat of a consequential air, for the best house in the place. Unluckily, the person he had accosted was one Kelly, a notorious wag, who was quartered in the family of one Mr. Featherstone, a gentleman of fortune. Amused with the self-consequence of the stripling, and willing to play off a practical joke at his expense, he directed him to what was literally "the best house in the place," namely, the family mansion of Mr. Featherstone. Goldsmith accordingly rode up to what he supposed to be an inn, ordered his horse to be taken to the stable, walked into the parlor, seated himself by the fire, and demanded what he could have for supper. On ordinary occasions he was diffident and even awkward in his manners, but here he was "at ease in his inn," and felt called upon to show his manhood and enact the experienced traveller. His person was by no means calculated to play off his pretensions, for he was short and thick, with a pock-marked face, and an air and carriage by no means of a distinguished cast. The owner of the house, however, soon discovered his whimsical mistake, and, being a man of humor, determined to indulge it, especially as he accidentally learned that this intruding guest was the son of an old acquaintance. Accordingly Goldsmith was "fooled to the top of his bent," and permitted to have full sway throughout the evening. Never was schoolboy more elated. When supper was served, he most condescendingly insisted that the landlord, his wife and daughter should partake, and ordered a bottle of wine to crown the repast and benefit the house. His last flourish was on going to bed, when he gave especial orders to have a hot cake at breakfast. His confusion and dismay, on discovering the next morning that he had been swaggering in this free and easy way in the house of a private gentleman, may be readily con- 20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ceived. True to his habit of turning the events of his life to literary account, we find this chapter of ludicrous blunders and cross purposes dramatized many years afterward in his admirable comedy of " She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of a Night." CHAPTEE II. IMPROVIDENT MARRIAGES IN THE GOLDSMITH FAMILY — GOLDSMITH AT THE UNIVERSITY — SITUATION OF A SIZER — TYRANNY OF WILDER, THE TUTOR — PECUNIARY STRAITS— STREET BALLADS — COLLEGE RIOT— GALLOWS WALSH — COLLEGE PRIZE— A DANCE INTERRUPTED. While Oliver was making his way somewhat negligently through the schools, his elder brother Henry was rejoicing his father's heart by his career at the University. He soon dis- tinguished himself at the examinations, and obtained a scholar- ship in 1743. This is a collegiate distinction which serves as a stepping-stone in any of the learned professions, and which leads to advancement in the University should the individual choose to remain there. His father now trusted that he would push forward for that comfortable provision, a fellowship, and thence to higher dignities and emoluments. Henry, however, had the improvidence or the " unworldliness" of his race; re- turning to the country during the succeeding vacation, he married for love, relinquished, of course, all his collegiate prospects and advantages, set up a school in his father's neigh- borhood, and buried his talents and acquirements for the re- mainder of his life in a curacy of forty pounds a year. Another matrimonial event occurred not long afterward in the Goldsmith family, to disturb the equanimity of its worthy head. This was the clandestine marriage of his daughter Catherine with a young gentleman of the name of Hodson, who had been confided to the care of her brother Henry to complete his studies. As the youth was of wealthy parentage, it was thought a lucky match for the Goldsmith family; but the tidings of the event stung the bride's father to the soul. Proud of his integrity, and jealous of that good name which was his clr Q * T^^ssion, he saw himself and his family subjected OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 21 to the degrading suspicion of having abused a trust reposed in them to promote a mercenary match. In the first transports of his feelings he is said to have uttered a wish that his daugh- ter might never have a child to bring like shame and sorrow on her head. The hasty wish, so contrary to the usual benig- nity of the man, was recalled and repented of almost as soon as uttered- but it was considered baleful in its effects by the superstitious neighborhood ; for, though his daughter bore three children, they all died before her. A more effectual measure was taken by Mr. Goldsmith to ward cff the apprehended imputation, but one which imposed a heavy burden on his family. This was to furnish a marriage portion of four hundred pounds, that his daughter might not be said to have entered her husband's family empty-handed. To raise the sum in cash was impossible; but he assigned to Mr Hodson his little farm and the income of his tithes until the marriage portion should be paid. In the mean time, as his living did not amount to £200 per annum, he had to practise the strictest economy to payoff gradually this heavy tax in- curred by his nice sense of honor. The first of his family to feel the effects of this economy was Oliver. The time had now arrived for him to be sent to the University, and, accordingly, on the 11th June, 1745, when sixteen years of age, he entered Trinity College, Dublin; but his father was no longer able to place him there as a pensioner, as he had done his eldest son Henry; he was obliged, therefore, to enter him as a sizer, or "poor scholar." He was lodged in one of the top rooms adjoining the library of the building, numbered 85, where it is said his name may still be seen, scratched by himself upon a window frame. A student of this class is taught and boarded gratuitously, and has to pay but a very small sum for his room. It is ex- pected, in return for these advantages, that he will be a dili- gent student, and render himself useful in a variety of ways. At Trinity College, at the time of Goldsmith's admission, sev- eral derogatory and indeed menial offices were exacted from the sizer, as if the college sought to indemnify itself for confer- ring benefits by inflicting indignities. He was obliged to sweep part of the courts in the morning, to carry up the dishes from the kitchen to the fellows' table, and to wait in the hall until that body had dined. His very dress marked the inferiority of the "poor student" to his happier classmates. It was a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves, and a plam black 22 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. cloth cap without a tassel. We can conceive nothing more odious and ill-judged than these distinctions, which attached the idea of degradation to poverty, and placed the indigent youth of merit helow the worthless minion of fortune. They were calculated to wound and irritate the noble mind, and to render the base mind baser. Indeed, the galling effect of these servile tasks upon youths of proud spirits and quick sensibilities became at length too notorious to be disregarded. About fifty years since, on a Trinity Sunday, a number of persons were assembled to wit- ness the college ceremonies ; and as a sizer was carrying up a dish of meat to the fellows' table, a burly citizen in the crowd made some sneering observation on the servility of his office. Stung to the quick, the high-spirited youth instantly flung the dish and its contents at the head of the sneerer. The sizer was Sharply reprimanded for this outbreak of wounded pride, but the degrading task was from that day forward very properly consigned to menial hands. It was with the utmost repugnance that Goldsmith entered college in this capacity. His shy and sensitive nature was affected by the inferior station he was doomed to hold among his gay and opulent fellow-students, and he became, at times, moody and despondent. A recollection of these early mortifi- cations induced him, in after years, most strongly to dissuade his brother Henry, the clergyman, from sending a son to col- lege on a like footing. "If he has ambition, strong passions, and an exquisite sensibility of contempt, do not send him there, unless you have no other trade for him except your own." To add to his annoyances, the fellow of the college who had the peculiar control of his studies, the Rev. Theaker Wilder, was a man of violent and capricious temper, and of diametri- cally opposite tastes. The tutor was devoted to the exact sciences ; Goldsmith was for the classics. Wilder endeavored to force his favorite studies upon the student by harsh means, suggested by his own coarse and savage nature. He abused him in presence of the class as ignorant and stupid ; ridiculed him as awkward and ugly, and at times in the transports of his temper indulged in personal violence. The effect was to aggravate a passive distaste into a positive aversion. Gold- smith was loud in expressing his contempt for mathematics and his dislike of ethics and logic; and the prejudices thus imbibed continued through life. Mathematics he always pro- OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 23 nounced a science to which the meanest intellects were compe- tent. A truer cause of this distaste for the severer studies may probably be found in his natural indolence and his love of con- vivial pleasures. ' ' I was a lover of mirth, good-humor, and even sometimes of fun," said he, "from my childhood." He sang a good song, was a boon companion, and could not resist any temptation to social enjoyment. He endeavored to per- suade himself that learning and dulness went hand in hand, and that genius was not to be put in harness. Even in riper years, when the consciousness of his own deficiencies ought to have convinced him of the importance of early study, he speaks slightingly of college honors. " A lad," says he, "whose passions are not strong enough in youth to mislead him from that path of science which his tutors, and not his inclination, have chalked out, by four or five years' perseverance will probably obtain every advantage and honor his college can bestow. I would compare the man whose youth has been thus passed in the tranquillity of dispas- sionate prudence, to liquors that never ferment, and, conse- quently, continue always muddy." The death of his worthy father, which took place early in 1747, rendered Goldsmith's situation at college extremely irk- some. His mother was left with little more than the means of providing for the wants of her household, and was unable to< furnish him any remittances. He would have been compelled,, therefore, to leave college, had it not been for the occasional contributions of friends, the foremost among whom was his generous and warm-hearted uncle Contarine. Still these sup- plies were so scanty and precarious, that in the intervals be- tween them he was put to great straits. He had two college as- sociates from whom he would occasionally borrow small sums \ one was an early schoolmate, by the name of Beatty ; the other a cousin, and the chosen companion of his frolics, Robert (or rather Bob) Bryanton, of Ballymulvey House, near Ballyma- hon. When these casual supplies failed him he was more than once obliged to raise funds for his immediate wants by pawn- ing his books. At times he sank into despondency, but he had what he termed "a knack at hoping," which soon buoyed him up again. He began now to resort to his poetical vein as a source of profit, scribbling street-ballads, which he privately sold for five shillings each at a shop which dealt in such small wares of literature. He felt an author's affection for these %\ 6 LIVER GOLbsMlTir. unowned bantlings, and we are told would stroll privately through the streets at night to hear them sung, listening to the comments and criticisms of bystanders, and observing the degree of applause which each received. Edmund Burke was a fellow-student with Goldsmith at the college. Neither the statesman nor the poet gave promise of their future celebrity, though Burke certainly surpassed his contemporary in industry and application, and evinced more disposition for self -improvement, associating himself with a number of his fellow-students in a debating club, in which they discussed literary topics, and exercised themselves in composition. Goldsmith may likewise have belonged to this association, but his propensity was rather to mingle with the gay and thoughtless. On one occasion we find him implicated in an affair that came nigh producing his expulsion. A report was brought to college that a scholar was in the hands of the bail- iffs. This was an insult in which every gownsman felt him- self involved. A number of the scholars flew to arms, and sallied forth to battle, headed by a hare-brained fellow nick- named Gallows Walsh, noted for his aptness at mischief and fondness for riot. The stronghold of the bailiff was carried by storm, the scholar set at liberty, and the delinquent catchpole borne off captive to the college, where, having no pump to put him under, they satisfied the demands of collegiate law by ducking him in an old cistern. Flushed with this signal victory, Gallows Walsh now ha- rangued his followers, and proposed to break open Newgate, or the Black Dog, as the prison was called, and effect a general jail delivery. He was answered by shouts of concurrence, and away went the throng of madcap youngsters, fully bent upon putting an end to the tyranny of law. They were joined by the mob of the city and made an attack upon the prison with true Irish precipitation and thoughtlessness, never hav- ing provided themselves with cannon to batter its stone walls. A few shots from the prison brought them to their senses, and they beat a hasty retreat, two of the townsmen being killed, and several wounded. A severe scrutiny of this affair took place at the University. Four students, who had been ringleaders, were expelled ; four others, who had been prominent in the affray, were public- ly admonished; among the latter was the unlucky Gold- cmith. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 25 To make up for this disgrace, he gained, within a month afterward, one of the minor prizes of the college. It is true it was one of the very smallest, amounting in pecuniary value to but thirty shillings, but it was the first distinction he had gained in his whole collegiate career. This turn of success and sudden influx of wealth proved too much for the head of our poor student. He forthwith gave a supper and dance at his chamber to a number of young persons of both sexes from the city, in direct violation of college rules. The unwonted sound of the fiddle reached the ears of the implacable Wilder. He rushed to the scene of unhallowed festivity, inflicted cor- poral punishment on the "father of the feast," and turned his astonished guests neck and heels out of doors. This filled the measure of poor Goldsmith's humiliations ; he felt degraded both within college and without. He dreaded the ridicule of his fellow-students for the ludicrous termina- tion of his orgie, and he was ashamed to meet his city acquain- tances after the degrading chastisement received in their pres- ence, and after their own ignominious expulsion. Above all, he felt it impossible to submit any longer to the insulting ty- ranny of Wilder ; he determined, therefore, to leave, not merely the college, but also his native land, and to bury what he con- ceived to be his irretrievable disgrace in some distant country. He accordingly sold his books and clothes, and sallied forth from the college walls the very next day, intending to embark at Cork for— he scarce knew where — America, or any other part beyond sea. With his usual heedless imprudence, how- ever, he loitered about Dublin until his finances were reduced to a shilling; with this amount of specie he set out on his journey. For three whole days he subsisted on his shilling ; when that was spent, he parted with some of the clothes from his back, until, reduced almost to nakedness, he was four-and-twenty hours without food, insomuch that he declared a handful of gray pease, given to him by a girl at a wake, was one of the most delicious repasts he had ever tasted. Hunger, fatigue, and destitution brought down his spirit and calmed his anger. Fain would he have retraced his steps, could he have done so with any salvo for the lingerings of his pride. In his extre- mity he conveyed to his brother Henry information of his dis- tress, and of the rash project on which he had set out. His affectionate brother hastened to his relief; furnished him with money and clothes; soothed his f eelings with gentle counsel* 26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. prevailed upon him to return to college, and effected an indif- ferent reconciliation between him and Wilder. After this irregular sally upon life he remained nearly two years longer at the University, giving proofs of talent in occa- sional translations from the classics, for one of which he re- ceived a premium, awarded only to those who are the first in literary merit. Still he never made much figure at college, his natural disinclination to study being increased by the harsh treatment he continued to experience from his tutor. Among the anecdotes told of him while at college, is one in- dicative of that prompt but thoughtless and often whimsical benevolence which throughout life formed one of the most ec- centric yet endearing points of his character. He was engaged to breakfast one day with a college intimate, but failed to make his appearance. His friend repaired to his room, knocked at the door, and was bidden to enter. To his surprise, he found Goldsmith in his bed, immersed to his chin in feathers. A serio-comic story explained the circumstance. In the course of the preceding evening's stroll he had met with a woman with five children who implored his charity. Her husband was in the hospital ; she was just from the country, a stranger, and destitute, without food or shelter for her helpless offspring. This was too much for the kind heart of Goldsmith. He was almost as poor as herself, it is true, and had no money in his pocket ; but he brought her to the college gate, gave her the blankets from his bed to cover her little brood, and part of his clothes for her to sell and purchase food ; and, finding himself cold during the night, had cut open his bed and buried himself among the feathers. At length, on the 27th of February, 1749, 0. S., he was ad- mitted to the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and took his final leave of the University. He was freed from college rule, that emancipation so ardently coveted by the thoughtless student, and which too generally launches him amid the cares, the hardships, and vicissitudes of life. He was freed, too, from the brutal tyranny of Wilder. If Ins kind and placable nature could retain any resentment for past injuries, it might have been gratified by learning subsequently that the passionate career of Wilder was terminated by a violent death in the course of a dissolute brawl ; but Goldsmith took no delight in the misfortunes even of his enemies. He now returned to his friends, no longer the student to sport «way the happy interval of vacation, but the anxious mar OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 27 who is henceforth to shift for himself and make his way through the world. In fact, he had no legitimate home to re- turn to. At the death of his father, the paternal house at Lis- soy, in which Goldsmith had passed his childhood, had been taken by Mr. Hodson, who had married his sister Catherine. His mother had removed to Bally mahon, where she occupied a small house, and had to practise the severest frugality. His elder brother Henry served the curacy and taught the school of his late father's parish, and lived in narrow circumstances at Goldsmith's birthplace, the old goblin-house at Pallas. None of his relatives were in circumstances to aid him with anything more than a temporary home, and the aspect of every one seemed somewhat changed. In fact, his career at college had disappointed his friends, and they began to doubt his being the great genius they had fancied him. He whimsi- , cally alludes to this circumstance in that piece of autobiography, " The Man in Black," in the Citizen of the World. " The first opportunity my father had of finding his expecta- tions disappointed was in the middling figure I made at the University; he had flattered himself that he should soon see me rising into the foremost rank in literary reputation, but was mortified to find me utterly unnoticed and unknown. His disappointment might have been partly ascribed to his having overrated my talents, and partly to my dislike of mathemati- cal reasonings at a time when my imagination and memory, yet unsatisfied, were more eager after new objects than desir- ous of reasoning upon those I knew. This, however, did not please my tutors, who observed, indeed, that I was a little dull, but at the same time allowed that I seemed to be very good-natured, and had no harm in me." * The only one of his relatives who did not appear to lose faith in him was his uncle Contarine. This kind and considerate man, it is said, saw in him a warmth of heart requiring some skill to direct, and a latent genius that wanted time to mature, and these impressions none of his subsequent follies and irregu- larities wholly obliterated. His purse and affection, therefore, as well as his house, were now open to him, and he became his chief counsellor and director after his father's death. He urged him to prepare for holy orders, and others of his relatives con- curred in the advice. Goldsmith had a settled repugnance to a clerical life. This had been ascribed by some to conscientious * Citizen of the World, Letter xxvii. 28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. scruples, not considering himself of a temper and frame of mind for such a sacred office; others attributed it to his roving pro- pensities, and his desire to visit foreign countries ; he himself gives a whimsical objection in his biography of the " Man in Black :" u To be obliged to wear a long wig when I liked a short one, or a black coat when I generally dressed in brown, I thought such a restraint upon my liberty that I absolutely re- jected the proposal." In effect, however, his scruples were overruled, and he agreed to qualify himself for the office. He was now only twenty-one, and must pass two years of probation. They were two years of rather loitering, unsettled life. Sometimes he was at Lissoy, participating with thoughtless enjoyment in the rural sports and occupations of his brother-in-law, Mr. Hodson ; sometimes he was with his brother Henry, at the old goblin mansion at Pallas, assisting him occasionally in his school. The early marriage and unambitious retirement of Henry, though so subversive of the fond plans of his father, had proved happy in their results. He was already surrounded by a blooming family; he was contented with his lot, beloved by his parishioners, and lived in the daily practice of all the ami- able virtues, and the immediate enjoyment of their reward. Of the tender affection inspired in the breast of Goldsmith by the constant kindness of this excellent brother, and of the longing recollection with which, in the lonely wanderings of after years, he looked back upon this scene of domestic felicity, we have a touching instance in the well-known opening to his poem of " The Traveller:" "Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ; ***** Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly tupns to thee; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. Eternal blessings 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; OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 29 Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good." During this loitering life Goldsmith pursued no study, but rather amused himself with miscellaneous reading; such as biography, travels, poetry, novels, plays— everything, in short, that administered to the imagination. Sometimes he strolled along the banks of the river Inny, where, in after years, when he had become famous, his favorite seats and haunts used to be pointed out. Often he joined in the rustic sports of the villagers, and became adroit at throwing the sledge, a favorite feat of activity and strength in Ireland. Recollections of these "healthful sports" we find in his " Deserted Village:" ".How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree: And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round." A boon companion in all his rural amusements was his cousin and college crony, Robert Bryanton, with whom he sojourned occasionally at Bally mulvey House in the neighbor- hood. They used to make excursions about the country on foot, sometimes fishing, sometimes hunting otter in the Inny. They got up a country club at the little inn of Ballymahon, of which Goldsmith soon became the oracle and prime wit, aston- ishing his unlettered associates by his learning, and being considered capital at a song and a story. From the rustic conviviality of the inn at Ballymahon, and the company which used to assemble there, it is surmised that he took some hints in after life for his picturing of Tony Lumpkin and his associates: "Dick Muggins, the exciseman; Jack Slang, the horse doctor; little Aminidab, that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist, that spins the pewter platter." Nay, it is, thought that Tony's drinking song at the "Three Jolly Pigeons" was but a revival of one of the convivial catches at Ballymahon : " Then come put the jorum about, And let us be merry and clever, Our hearts and our liquors are stout, Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever. Let some cry of woodcock or hare. Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons, But of all the gay birds in the air, Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll." 30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Notwithstanding all these accomplishments and this rural popularity", his friends began to shake their heads and shrug their shoulders when they spoke of him; and his brother Henry noted with anything but satisfaction his frequent visits to the club at Ballymahon. He emerged, however, unscathed from this dangerous ordeal, more fortunate in this respect than his comrade Bryanton ; but he retained throughout life a fondness for clubs ; often, too, in the course of his checkered career, he looked back to this period of rural sports and care^ less enjoyments as one of the few sunny spots of his cloudy life ; and though he ultimately rose to associate with birds of a finer feather, his heart would still yearn in secret after the " Three Jolly Pigeons." CHAPTER III. GOLDSMITH REJECTED BY THE BISHOP— SECOND SALLY TO SEE THE WORLD— TAKES PASSAGE FOR AMERICA— SHIP SAILS WITH- OUT HIM — RETURN ON FIDDLE-BACK — A HOSPITABLE FRIEND — THE COUNSELLOR, The time was now arrived for Goldsmith to apply for orders, and he presented himself accordingly before the Bishop of Elfphn for ordination. We have stated his great objection to clerical life, the obligation to wear a black coat ; and, whim- sical as it may appear, dress seemed in fact to have formed an obstacle to his entrance into the church. He had ever a pas- sion for clothing his sturdy but awkward little person in gay colors; and on this solemn occasion, when it was to be sup- posed his garb would be of suitable gravity, he appeared luminously arrayed in scarlet breeches ! He was rejected by the bishop ; some say for want of sufficient studious prepara- tion ; his rambles and frolics with Bob Bryanton, and his revels with the club at Ballymahon, having been much in the way of his theological studies ; others attribute his rejection to reports of his college irregularities, which the bishop had received from his old tyrant "Wilder; but those who look into the matter with more knowing eyes pronounce the scarlet breeches to have been the fundamental objection. "My friends," says Goldsmith, speaking through his humorous representative, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 31 the "Man in Black" — ''.my friends were now perfectly satis- fied I was undone ; and yet they thought it a pity for one that had not the least harm in him, and was so very good-natured." His uncle Contarine, however, still remained unwavering in his kindness, though much less sanguine in his expectations. He now looked round for a humbler sphere of action, and through his influence and exertions Oliver was received as tutor in the family of a Mr. Flinn, a gentleman of the neigh- borhood. The situation was apparently respectable; he had his seat at the table, and joined the family in their domestic recreations and their evening game at cards. There was a servility, however, in his position, which was not to his taste ; nor did his deference for the family increase upon familiar in- tercourse. He charged a member of it with unfair play at cards. A violent altercation ensued, which ended in his throwing up his situation as tutor. On being paid off he found himself in possession of an unheard of amount of money. His wandering propensity and his desire to see the world were instantly in the ascendency. Without communicating his plans or intentions to his friends, he procured a good horse, and with thirty pounds in his pocket made his second sally forth into the world. The worthy niece and housekeeper of the hero of La Mancha could not have been more surprised and dismayed at one of the Don's clandestine expeditions, than were the mother and friends of Goldsmith when they heard of his mysterious de- parture. Weeks elapsed, and nothing was seen or heard of him. It was feared that he had left the country on one of his wandering freaks, and his poor mother was reduced almost to despair, when one day he arrived at her door almost as for- lorn in plight as the prodigal son. Of his thirty pounds not a shilling was left ; and instead of the goodly steed on which he had issued forth on his errantry, he was mounted on a sorry little pony, which he had nicknamed Fiddle-back. As soon as his mother was well assured of his safety, she rated him soundly for his inconsiderate conduct. His brothers and sis- ters, who were tenderly attached to him, interfered, and suc- ceeded in mollifying her ire ; and whatever lurking anger the good dame might have, was no doubt effectually vanquished by the following whimsical narrative which he drew up at his brother's house and dispatched to her : ' ' My dear mother, if you will sit down and calmly listen to wjaat I say, you shall be fully resolved in every one of those 32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. many questions you have asked me. I went to Cork and con- verted my horse, which you prize so much higher than Fiddle- back, into cash, took my passage in a ship bound for America, and, at the same time, paid the captain for my freight and all the other expenses of my voyage. But it so happened that the wind did not answer for three weeks ; and you know, mother, that I could not command the elements. My misfortune was, that, when the wind served, I happened to be with a party in the country, and my friend the captain never inquired after me, but set saiLwith as much indifference as if I had been on board. The remainder of my time I employed in the city and its environs, viewing everything curious, and you know no one can starve while he has money in his pocket. "Reduced, however, to my last two guineas, I began to think of my dear mother and friends whom I had left behind me, and so bought that generous beast Fiddle-back, and bade adieu to Cork with only five shillings in my pocket. This, to be sure, was but a scanty allowance for man and horse toward a jour- ney of above a hundred miles ; but I did not despair, for I knew I must find friends on the road. ' ' I recollected particularly an old and faithful acquaintance I made at college, who had often and earnestly pressed me to spend a summer with him, and he lived but eight miles from Cork. This circumstance of vicinity he would expatiate on to me with peculiar emphasis. 'We shall,' says he, 'enjoy the delights of both city and country, and you shall command my stable and my purse.' "However, upon the way I met a poor woman all in tears, who told me her husband had been arrested for a debt he was not able to pay, and that his eight children must now starve, bereaved as they were of his industry, which had been their only support. I thought myself at home, being not far from my good friend's house, and therefore parted with a moiety of all my store ; and pray, mother, ought I not to have given her the other half crown, for what she got would be of little use to her? However, I soon arrived at the mansion of my affection- ate friend, guarded by the vigilance of a huge mastiff, who flew at me and would have torn me to pieces but for the assist- ance of a woman, whose countenance was not less grim than that of the dog ; yet she with great humanity relieved me from the jaws of this Cerberus, and was prevailed on to carry up my name to her master. . •' Without suffering me to wait long ? my old friend, who wag OLIVER GO LjD SMITH. §§ then recovering froxii a severe fit of sickness, came down in Ms nightcap, nightgown, and slippers, and embraced me with the most cordial welcome, showed me in, and, after giving me a history of his indisposition, assured me that he considered him- self peculiarly fortunate in having under his roof the man he most loved on earth, and whose stay witfh him must, above all things, contribute to perfect his recovery. I now repented sorely I had not given the poor woman £he other half crown, as I thought all my bills of humanity would be punctually an- swered by this worthy man. I revealed to him my whole soul ; I opened to him all my distresses; and freely owned that I had but one half crown in my pocket; but that now, like a ship after weathering out the storm, I considered myself secure in a safe and hospitable harbor. He made no answer, but walked about the room, rubbing his hands as one in deep study. This I imputed to the sympathetic feelings of a tender heart, which increased my esteem for him, and, as that increased, I gave the most favorable interpretation to his silence. I construed it into delicacy of sentiment, as if he dreaded to wound my pride by expressing his commiseration in words, leaving his generous conduct to speak for itself. " It now approached six o'clock in the evening-; and as I had eaten no breakfast, and as my spirits were raised, my appetite for dinner grew uncommonly keen. At length the old woman came into the room with two plates, one spoon, and a dirty cloth, which she laid upon the table. This appearance, without increasing my spirits, did not diminish my appetite. My pro- tectress soon returned with a small bowl of sago, a small por- ringer of sour milk, a loaf of stale brown bread, and the heel of an old cheese all over crawling with mites. My friend apolo- gized that his illness obliged him to live on slops, and that bet- ter fare was not in the house; observing, at the same time, that a milk diet was certainly the most healthful; and at eight o'clock he again recommended a regular life, declaring that for his part he would lie down with the lamb and rise with the lark. My hunger was at this time so exceedingly sharp that I wished for another slice of the loaf, but was obliged to go to bed with- out even that refreshment. "This lenten entertainment I had received made me resolve to depart as soon as possible ; accordingly, next morning, when I spoke of going, he did not oppose my resolution ; he rather commended my design, adding some very sage counsel upon the occasion. ' To be sure,' said he, ' the longer you stay away 34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. from, your mother, the more you will grieve her and your other friends ; and possibly they are already afflicted at hearing of this f oolish expedition you have made.' Notwithstanding all this, and without any hope of softening such a sordid heart, I again renewed the tale of my distress, and asking 'how he thought I could travel above a hundred miles upon one half crown?' I begged to borrow a single guinea, which I assured him should be repaid with thanks. ' And you know, sir,' said I ' it is no more than I have done for you. ' To which he firmly answered, ' Why, look you, Mr. Goldsmith, that is neither here nor there. I have paid you all you ever lent me, and this sickness of mine has left me bare of cash. But I have be- thought myself of a conveyance for you; sell your horse, and I will furnish you a much better one to ride on.' I readily grasped at his proposal, and begged to see the nag ; on which he led me to his bedchamber, and from under the bed he pulled out a stout oak stick. ' Here he is,' said he ; ' take this in your hand, and it will carry you to your mother's with more safety than such a horse as you ride. ' I was in doubt, when I got it into my hand, whether I should not, in the first place, apply it to his pate; but a rap at the street door made the wretch fly to it, and when I returned to the parlor, he introduced me, as if nothing of the kind had happened, to the gentleman who en- tered, as Mr. Goldsmith, his most ingenious and worthy friend, of whom he had so often heard him speak with rapture. I could scarcely compose myself, and must have betrayed indig- nation in my mien to the stranger, who was a counsellor-at- law in the neighborhood, a man of engaging aspect and polite address. ''After spending an hour, he asked my friend and me to dine with him at his house. This I declined at first, as I wished to have no farther communication with my hospitable friend; but at the solicitation of both I at last consented, de- termined as I was by two motives: one, that I was prejudiced in favor of the looks and manner of the counsellor ; and the other, that I stood in need of a comfortable dinner. And there, indeed, I found everything that I could wish, abund- ance without profusion, and elegance without affectation. In the evening, when my old friend, who had eaten very plenti- fully at his neighbor's table, but talked again of lying down with the lamb, made a motion to me for retiring, our generous host requested I should take a bed with him, upon which I plainly told my old friend that he might go home and take OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 35 Care of the horse he had given me, but that I should never re- enter his doors. He went away with a laugh, leaving me to add this to the other little things the counsellor already knew of his plausible neighbor. "And now, my dear mother, I found sufficient to reconcile me to all my follies ; for here I spent three whole days, The counsellor had two sweet girls to his daughters, who played enchantingly on the harpsichord ; and yet it was but a mel- ancholy 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. I every day en- deavored to go away, but every day was pressed and obliged to stay. On my going, the counsellor offered me his purse, with a horse and servant to convey me home ; but the latter I declined, and only took a guinea to bear my necessary ex- penses on the road. "Oliver Goldsmith. "To Mrs. Anne Goldsmith, Ballymahon." Such is the story given by the poet-errant of this his second sally in quest of adventures. We cannot but think it was here and there touched up a little with the fanciful pen of the future essayist, with a view to amuse his mother and soften her vexation; but even in these respects it is valuable as showing the early play of his humor, and his happy knack of extracting sweets from that worldly experience which to others yields nothing but bitterness. CHAPTER IV. SALLIES FORTH AS A LAW STUDENT— STUMBLES AT THE OUTSET —COUSIN JANE AND THE VALENTINE — A FAMILY ORACLE — SAL- LIES FORTH AS A STUDENT OF MEDICINE — HOCUS-POCUS OF A BOARDING-HOUSE— TRANSFORMATIONS OF A LEG OF MUTTON — THE MOCK GHOST — SKETCHES OF SCOTLAND — TRIALS OF TOADY- ISM — A POET'S PURSE FOR A CONTINENTAL TOUR. A new consultation was held among Goldsmith's friends as to his future course, and it was determined he should try the law. His uncle Contarine agreed to advance the necessary funds, and actually furnished him with fifty pounds, with g6 OLIfUJM G0LD8MIHK which he set off for London, to enter on his studies at the Temple. Unfortunately, he fell in company at Dublin with a Eoscommon acquaintance, one whose wits had been sharpened about town, who beguiled him into a gambling-house, and soon left him as penniless as when he bestrode the redoubtable Fiddle-back. He was so ashamed of this fresh instance of gross heedless- ness and imprudence that he remained some time in Dublin without communicating to his friends his destitute condition. They heard of it, however, and he was invited back to the country, and indulgently forgiven by his generous uncle, but less readily by his mother, who was mortified and disheart- ened at seeing all her early hopes of him so repeatedly blighted. His brother Henry, too, began to lose patience at these suc- cessive failures, resulting from thoughtless indiscretion; and a quarrel took place, which for some time interrupted their usually affectionate intercourse. The only home where poor erring Goldsmith still received a welcome was the parsonage of his affectionate, forgiving uncle. Here he used to talk of literature with the good, simple-hearted man, and delight him and his daughter with his verses. Jane, his early playmate, was now the woman grown ; their intercourse was of a more intellectual kind than formerly ; they discoursed of poetry and music ; she played on the harpsichord, and he accompanied her with his flute. The music may not have been very artistic, as he never performed but by ear; it had probably as much merit as the poetry, which, if we may judge by the following specimen, was as yet but juvenile : TO A YOUNG LADY ON VALENTINE'S DAY. WITH THE DRAWING OF A HEART. With submission at your shrine, Comes a heart your Valentine; From the sirle where once it grew, See it panting flies to you. Take it, fair one, to your breast, Soothe the fluttering thing to rest; Let the gentle, spotless toy, Be your sweetest, greatest joy; Every night when wrapp'd in sleep, Next your heart the conquest keep; Or if dreams your fancy move, Hear it whisper me and love; Then in pity to the swain. Who must heartless else remain, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 37 Soft as gentle dewy show'rs, Slow descend on April flow'rs; Soft as gentle riv'lets glide, Steal unnoticed to my side ; If the gem you have to spare, Take your own and place it there. If this valentine was intended for the fair Jane, and expres- sive of a tender sentiment indulged by the stripling poet, it was unavailing, as not long afterward she was married to a Mr. Lawder. We trust, however, it was but a poetical pas- sion of that transient kind which grows up in idleness and ex- hales itself in rhyme. While Oliver was thus piping and poet- izing at the parsonage, his uncle Contarine received a visit from Dean Goldsmith of Cloyne; a kind of magnate in the wide but improvident family connection, throughout which his word was law and almost gospel. This august dignitary was pleased to discover signs of talent in Oliver, and suggested that as he had attempted divinity and law without success, he should now try physic. The advice came from too important a source to be disregarded, and it was determined to send him to Edinburgh to commence his studies. The Dean having given the advice, added to it, we trust, his blessing, but no money ; that was furnished from the scantier purses of Gold- smith's brother, his sister (Mrs. Hodson) and his ever ready uncle, Contarine. It was in the autumn of 1752 that Goldsmith arrived in Edinburgh. His outset in that city came near adding to the list of his indiscretions and disasters. Having taken lodgings at haphazard, he left his trunk there, containing all his worldly effects, and sallied forth to see the town. After sauntering about the streets until a late hour, he thought of returning home, when, to his confusion, he found he had not acquainted himself with the name either of his landlady or of the street in which she lived. Fortunately, in the height of his whimsical perplexity, he met the cawdy or porter who had carried his trunk, and who now served him as a guide. He did not remain long in the lodgings in which he had put up. The hostess was too adroit at that hocus-pocus of the table which often is practised in cheap boarding-houses. No one could conjure a single joint through a greater variety of forms. A loin of mutton, according to Goldsmith's account, would serve him and two fellow-students a whole week. ' ' A brandered chop was served up one day, a fried steak another. 38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH collops with onion sauce a third, and so on until the fleshy parts were quite consumed, when finally a dish of broth was manufactured from the bones on the seventh day, and the landlady rested from her labors." Goldsmith had a good- humored mode of taking things, and for a short time amused himself with the shifts and expedients of his landlady, which struck him in a ludicrous manner ; he soon, however, fell in with fellow-students from his own country, whom he joined at more eligible quarters. He now attended medical lectures, and attached himself to an association of students called the Medical Society. He set out, as usual, with the best intentions, but, as usual, soon fell into idle, convivial, thoughtless habits. Edinburgh was in- deed a place of sore trial for one of his temperament. Con- vivial meetings were all the vogue, and the tavern was the universal rallying-place of good-fellowship. And then Gold- smith's intimacies lay chiefly among the Irish students, who were always ready for a wild freak and frolic. Among them he was a prune favorite and somewhat of a leader, from his exuberance of spirits, his vein of humor, and his talent at singing an Irish song and telling an Irish story. His usual carelessness in money matters attended him. Though his supplies from home were scanty and irregular, he never could bring himself into habits of prudence and econ- omy ; often he was stripped of all his present finances at play ; often he lavished them away in fits of unguarded charity or generosity. Sometimes among his boon companions he as- sumed a ludicrous swagger in money matters, which no one afterward was more ready than himself to laugh at. At a convivial meeting with a number of his fellow-students, he suddenly proposed to draw lots with any one present which of the two should treat the whole party to the play. The moment the proposition had bolted from his lips, his heart was in his throat. "To my great though secret joy," said he, ' ' they all declined the challenge. Had it been accepted, and had I proved the loser, a part of my wardrobe must have been pledged in order to raise the money." At another of these meetings there was an earnest dispute on the question of ghosts, some being firm believers in the pos j sibility of departed spirits returning to visit their friends and familiar haunts. One of the disputants set sail the nest day for London, but the vessel put back through stress of weather. His return was unknown except to one of the be- OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 3$ lievers in ghosts, who concerted with him a trick to be played off on the opposite party. In the evening, at a meeting of the students, the discussion was renewed; and one of the most strenuous opposers of ghosts was asked whether he considered himself proof against ocular demonstration? He persisted in his scoffing. Some solemn process of conjuration was per- formed, and the comrade supposed to he on his way to Lon- don made his appearance. The effect was fatal. The unbe- liever fainted at the sight, and ultimately went mad. We have no account of what share Goldsmith took in this transac- tion, at which he was present. The following letter to his friend Bryanton contains some of Goldsmith's impressions concerning Scotland and its inhabi- tants, and gives indications of that humor which characterized some of his later writings. " Robert Bryanton, at Ballymahon, Ireland. . " Edinburgh, September 26, 1753. "My dear Bob: How many good excuses (and you know I was ever good at an excuse) might I call up to vindicate my past shameful silence. I might tell how I wrote a long letter on my first coming hither, and seem vastly angry at my not receiving an answer ; I might allege that business (with busi- ness you know I was always pestered) had never given me time to finger a pen. But I suppress those and twenty more as plausible, and as easily invented, since they might be at- tended with a slight inconvenience of being known to be lies. Let me then speak truth. An hereditary indolence (I have it from the mother's side) has hitherto prevented my writing to you, and still prevents my writing at least twenty-five letters more, due to my friends in Ireland. No turn-spit-dog gets up into his wheel with more reluctance than I sit down to write ; yet no dog ever loved the roast meat he turns better than I do him I now address. "Yet what shall I say now I am entered? Shall I tire you with a description of this unfruitful country; where I must lead you over their hills all brown with heath, or their valleys scarcely able to feed a rabbit? Man alone seems to be the only creature who has arrived to the natural size in this poor soil. Every part of the country presents the same dismal landscape. No grove, nor brook, lend their music to cheer the stranger, or make the inhabitants forget their poverty. Yet with all these 40 OL1VKR GOLDSMITH. disadvantages to call him down to humility, a Scotchman is one of the proudest things alive. The poor have pride ever ready to relieve them. If mankind should happen to despise them, they are masters of their own admiration, and that they can plentifully bestow upon themselves. " From their pride and poverty, as I take it, results one ad- vantage this country enjoys— namely, the gentlemen here are much better bred than among us. No such character here as our fox-hunters ; and they have expressed great surprise when I informed them that some men in Ireland of one thousand pounds a year spend their whole lives in running after a hare, and drinking to be drunk. Truly if such a being, equipped in his hunting dress, came among a circle of Scotch gentry, they would behold him with the same astonishment that a country- man does King George on horseback. ■'The men here have generally high cheek bones, and are lean and swarthy, fond of action, dancing in particular. Now that I have mentioned dancing, let me say something of their balls, which are very frequent here. When a stranger enters the dancing-hall, he sees one end of the room taken up by the ladies, who sit dismally in a group by themselves ; in the other end stand their pensive partners that are to be ; but no more intercourse between the sexes than there is between two countries at war. The ladies indeed may ogle, and the gentle- men sigh; but an embargo is laid on any closer commerce. At length, to interrupt hostilities, the lady directress, or in- tendant, or what you will, pitches upon a lady and gentleman to walk a minuet ; which they perform with formality that ap- proaches to despondence. After five or six couple have thus 'walked the gauntlet, all stand up to country dances; each gentleman furnished with a partner from the aforesaid lady directress; so they dance much, say nothing, and thus con- cludes our assembly. I told a Scotch gentleman that such profound silence resembled the ancient procession of the Roman matrons in honor of Ceres; and the Scotch gentleman told me (and, faith, I believe he was right) that I was a very great pedant for my pains. "Now I am come to the ladies; and to show that I love Scotland, and everything that belongs to so charming a country, I insist on it, and will give him leave to break my head that denies it—that the Scotch ladies are ten thousand times finer and handsomer than the Irish. To be sure, now, J gee your sisters Betty and Peggy vastly surprised at my OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 41 partiality — but tell them flatly, I don't value them — or their fine skins, or eyes, or good sense, or -f— , a potato ; — for I say, and will maintain it; and as a convincing proof (I am in a great passion) of what I assert, the Scotch ladies say it them- selves. But to be less serious ; where will you find a language so prettily become a pretty mouth as the broad Scotch? And the women here speak it in its highest purity ; for instance, teach one of your young ladies at home to pronounce the ' Whoar wull I gong? ' with a becoming widening of mouth, and I'll lay my life they'll wound every hearer. " We have no such character here as a coquet, but alas ! how many envious prudes ! Some days ago I walked into my Lord Kilcoubry's (don't be surprised, my lord is but a glover),* when the Duchess of Hamilton (that fair who sacrificed her beauty to her ambition, and her inward peace to a title and gilt equi- page) passed by in her chariot ; her battered husband, or more properly the guardian of her charms, sat by her side. Straight envy began, in the shape of no less than three ladies who sat with me, to find faults in her faultless form. 'For my part,' says the first, ' I think what I always thought, that the Duch- ess has too much of the red in her complexion.' ' Madam, I am not of your opinion, ' says the second ; ' I think her face has a palish cast too much on the delicate order.' ' And let me tell you,' added the third lady, whose mouth was puckered up to the size of an issue, ' that the Duchess has fine lips, but she wants a mouth.' At this every lady drew up her mouth as if going to pronounce the letter P. "But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule women with whom I have scarcely any correspondence ! There are, 'tis certain, handsome women here ; and 'tis certain they have handsome men to keep them company. An ugly and poor man is society only for himself; and such society the world lets me enjoy in great abundance. Fortune has given you cir- cumstances, and nature a person to look charming in the eyes of the fair. Nor do I envy my dear Bob such blessings, while I may sit down and laugh at the world and at myself — the most ridiculous object in it. But you see I am grown down- right splenetic, and perhaps the fit may continue till I receive * William Maclellan, who claimed the title, and whose son succeeded in establish- ing the claim in 1773. The father is said to have voted at the election of the six- teen Peers for Scotland, and to have sold gloves in the lobby at this and other public assemblages. 42 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. an answer to this. I know 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 Binley left off drinking drams ; or Tom Allen got a new wig? But I leave you to your own choice what to write. While I live, know you have a true friend in yours, etc., etc., "Oliver Goldsmith. "P.S. Give my sincere respects (not compliments, do you mind) to your agreeable family, and give my service to my mother, if you see her ; for, as you express it in Ireland, I have a sneaking kindness for her still. Direct to me, , Student in Physic, in Edinburgh." Nothing worthy of preservation appeared from his pen dur- ing his residence in Edinburgh ; and indeed his poetical powers, highly as they had been estimated by his friends, had not as yet produced anything of superior merit. He made on one oc- casion a month's excursion to the Highlands. ' ' I set out the first day on foot," says he, in a letter to his uncle Contarine, "but an ill-natured corn I have on my toe has for the future prevented that cheap mode of travelling; so the second day I hired a horse about the size of a ram, and he walked away (trot he could not) as pensive as his master." During his residence in Scotland his convivial talents gained him at one time attentions in a high quarter, which, however, he had the good sense to appreciate correctly. ' ' I have spent, " says he, in one of his letters, "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 ser- vile an employment as unworthy my calling as a physician." Here we again find the origin of another passage in his auto-" biography, under the character of the "Man in Black," where- in that worthy figures as a flatterer to a great man. "At first," says he, "I was surprised that the situation of a flat- terer at a great man's table could be thought disagreeable; there was no great trouble in listening attentively when his lordship spoke, and laughing when he looked round for ap- plause. This, even good manners might have obliged me to perform. I found, however, too soon, his lordship was a greater dunce than myself, and from that moment flattery was at an end. I now rather aimed at setting him right, than at OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 43 receiving his absurdities with submission : to flatter those we do not know is an easy task ; but to flatter our intimate ac- quaintances, all whose foibles are strongly in our eyes, is drudgery insupportable. Every time I now opened my lips in praise, my falsehood went to my conscience ; his lordship soon perceived me to be very unfit for his service : I was therefore discharged; my patron at the same time being gra-- -ciously pleased to observe that he believed I was tolerably good-natured, and had not the least harm in me." After spending two winters at Edinburgh, Goldsmith pre- pared to finish his medical studies on the Continent, for which his uncle Contarine agreed to furnish the funds. "I intend," said he, in a letter to his uncle, "to visit Paris, where the great Farheim, Petit, and. Du Hamel de Monceau instruct their pupils in all the branches of medicine. They speak French, and consequently I shall have much the advantage of most of my countrymen, as I am perfectly acquainted with that language, and few who leave Ireland are so. I shall spend the spring and summer in Paris, and the beginning of next winter go to Leyden. The great Albinus is still alive there, and 'twill be proper to go, though only to have it said that we have studied in so f amous a university. " As 1 shall not have another opportunity of receiving money from your bounty till my return to Ireland, so I have drawn for the last sum that I hope I shall ever trouble you for; 'tis £20. And now, dear sir, let me here acknowledge 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 ow n. When you— but I stop here, to inquire how your health goes on? How does my cousin Jenny, and has she re- covered her late complaint? How does my poor Jack Gold- smith? I fear his disorder is of such a nature as he won't easily recover. I wish, my dear sir, you would make me happy by another letter before I go abroad, for there I shall hardly hear from you. . . . Give my— how shall I express it? Give my earnest love to Mr. and Mrs. Lawder." Mrs. Lawder was Jane, his early playmate— the object of his valentine— his first poetical inspiration. She had been for some time married. Medical instruction, it will be perceived, was the ostensible motive for this visit to the Continent, but the real one, in all probability, was his long-cherished desire to see foreign parts. 44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH This, however, he would not acknowledge even to himself, but sought to reconcile his roving propensities with some grand moral purpose. "I esteem the traveller who instructs the heart," says he, in one of his subsequent writings, " but despise him who only indulges the imagination. A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is only a vagabond." He, of course, was to travel as a philosopher, and in truth his outfits for a continental tour were in character. "I shall carry just £33 to France," said he, "with good store of clothes, shirts, etc., and that with economy will suffice." He forgot to make mention of his flute, which it will be found had occasionally to come in play when economy could not replenish his purse, nor philosophy find him a supper. Thus slenderly provided with money, pru- dence, or experience, and almost as slightly guarded against 4 'hard knocks" as the hero of La Mancha, whose head-piece was half iron, half -pasteboard, he made his final sally forth upon the world ; hoping all things ; believing all things : little anticipating the checkered ills in store for him ; little thinking when he penned his valedictory letter to his good uncle Conta- rine, that he was never to see him more ; never to return after all his wandering to the friend of his infancy ; never to revisit his early and fondly-remembered haunts at "sweet Lissoy" and Ballymahon. CHAPTER V. THE AGREEABLE FELLOW - PASSENGERS — RISKS FROM FRIENDS PICKED UP BY THE WAYSIDE — SKETCHES OF HOLLAND AND THE DUTCH—SHIFTS WHILE A POOR STUDENT AT LEYDEN — THE TULIP SPECULATION — THE PROVIDENT FLUTE— SOJOURN AT PARIS— SKETCH OF VOLTAIRE — TRAVELLING SHIFTS OF A PHILOSOPHIC VAGABOND. His usual indiscretion attended Goldsmith at the very outset of his foreign enterprise. He had intended to take shipping at Leith for Holland ; but on arriving at that port he found a ship about to sail for Bordeaux, with six agreeable passengers, whose acquaintance he had probably made at the inn. He was OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 45 not a man to resist a sudden impulse ; so, instead of embarking for Holland, he found himself ploughing the seas on his way to the other side of the Continent. Scarcely had the ship been two days at sea, when she was driven by stress of weather to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Here "of course" Goldsmith and his agreeable fellow-passengers found it expedient to go on shore paid "refresh themselves after the fatigues of the voyage." "Of course" they frolicked and made merry until a late hour in the evening, when, in the midst of their hilarity, the door was burst open, and a sergeant and twelve grenadiers entered with fixed bayonets, and took the whole convivial party, pri- soners. It seems that the agreeable companions with whom our greenhorn had struck up such a sudden intimacy were Scotch- men in the French service, who had been in Scotland enlisting recruits for the French army. In vain Goldsmith protested his innocence ; he was marched off with his fellow-revellers to prison, whence he with diffi- culty obtained his release at the end of a fortnight. With his customary facility, however, at palliating his misadventures, he found everything turn out for the best. His imprison- ment saved his life, for during his detention the ship proceeded on her voyage, but was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and all on board perished. Goldsmith's second embarkation was for Holland direct, and in nine days he arrived at Rotterdam, whence he proceeded, without any more deviations, to Leyden. He gives a whimsical picture, in one of his letters, of the appearance of the Holland- ers. "The modern Dutchman is quite a different creature from him of former times : he in everything imitates a French- man but hi his easy, disengaged air. He is vastly ceremonious, and is, perhaps, exactly what a Frenchman might have been in the reign of Louis XIV. Such are the better bred. But the downright Hollander is one of the oddest figures in nature. Upon a lank head of hair he wears a half-cocked narrow hat, laced with black riband; no coat, but seven waistcoats and nine pair of breeches, so that his hips reach up almost to his armpits. This Avell-clothed vegetable is now fit to see company or make love. But what a pleasing creature is the object of Ins appetite! why, she wears a large fur cap, with a deal of Flanders lace ; and for every pair of breeches he carries, she puts on two petticoats. "A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phlegmatic adini/v^ 46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. but his tobacco. You must know, sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove of coals, which, when she sits, she snugs under her petticoats, and. at this chimney dozing Strephon lights his pipe." In the same letter he contrasts Scotland and Holland. "There hills and rocks intercept every prospect; here it is ail a continued plain. There you might see a well-dressed Duchess issuing from a dirty close, and here a dirty Dutchman inhabiting a palace. The Scotch may be compared to a tulip, planted in dung ; but I can never see a Dutchman in his own house but I think of a magnificent Egyptian temple dedicated to an ox." The country itself awakened his admiration. "Nothing," said he, ' ' can equal its beauty ; wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottoes, vistas, present them- selves ; but when you enter their towns you are charmed be- yond description. No misery is to be seen here • every one is usefully employed." And again, in his noble description in "The Traveller:" " To men of other minds my fancy flies, Imbosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. Me thinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; Spreads its long arms amid the watery roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. Y/bile the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile. Sees an amphibious world before him smile; The slow canal, the yellow blossom' d vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, -^ A new creation rescued from his reign." He remained about a year at Leyden, attending the lectures of Gaubius on chemistry and Albinus on anatomy ; though his studies are said to have been miscellaneous, and directed to literature rather than science. The thirty-three pounds with which he had set out on his travels were soon consumed, and he was put to many a shift to meet his expenses until Ms pre- carious remittances should arrive. He had a good friend on these occasions in a fellow-student and countryman, named Ellis, who afterward rose to eminence as a physician. He used frequently to loan small sums to Goldsmith, which were always scrupulously paid. Ellis discovered the innate merits. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. $ of the poor awkward' student, and used to declare in after life that it was a common remark in Ley den, that in all the pecu- liarities of Goldsmith, an elevation of mind was to be noted ; a philosophical tone and manner; the feelings of a gentleman, and the language and information of a scholar. " Sometimes, va his emergencies, Goldsmith undertook to teach the English language. It is true he was ignorant of the Dutch, but he had a smattering of the French, picked up among the Irish priests at Ballymabon. He depicts his whimsical embarrassment in this respect, in his account in the Vicar of Wakefield of the philosophical vagabond who went to Holland to teach the natives English, without know- ing a word of their own language. Sometimes, when sorely pinched, and sometimes, perhaps, when flush, he resorted to the gambling tables, which in those days abounded in Holland. His good friend Ellis repeatedly warned him against this un- fortunate propensity, but in vain. It brought its own cure, or rather its own punishment, by stripping him of every shilling. Ellis once more stepped in to his relief with a true Irishman's generosity, but with more considerateness than generally char- acterizes an Irishman, for he only granted pecuniary aid on condition of his quitting the sphere of danger. Goldsmith gladly consented to leave Holland, being anxious to visit other parts. He intended to proceed to Paris and pursue his studies there, and was furnished by his friend with money for the journey. Unluckily, he rambled into the garden of a florist just before quitting Leyden. The tulip mania was still preva- lent in Holland, and some species of that splendid flower brought immense prices. In wandering through the garden Goldsmith recollected that his uncle Contarine was a tulip fancier. The thought suddenly struck him that here was an opportunity of testifying, in a delicate manner, his sense of that generous uncle's past kindnesses. In an instant his hand was in his pocket ; a number of choice and costly tulip-roots were purchased and packed up for Mr. Contarine ; and it was not until he had paid for them that he bethought himself that he had spent all the money borrowed for his travelling ex- penses. Too proud, however, to give up his journey, and too shamefaced to make another appeal to his friend's liberality, he determined to travel on foot, and depend upon chance and good luck for the means of getting forward ; and it is said that he actually set off on a tour of the Continent, in February, 1755, with but one spare shirt, a flute, and a single guinea. 4g biffin GOLDSMITH. " Blessed," says one of his biographers, "with a good consti- tution, an adventurous spirit, and with that thoughtless, or, perhaps, happy disposition which takes no care for to-morrow, he continued his travels for a long time in spite of innumerable privations." In his amusing narrative of the adventures of a "Philosophic Vagabond" in the "Vicar of Wakefield," we find shadowed out the expedients he pursued. "I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice; I now turned what was once my amusement into a present means of sub- sistence. 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 toward nightfall, I played one of my merriest tunes, and that pro- cured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day ; but in truth I must own, whenever I attempted to entertain persons of a higher rank, they always thought my perform- ance odious, and never made me any return for my endeavors to please them. " . At Paris he attended the chemical lectures of Rouelle, then in great vogue, where he says he witnessed as bright a circle of beauty as graced the court of Versailles. His love of theatricals, also, led him to attend the performances of the celebrated actress Mademoiselle Clairon, with which he was greatly delighted. He seems to have looked upon the state of society with the eye of a philosopher, but to have read the signs of the times with the prophetic eye of a poet. In his rambles about the environs of Paris he was struck with the immense quantities of game running about almost in a tame state; and saw in those costly and rigid preserves for the amusement and luxury of the privileged few a sure ' ' badge of the slavery of the people." This slavery he predicted was drawing toward a close. ' ' When I consider that these parlia- ments, the members of which are all created by the court, and the presidents of which can only act by immediate direction, presume even to mention privileges and freedom, who till of late received directions from the throne with implicit humi- lity ; 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 monarchs more successively on the throne, the mask will be laid aside, and the country will certainly once more be free." Events have testified to the sage forecast of the poet. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 49 During a brief sojourn in Paris he appear to have gained access to valuable society, and to have had the honor and pleasure of making the acquaintance of Voltaire ; of whom, in after years, he wrote a memoir. " As a companion," says he, " no man ever exceeded him when he pleased to lead the con- versation ; which, however, was not always the case. In com- pany which he either disliked or despised, few could be more reserved than he ; but when he was warmed in discourse, and got over a hesitating manner, which sometimes he was subject to, it was rapture to hear him. His meagre visage seemed insensibly to gather beauty: every muscle in it had meaning, and his eye beamed with unusual brightness. The person who writes this memoir," continues he, ''remembers to have seen him in a select company of wits of both sexes at Paris, when the subject happened to turn upon English taste and learning. Fontenelle (then nearly a hundred years old), who was of the party, and who being unacquainted with the language or au- thors of the country he undertook to condemn, with a spirit truly vulgar began to revile both. Diderot, who liked the English^ and knew something of their literary pretensions, attempted to vindicate their poetry and learning, but with unequal abilities. The company quickly perceived that Fonte- nelle was superior in the dispute, and were surprised at the silence which Voltaire had preserved all the former part of the night, particularly as the conversation happened to turn upon one of his favorite topics. Fontenelle continued his triumph until about twelve o'clock, when Voltaire appeared at last roused from his reverie. His whole frame seemed animated. He began his defence with the utmost defiance mixed with spirit, and now and then let fall the finest strokes of raillery upon his antagonist ; and his harangue lasted till three in the . morning. I must confess that, whether from national par- tiality or from the elegant sensibility of his manner, I never was so charmed, nor did I ever remember so absolute a victory as he gained in this dispute." Goldsmith's ramblings took him into Germany and Switzerland, from which last mentioned country he sent to his brother in Ireland the first brief sketch, afterward amplified into his poem of the "Traveller." At Geneva he became travelling tutor to a mongrel young gentleman, son of a London pawnbroker, who had been sud- denly elevated into fortune and absurdity by the death of an uncle. The youth, before setting up for a gentleman, had been an attorney's apprentice, and was an arrant pettifogger in 50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. money matters. Never were two beings more illy assorted than he and Goldsmith. We may form an idea of the tutor and the pupil from the following extract from the narrative of the " Philosophic Vagabond." * ' I was to be the young gentleman's governor, but with a proviso that he should always be permitted to govern himself. My pupil, in fact, understood the art of guiding in money con- cerns much better than I. He was heir to a fortune of about two hundred thousand pounds, left him by an uncle in the West Indies ; and his guardians, to qualify him for the management of it had bound him apprentice to an attorney. Thus avarice was his prevailing passion ; all his questions on the road were how money might be saved — which was the least expensive course of travel — whether anything could be bought that would turn to account when disposed of again in London. Such curiosities on the way 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 that they were not worth seeing. He never paid a bill that he would not observe how amazingly expensive travelling was ; and all this though not yet twenty-one." In this sketch Goldsmith undoubtedly shadows forth his an- noyances as travelling tutor to this concrete young gentleman, compounded of the pawnbroker, the pettifogger, and the West Indian heir, with an overlaying of the city miser. They had continual difficulties on all points of expense until they reached Marseilles, where both were glad to separate. Once more on foot, but freed from the irksome duties of "bear leader," and with some of his pay, as tutor, in his pocket, Goldsmith continued his half-vagrant peregrinations through part of France and Piedmont, and some ox the Italian States. He had acquired, as has been shown, a habit of shift- ing along and living by expedients, and a new one presented itself in Italy. "My skill in music," says he, in the Philosophic- Vagabond, ! ' could avail me nothing in a country 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 univer- sities 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 night." Though a poor wandering scholar, his reception in these OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 51 learned piles was as free from humiliation as in the cottages of the peasantry. " With the members of these establishments," said he, "I could converse on topics of literature, and then I always forgot the meanness of my circumstances." At Padua, where he remained some months, he is said to have taken his medical degree. It is probable he was brought to a pause in this city by the death of his uncle Contarine, who had hitherto assisted him in his wanderings by occasional, though, of course, slender remittances. Deprived of this source of supplies, he wrote to his friends in Ireland, and especially to his brother-in-law, Hod son, describing his destitute situation. His letters brought him neither money nor reply. It appears from subsequent correspondence that his brother-in-law actu- ally exerted himself to raise a subscription for his assistance among his relatives, friends, and acquaintance, but without success. Their faith and hope in him were most probably at an end; as yet he had disappointed them at every point, he had given none of the anticipated proofs of talent, and they were too poor to support what they may have considered the wandering propensities of a heedless spendthrift. Thus left to his own precarious resources, Goldsmith gave up all further wandering in Italy, without visiting the south, though Rome and Naples must have held out powerful attrac- tions to one of his poetical cast. Once more resuming his pil- grim staff, he turned his face toward England, " walking along from city to city, examining mankind more nearly, and seeing both sides of the picture." In traversing France his flute— his magic flute ! — was once more in requisition, as we may con- clude, by the following passage in his Traveller : " Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire! Where shading elms along the margin grew, And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew; And haply though my harsh note falt'ring still, But mocked all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill ; Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And dance forgetful of the noontide hour. Alike all ages: Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of three-score," 52 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. CHAPTER VI. LANDING IN ENGLAND— SHIFTS OP A MAN WITHOUT MONEY— THE PESTLE AND MORTAR— THEATRICALS IN A BARN— LAUNCH UPON LONDON — A CITY NIGHT SCENE — STRUGGLES WITH PENURY — MISERIES OF A TUTOR — A DOCTOR IN THE SUBURB — POOR PRAC- TICE AND SECOND-HAND FINERY— A TRAGEDY IN EMBRYO— PRO- JECT OF THE WRITTEN MOUNTAINS. After two years spent in roving about the Continent, ' ' pur- suing novelty," as he said, "and losing content," Goldsmith landed at Dover early in 1756. He appears to have had no definite plan of action. The death of his uncle Contarine, and the neglect of his relatives and friends to reply to his letters, seem to have produced in him a temporary feeling of loneli- ness and destitution, and his only thought was to get to Lon- don and throw himself upon the world. But how was he to get there? His purse was empty. England was to him as completely a foreign land as any part of the Continent, and where on earth is a penniless stranger more destitute? His flute and his philosophy were no longer of any avail ; the Eng- lish boors cared nothing for music ; there were no convents ; and as to the learned and the clergy, not one of them would give a vagrant scholar a supper and night's lodging for the best thesis that ever was argued. "You may easily imagine," says he, in a subsequent letter to his brother-in-law, "what difficulties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations, money, or impudence, and that in a country where being born an Irishman was sufficient to keep me un- employed. 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." He applied at one place, we are told, for employment in the shop of a country apothecary; but all his medical science gathered in foreign universities could not gain him the man- agement of a pestle- and mortar. He even resorted, it is said, to the stage as a temporary expedient, and figured in low com- edy at a country town in Kent. This accords with his last shift of the Philosophic Vagabond, and with the knowledge of OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 53 country theatricals displayed in his "Adventures of a Stroll- ing Player," or may be a story suggested by them. All tins part of his career, however, in which he must have trod the lowest paths of humility, are only J :o be conjectured from vague traditions, or scraps of autobiography gleaned from his miscellaneous writings. At length we find him launched on the great metropolis, or rather drifting about its streets, at night, in the gloomy month of February, with but a few half-pence in his pocket. The deserts of Arabia are not more dreary and inhospitable than the streets of London at such a time, and to a stranger in such a plight. Do we want a picture as an illustration? We have it in his own words, and furnished, doubtless, from his own experience. "The clock has just struck two; what a gloom hangs all around! no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. How few appear in those streets, which but some few hours ago were crowded! But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? They are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great even for pity. Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated with disease; the world has dis- claimed them; society turns its back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and hunger. These poor shiv- ering femades have once seen happier days, and been flattered into beauty. They are now turned out to meet the severity of winter. Perhaps now* lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to w»retches whose hearts are insensible, or debau- chees who may curse, but will not relieve them. " Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches I cannot relieve! Poor houseless creatures! The world will give you reproaches, but will not give you relief." Poor houseless Goldsmith ! we may here ejaculate— to what shifts he must have been driven to find shelter and sustenance for himself in this his first venture into London ! Many years afterward, in the days of his social elevation, he startled [ a polite circle at Sir Joshua Eeynolds's by humorously dating an anecdote about the time he " lived among the beggars of Axe Lane. " Such may have been the desolate quarters with which he was fain to content himself when thus adrift upon the town, with but a few half-pence in his pocket. '..'....' 54 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The first authentic trace we have of him in this new part of his career, is filling the situation of an usher to a school, and even this employ he obtained with some difficulty, after a ref- erence for a character to his friends in the University of Dub- lin. In the Vicar of Wakefield he makes George Primrose undergo a whimsical catechism concerning the requisites for an usher. "Have you been bred apprentice to the business?" "No." " Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair?" "No." " Then you won't do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed?" "No." " Then you will never do for a school. Have you a good stomach?" "Yes." "Then you will by no means do for a school. I have been an usher in a boarding-school myself, and may I die of an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be under-turnkey at 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." Goldsmith remained but a short time in this situation, and to the mortifications experienced there, we doubtless owe the picturings given in his writings of the hardships of an usher's life. "He is generally, " say s he, "the laughing-stock of the school. Every trick is played upon him; the oddity of his manner, his dress, or his language, is a fund of eternal ridi- cule ; the master himself now and then cannot avoid joining in the laugh; and the poor wretch, eternally resenting this ill usage, lives in a state of war with all the family." — "He is obliged, perhaps, to sleep in the same bed with the French teacher, who disturbs liim 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." His next shift was as assistant in the laboratory of a chemist near Fish Street Hill. After remaining here a few months, he heard that Dr. Sleigh, who had been his friend and fellow- student at Edinburgh, was in London. Eager to meet with a friendly face in this land of strangers, he immediately called on him; "but though it was Sunday, and it is to be supposed I was in my best clothes, Sleigh scarcely knew me— such is the tax the unfortunate pay to poverty. However, when he did recollect me, I found his heart as warm as ever, and he shared his purse and friendship with me during his continuance in London." Through the advice and assistance of Dr. Sleigh, he now commenced the practice of medicine, but in a small way, in OLIVER GOLDSMITH 55 Bankside, South wark, and chiefly among the poor; for he wanted the figure, address, polish, and management, to succeed among the rich. His old schoolmate and college companion, Beatty, who used to aid him with his purse at the university, met him about this time, decked out in the tarnished finery of a second-hand suit of green and gold, with a shirt and neck- cloth of a fortnight's wear. Poor Goldsmith endeavored to assume a prosperous air in the eyes of his early associate. "He was practising physic," he said, " and doing very well!" At this moment poverty was pinching him to the bone in spite of his practice and his dirty finery. His fees were necessarily small, and ill paid, and he was fain to seek some precarious assistance from his pen. Here his quondam fellow-student, Dr. Sleigh, was again of service, introducing him to some of the booksellers, who gave him occasional, though starveling, employment. According to tradition, however, his most efficient patron just now was a journeyman printer, one of his poor patients of Bankside, who had formed a good opinion of his talents, and perceived his poverty and his literary shifts. The printer was in the employ of Mr. Samuel Richardson, the author of Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison; who combined the novelist and the publisher, and was in flourishing circumstances. Through the journeyman's intervention Goldsmith is said to have become acquainted with Richardson, who employed him as reader and corrector of the press, at his printing establishment in Salis- bury Court ; an occupation which he alternated with his medi- cal duties. Being admitted occasionally to Richardson's parlor, he began to form literary acquaintances, among whom the most impor- tant was Dr. Young, the author of Night Thoughts, a poem in the height of fashion. It is not probable, however, that much familiarity took place at the time between the literary lion of the day and the poor iEsculapius of Bankside, the humble cor- rector of the press. Still the communion with literary men had its effect to set his imagination teeming. Dr. Farr, one of his Edinburgh fellow-students, who was at London about this time, attending the hospitals and lectures, gives us an amusing account of Goldsmith in his literary character. ' l Early in January he called upon me one morning before I was up, and, on my entering the room, I recognized my old acquaintance, dressed in a rusty, full-trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly reminded me of the 56 Oliver doLDsMifH. poet in Garrick's farce of Lethe. After we had finished our breakfast he drew from his pocket part of a tragedy, which he said had been brought for my correction. In vain I pleaded inability, when he began to read ; and every part on which I expressed a doubt as to the propriety was immediately blotted out. I then most earnestly pressed him not to trust to my judgment, but to take the opinion of persons better qualified to decide on dramatic compositions. He now told me he had submitted his productions, so far as he had written, to Mr. Eichardson, the author of Clarissa, on which I peremptorily declined offering another criticism on the performance." From the graphic description given of him by Dr. Farr, it will be perceived that the tarnished finery of green and gold had been succeeded by a professional suit of black, to which, we are told, were added the wig and cane indispensable to medical doctors in those days. The coat was a second hand one, of rusty velvet, with a patch on the left breast, which he adroitly covered with his three-cornered hat during his medical visits; and we have an amusing anecdote of his contest of courtesy with a patient who persisted in endeavoring to relieve him from the hat, which only made him press it more devoutly to his heart. Nothing further has ever been heard of the tragedy men- tioned by Dr. Farr; it was probably never completed. The same gentleman speaks of a strange Quixotic scheme which Goldsmith had in contemplation at the time, "of going to decipher the inscriptions on the written mountains, though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or the language in which they might be supposed to be written. " The salary of three hundred pounds," adds Dr. Farr, " which had been left for the purpose, was the temptation." This was probably one of many dreamy projects with which his fervid brain was apt to . teem. On such subjects he was prone to talk vaguely and magnificently, but inconsiderately, from a kindled imagination rather than a well-instructed judgment.^ He had always a great notion of expeditions to the East, and wonders to be seen and effected in the oriental countries. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 57 CHAPTER VII. LIFE OF A PEDAGOGUE — KINDNESS TO SCHOOLBOYS— PERTNESS IN RETURN — EXPENSIVE CHARITIES — THE GRIFFITHS AND THE "MONTHLY REVIEW" — TOILS OF A LITERARY HACK — RUPTURE WITH THE GRIFFITHS. Among the most cordial of Goldsmith's intimates in London during this time of precarious struggle were certain of his former fellow-students in Edinburgh. One of these was the son of a Doctor Milner, a dissenting minister, who kept a classical school of eminence at Peckham, in Surrey. Young Milner had a favorable opinion of Goldsmith's abilities and attainments, and cherished for him that good will which his genial nature seems ever to have inspired among his school and college associates. His father falling ill, the young man negotiated with Goldsmith to take temporary charge of the school. The latter readily consented ; for he was discouraged by the slow growth of medical reputation and practice, and as yet had no confidence in the coy smiles of the muse. Laying by his wig and cane, therefore, and once more wielding the ferule, he resumed the character of the pedagogue, and for some time reigned as vicegerent over the academy at Peckham. He appears to have been well treated by both Dr. Milner and his wife, and became a favorite with the scholars from his easy, indulgent good nature. He mingled in their sports, told them droll stories, played on the flute for their amusement, and spent his money in treating them to sweetmeats and other schoolboy dainties. His familiarity was sometimes carried too far; he indulged in boyish pranks and practical jokes, and drew upon himself retorts in kind, which, however, he bore with great good humor. Once, indeed, he was touched to the quick by a piece of schoolboy pertness. After playing on the flute, he spoke with enthusiasm of music, as delightful in itself, and as a valuable accomplishment for a gentleman, whereupon a youngster, with a glance at his ungainly person, wished to know if he considered himself a gentleman. Poor Goldsmith, feelingly alive to the awkwardness of his appearance and the humility of his situation, winced at this unthinking sneer, which long rankled in his mind. 58 OLIVER Q OLD SMITH. As usual, while in Dr. Milner's employ, his benevolent feel- ings were a heavy tax upon his purse, for he never could resist a tale of distress, and was apt to be fleeced by every sturdy beggar; so that, between his charity and his munifi- cence, he was generally in advance of his slender salary. ' ' You had better, Mr. Goldsmith, let me take care of your money," said Mrs. Milner one day, "as I do for some of the young gentlemen."— "In truth, madam, there is equal need!" was the good-humored reply. Dr. Milner was a man of some literary pretensions, and wrote occasionally for the Monthly Review, of which a bookseller, by the name of Griffiths, was proprietor. This work was an advocate for Whig principles, and had been in prosperous existence for nearly eight years. Of late, however, periodicals had multiplied exceedingly, and a formidable Tory rival had started up in the Critical Revieiv, published by Archibald Ham- ilton, a bookseller, and aided by the powerful and popular pen of Dr. Smollett. Griffiths was obliged to recruit his forces. While so doing he met Goldsmith, a humble occupant of a seat at Dr. Milner's table, and was struck with remarks on men and books, which fell from him in the course of conversation. He took occasion to sound him privately as to his inclination and capacity as a reviewer, and was furnished by him with speci- mens of his literary and critical talents. They proved satis- factory. The consequence was that Goldsmith once more changed his mode of life, and in April, 1757, became a contribu- tor to the Monthly Revieiv, at a small fixed salary, with board and lodging, and accordingly took up his abode with Mr. Griffiths, at the sign of the Dunciad, Paternoster Eow. As usual we trace this phase of his fortunes in his semi-fictitious writings ; his sudden transmutation of the pedagogue into the author being humorously set forth in the case of " George Prim- rose," in the "Vicar of Wakefield." "Come," says George's adviser, ' k I see you are a lad of spirit and some learning ; what do you think of commencing author like me? 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 only have mended shoes, but ne^er made them." "Finding" (says George) "that there was no great de- gree of gentility affixed to the character of an usher, I resolved OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 59 fco accept his proposal; and having the highest respect for literature, hailed the antiqua mater of Grub Street with rev- erence. I thought it my glory to pursue a track which Dryden and Otway trod before me." Alas, Dryden struggled with indigence all his days ; and Otway, it is said, fell a vic- tim to famine in his thirty-fifth year, being strangled by a roll of bread, which he devoured with the voracity of a starving* man. In Goldsmith's experience the track soon proved a thorny one. Griffiths was a hard business man, of shrewd, worldly, good sense, but little refinement or cultivation. He meddled, , or rather muddled with literature, too, in a business way, altering and modifying occasionally the writings of his con- tributors, and in this he was aided by his wife, who, according to Smollett, was ' • an antiquated female critic and a dabbler in the Review." Such was the literary vassalage to which Gold- smith had unwarily subjected himself. A diurnal drudgery was imposed on him, irksome to his indolent habits, and at- tended by circumstances humiliating to his pride. He had to write daily from nine o'clock until two, and often throughout the day; whether in the vein or not, and on subjects dictated by his taskmaster, however foreign to his taste ; in a word, he was treated as a mere literary hack. But this was not the worst ; it was the critical supervision of Griffiths and his wife which grieved him: the " illiterate, bookselling Griffiths," as Smollett called them, "who presumed to revise, alter, and amend the articles contributed to their Revieiv. Thank heaven," crowed Smollet, "the Critical Review is not written under the restraint of a bookseller and his wife. Its principal writers are independent of each other, unconnected with book- sellers, and unawed by old women !" This literary vassalage, however, did not last long. The bookseller became more and more exacting. He accused his hack writer of idleness; of abandoning his writing-desk and literary workshop at an early hour of the day ; and of assum- ing a tone and manner above his situation. Goldsmith, in return, charged him with impertinence ; his wife with mean- ness and parsimony in her household treatment of him, and both of literary meddling and marring. The engagement was broken off at the end of five months, by mutual consent, and without any violent rupture, as it will be found they afterward had occasional dealings with each other. Though Goldsmith was now nearly thirty years of age, he 60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. had produced nothing to give him a decided reputation. He was as yet a mere writer for bread. The articles he had con- tributed to the Review were anonymous, and were never avowed by him. They have since been, for the most part, ascertained ; and though thrown off hastily, often treating on subjects of temporary interest, and marred by the Griffith in- terpolations, they are still characterized by his sound, easy good sense, and the genial graces of his style; Johnson ob- served that Goldsmith's genius flowered late ; he should have said it flowered early, but was late in bringing its fruit to maturity. CHAPTER VIII. NEWBERY, OF PICTURE-BOOK MEMORY — HOW TO KEEP UP AP- PEARANCES — MISERIES OP AUTHORSHIP— A POOR RELATION- LETTER TO HODSON. Being now known in the publishing world, Goldsmith began to find casual employment in various quarters ; among others he wrote occasionally for the Literary Magazine, a production set on foot by Mr. John Newbery, bookseller, St. Paul's Churchyard, renowned in nursery literature throughout the latter half of the last century for his picture-books for children. Newbery was a worthy, intelligent, kind-hearted man, and a seasonable though cautious friend to authors, relieving them with small loans when in pecuniary difficulties, though always taking care to be well repaid by the labor of their pens. Gold- smith introduces him in a humorous yet friendly manner in his novel of the Vicar of Wakefield. ' ' This person was no other than the philanthropic bookseller in St. Paul's Church- yard, who has written so many little books for children ; he called himself their friend ; but he was the friend of all man- kind. He was no sooner alighted but he was in haste to be gone ; for he was ever on business of importance, and was at that time actually compiling materials for the history of one Mr. Thomas Trip. I immediately recollected this good-natured man's red-pimpled face." Besides his literary job work, Goldsmith also resumed his medical practice, but with very trifling success. The scanti- OLIVER GOLDSMITH. (3.1 ness of his purse still obliged him to live in obscure lodgings somewhere in. the vicinity of Salisbury Square, Fleet Street ; but his extended acquaintance and rising importance caused him to consult appearances. He adopted an expedient, then very common, and still practised in London among those who have to tread the narrow path between pride and poverty; while he burrowed in lodgings suited to his means, he "hailed," as it is termed, from the Temple Exchange Coffee-house near " Temple Bar. Here he received his medical calls; hence he. dated his letters, and here he passed much of his leisure hours, conversing with the frequenters of the place. ' ' Thirty pounds a year," said a poor Irish painter, who understood the art of shifting, " is enough to enable a man to live in London with- out being contemptible. Ten pounds will find him in clothes and linen ; he can live in a garret on eighteen pence a week ; hail from a coffee-house, where, by occasionally spending threepence, he may pass some hours each day in good com- pany ; he may breakfast on bread and milk for a penny ; dine for sixpence; do without supper; and on clean-shirt-day he may go abroad and pay visits." Goldsmith seems to have taken a leaf from this poor devil's manual in respect to the coffee-house at least. Indeed, coffee- houses in those days were the resorts of wits and literati, where the topics of the day were gossiped over, and the affairs of literature and the drama discussed and criticised. In this way he enlarged the circle of his intimacy, which now embraced several names of notoriety. Do we want a picture of Goldsmith's experience in this part of his career? we have it in his observations on the life of an author in the " Inquiry into the state of polite learning" pub- lished some years afterward. "The author, unpatronized by the great, has naturally re- course to the bookseller. There cannot, perhaps, be imagined a combination more prejudicial to taste than this. It is the in- terest of the one to allow as little for writing, and for the other to write as much as possible ; accordingly tedious compilations and periodical magazines are the result of their joint endeavors. In these circumstances the author bids adieu to fame; writes for bread; and for that only imagination is seldom called in. He sits down to address the venal muse with the most phleg- matic apathy ; and, as we are told of the Russian, courts his mistress by falling asleep in her lap." Again. "Those who are unacquainted with the world are (32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, apt to fancy the man of wit as leading a very agreeable life. They conclude, perhaps, that he is attended with silent admi- ration, and dictates to the rest of mankind with all the elo- quence of conscious superiority. Very different is his present situation. He is called an author, and all know that an author is a thing only to be laughed at. His person, not his jest, be- comes the mirth of the company. At his approach the most fat, unthinking face brightens into malicious meaning. Even aldermen laugh, and avenge on him the ridicule which was lavished on their forefathers. . . . The poet's poverty is a standing topic of contempt. His writing for bread is an un- pardonable offence. Perhaps of all mankind, an author in these times is used most hardly. We keep him poor, and yet revile his poverty. We reproach him for living by his wit, and yet allow him no other means to live. His taking refuge in garrets and cellars has of late been violently objected to him, and that by men who, I hope, are more apt to pity than insult his distress. Is poverty a careless fault? No doubt he knows how to prefer a bottle of champagne to the nectar of the neighboring ale-house, or a venison pasty to a plate of po- tatoes. Want of delicacy is not in him, but in those who deny him the opportunity of making an elegant choice. Wit cer- tainly is the property of those who have it, nor should we be displeased if it is the only property a man sometimes has. We must not underrate him who uses it for subsistence, and flees from the ingratitude of the age, even to a bookseller for re- dress." . . . " If the author be necessary among us, let us treat him with proper consideration as a child of the public, not as a rent- charge on the community. And indeed a child of the public he is in all respects ; for while so well able to direct others, hov/ incapable is he frequently found of guiding himself. His sim- plicity exposes him to all the insidious approaches of cunning ; his sensibility, to the slightest invasions of contempt. Though possessed of fortitude to stand unmoved the expected bursts of an earthquake, yet of feelings so exquisitely poignant as to agonize under the slightest disappointment. Broken rest, tasteless meals, and causeless anxieties shorten life, and render it unfit for active employments ; prolonged vigils and intense application still farther contract his span, and make his time glide insensibly away." While poor Goldsmith was thus struggling with the difficul- ties and discouragements which in those days beset the path of OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 63 an author, his friends in Ireland received accounts of his lite- rary success and of the distinguished acquaintances he was making. This was enough to put the wise heads at Lissoy and Ballymahon in a ferment of conjectures. With the exaggera- ted notions of provincial relatives concerning the family great man in the metropolis, some of Goldsmith's poor kindred pic- tured him to themselves seated in high places, clothed in purple and line linen, and hand and glove with the giver of gifts and dispensers of patronage. Accordingly, he was one day sur- prised at the sudden apparition, in his miserable lodging, of his younger brother Charles, a raw youth of twenty-one, endowed with a double share of the family heedlessness, and who ex- pected to be forthwith helped into some snug by-path to for- tune by one or other of Oliver's great friends. Charles was sadly disconcerted on learning that, so far from being able to provide for others, his brother could scarcely take care of him- self. He looked round with a rueful eye on the poet's quarters, and could not help expressing his surprise and disappointment at finding him no better off. "All in good time, my dear boy," replied poor Goldsmith, with infinite good-humor; "I shall be richer by and by. Addison, let me tell you, wrote his poem of the ' Campaign ' in a garret in the Haymarket, three stories high, and you see I am not come to that yet, for I have only got to the second story." Charles Goldsmith did not remain long to embarrass his bro- ther in London. With the same roving disposition and incon- siderate temper of Oliver, he suddenly departed in an humble capacity to seek his fortune in the West Indies, and nothing was heard of him for above thirty years, when, after having been given up as dead by his friends, he made Ms reappearance in England. Shortly after his departure, Goldsmith wrote a letter to his brother-in-law, Daniel Hodson, Esq. , of which the following is an extract ; it was partly intended, no doubt, to dissipate any further illusions concerning his fortunes which might float on the magnificent imagination of his friends in Ballymahon. "I suppose you desire to know my present situation. As these is nothing in it at which I should blush, or which man- kind 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 ^ptes of the muses than poverty ; but || were well if they only left us at the door, The mischief 64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. is they sometimes choose to give us their company to the entertainment; and want, instead of being gentleman-usher, often turns master of the ceremonies. "Thus, upon learning 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 tliink proper to undeceive my friends. But, whether I eat or starve, live in a first floor or four pairs of stairs high, I still remember them with ardor ; nay, my very country comes in for a share of my affection. Un- accountable fondness for country, this maladie du pais, as the French call it! Unaccountable that he should still have an affection for a place, who never, when in it, received above common civility ; who never brought anything out of it except his brogue and his blunders. Surely my affection is equally ridiculous with the Scotchman's, who refused to be cured of the itch because it made him unco' thoughtful of his wife and bonny Inverary. ' ' But now, to be serious : let me ask myself 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 conversa- tion there is generally made up of a smutty toast or a bawdy song ; t2ie vivacity supported by some humble cousin, who had just folly enough to earn his dinner. Then, perhaps, there is more wit and learning among the Irish? Oh, Lord, no! There has been more money spent in the encouragement of the Pada- reen mare there one season, than given in rewards to learned men since the time 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. Why .the plague, then, so fond of Ireland? Then, all at once, be- cause you, my dear friend, and a few more who are exceptions to the general picture, have a residence there. This it is that gives me all the pangs I feel in separation. I confess I carry this spirit sometimes to the souring the pleasures I at present possess. Is I go to the opera, where Signora Columba pours out all the mazes of melody, I sit and sigh for Lissoy fireside, and Johnny Armstrong's ' Last Good-night ' from Peggy Gol- den. If I climb Hampstead Hill, than where natoire never ex- hibited a more magnificent prospect, I confess it fine ; but then I had rather be placed on the little mount before Lissoy 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, J OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 65 fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I find it was the ra- pidity of my own motion that gave an imaginary one to ob- jects 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 of you is, that you sally out in visits among the neighbors, and sometimes make a mi- gration from the blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish that y®u and she (Mrs. Hodson) and Lissoy and Ballymahon, and all of you, would fairly make a migration into Middlesex ; though, upon second thoughts, this might be attended with a few inconveniences. Therefore, as the moun- tain will not come to Mohammed, why Mohammed shall go to the mountain ; or, to speak plain English, as you cannot con- veniently pay me a visit, if next summer I can contrive to be absent six weeks from London, I shall spend three of them among my friends in Ireland. But first, believe me, my de- sign is purely to visit, and neitlaer to cut a figure nor levy con- tributions ; neither to excite envy nor solicit favor ; in fact, my circumstances are adapted to neither. I am too poor to be gazed at, and too rich to need assistance. " CHAPTER IX. HACKNEY AUTHORSHIP— THOUGHTS OF LITERARY SUICIDE— RE- TURN TO PECKHAM — ORIENTAL PROJECTS — LITERARY ENTER- PRISE TO RAISE FUNDS— LETTER TO EDWARD WELLS— TO ROBERT BRYANT0N— DEATH OF UNCLE CONTARINE — LETTER TO COUSIN JANE. For some time Goldsmith continued to write miscellaneously for reviews and other periodical publications, but without mak- ing any decided hit, to use a technical term. Indeed, as yet he appeared destitute of the strong excitement of literary ambi- tion, and wrote only on the spur of necessity and at the urgent importunity of his bookseller. His indolent and truant dispo- sition, ever averse from labor and delighting in holiday, had to be scourged up to its task ; still it was this very truant dis- position which threw an unconscious charm over everything he wrote; bringing with it honeyed thoughts and pictured images which had sprung up in his mind in the sunny hours of 66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. idleness : these effusions, dashed off on compulsion in the exi- gency of the moment, were published anonymously; so that they made no collective impression on the public, and reflected no fame on the name of their author. In an essay published some time subsequently in the Bee, Goldsmith adverts, in his own humorous way, to his impatience at the tardiness with which his desultory and unacknowledged essays crept into notice. "I was once induced," says he, " to show my indignation against the pub- lic by discontinuing my efforts to please; and was bravely resolved, like Ealeigh, to vex them by burning my manu- scripts in a passion. Upon reflection, however, I considered what set or body of people would be displeased at my rashness. 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 mourn- ing or the Muses in a fit of the spleen ; instead of having the learned world apostrophizing at my untimely decease; per- haps all Grub Street might laugh at my fate, and self -approv- ing dignity be unable to shield me from ridicule." Circumstances occurred about this time to give a new direc- tion to Goldsmith's hopes and schemes. Having resumed for a brief period the superintendence of the Peckham school during a fit of illness of Dr. Milner, that gentleman, in requital for his timely services, promised to use his influence with a friend, an East India director, to procure him a medical appointment in India. There was every reason to believe that the influence of Dr. Mikier would be effectual ■ but how was Goldsmith to find the ways and means of fitting himself out for a voyage to the Indies? In this emergency he was driven to a more extended exercise of the pen than he had yet attempted. His skirmish- ing among books as a reviewer, and his disputatious ramble among the schools and universities and literati of the Con- tinent, had filled his mind with facts and observations which he now set about digesting into a treatise of some magnitude, to be entitled, " An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe." As the work grew on his hands his sanguine temper ran ahead of his labors. Feeling secure of success in England, he was anxious to forestall the piracy of the Irish press ; for as yet, the union not having taken place, the English law of copyright did not extend to the other side OLIVER GOLDSMITK 67 of the Irish Channel. He wrote, therefore, to his friends in Ireland, urging them to circulate his proposals for his contem- plated work, and obtain subscriptions payable in advance; the money to be transmitted to a Mr. Bradley, an eminent bookseller in Dublin, who would give a receipt for it and be accountable for the delivery of the books. The letters written by him on this occasion are worthy of copious citation as being full of character and interest. One was to his relative and college intimate, Edward Wells, who had studied for the bar, but was now living at ease on his estate on Ros- common. "You have quitted," writes Goldsmith, "the plan of life which you once intended to pursue, and given up ambition for domestic tranquillity. I cannot avoid feeling some regret that one of my few friends has declined a pursuit in which he had every reason to expect success. I have often let my fancy loose when you were the subject, and have imagined you gracing the bench, or thundering at the bar; while I have taken no small pride to myself, and whispered to all that I could come near, that this was my cousin. Instead of this, it seems, that you are merely contented to be a happy man; to be esteemed by your acquaintances; to cultivate your paternal acres ; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own hawthorns or in Mrs. Wells's bedchamber, which even a poet must confess is rather the more comfortable place of the two. But, however your resolutions may be altered with regard to your situation in life, I persuade myself they are unalterable with respect to your friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so susceptible of friendship) as not to have left a corner there for a friend or two, but I flatter myself that even I have a 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 a right by the most equitable law of nature; I mean that of retaliation ; for indeed you have more than your share in mine. I am a man of few professions ; and yet at this very instant I cannot avoid the painful apprehension that my present professions (which speak not half my feelings) should be considered only as 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 you know me too proud to stoop to unnecessary 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 pub- 68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. lish a book in London," etc. The residue of the letter specifies the nature of the request, which was merely to aid in circulat- ing his proposals and obtaining subscriptions. The letter of the poor author, however, was unattended to and unac- knowledged by the prosperous Mr. Wells, of Roscommon, though in after years he was proud to claim relationship to Dr. Goldsmith, when he had risen to celebrity. Another of Goldsmith's letters was to Robert Bryanton, with whom he had long ceased to be in correspondence. "I believe," writes he, " that they who are drunk, or out of their wits, fancy everybody else in the same condition. Mine is a friendship that neither distance nor time can efface, which is probably the reason that, for the soul of me, I can't avoid thinking yours of the same cemplexion ; and yet I have many reasons for being of a contrary opinion, else why, in so long an absence, was I never made a partner in your concerns? To hear of your success 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 pros- pects 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 disappointed your neglect by frequently thinking of you. Every day or so I remember the calm anecdotes of your life, from the fireside to the easy chair; recall the first 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 was once 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 fast, are insensible of the motion. I seem to have been tied to the cir- cumference, and whirled disagreeably round, as if on a whirli- gig." He then runs into a whimsical and extravagant tirade about his future prospects, the wonderful career of fame and for- tune that awaits him ; and after indulging in all kinds of humor- ous gasconades, concludes: "Let me, then, stop my fancy to take a view of my future self — and, as the boys say, light down %o see myself on horseback. Well, now that I am down, where OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 69 the d — 1 is 1% Oh gods! gods! here in a garret, writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk score !" He would, on this occasion, have doubtless written to his uncle Contarine, but that generous friend was sunk into a helpless hopeless state from which death soon released him. Cut off thus from the kind co-operation of his uncle, he ad- dresses a letter to his cousin Jane, the companion of his school-boy and happy days, now the wife of Mr. Lawder. The object was to secure her interest with her husband in promoting the circulation of his proposals. The letter is full of character. ; ' If you should ask," he begins, "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 f orgetful- ness? Whether I was right in my conjecture I do not pretend to determine ; but this I must ingenuously own, that I have a thousand times in my turn endeavored to forget them, whom I could not but look upon as forgetting trie. 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 correspondence ; but, as every effort the restless make to procure sleep serves but to keep them 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 I discontinued writing to Kilmore, in such cir- cumstances that all my endeavors to continue your regards 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 consid- ered as the result of disinterested esteem, might be ascribed to venal insincerity. I believe, indeed, you had too much gener- osity 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 invasion, and the strongest jealousy is ever attendant on the warmest regard. I could not — I own I could not— continue a correspondence in which every acknowledgment for past favors might be consid- ered as an indirect request for future ones ; and where it might 70 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. be thought I gave my heart from a motive of gratitude alone, when I was conscious pf having bestowed it on much more dis- interested principles, fit 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 actu- ated by different principles from the rest of mankind: and while none regarded the interest of his friend more, no man on earth regarded kis 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 pre- tended disregard 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 among the grinning tribe, who say 1 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 reckon- ing the money in your pocket than the virtue in your breast. All this, I say, I have done, and a thousand other very silly, though very disinterested, things in my time, and for all which no soul cares a farthing about me. . . . Is it to be wondered that he should once in his lif e forget you,- who has been all his life forgetting himself?) However, it is probable you may one of these days see me turned into a perfect hunks, and as dark and intricate as a mouse-hole. I have already given my land- lady 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 will 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. Look sharp : Mind the main chance : Money is money now : If you have a thousand pounds you can 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 ivill he a hundred no longer. Thus, which 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 with looking-glass to correct the defects of his per- son, my apartment shall be furnished in a peculiar manner, to correct the errors of my mind. Faith 1 madam, I heartily wish OLIVER GOLDSMITH. VI to be rich, if it were only for this reason, to say without a blush how much I esteem you. But, alas! I have many a fatigue to encounter before that happy time comes, when your poor old simple friend may again give a loose to the luxuriance of his nature ; sitting by Kilmore fireside, recount the various adventures of a hard-fought 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 be- fore him. And now I mention those great names — my uncle ! he is no more that soul of fire as when I once knew him. New- ton and Swift grew dim with age as well as he. But what shall I say? His mind was too active an inhabitant 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 in- dulgent 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 en- titled 'The Present State of Taste and Literature in Europe.' The booksellers in Ireland republish every performance there without making the author any consideration. I would, in this respect, disappoint their avarice and have all the profits of my labor to myself. 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 Dame Street, directions to send to him. If, in pursuance of such circulation, he should receive any subscriptions, I entreat, when collected, they may be sent to Mr. Bradley, as aforesaid, who will give a receipt, and be accountable for the work, or a return of the subscription. If ^this request (which, if it be com- plied with, will in some measure be an encouragement to a man of learning) should be disagreeable or troublesome, I would not press it ; for I would be the last man on earth to have my labors go a-begging; but if I know Mr. Lawder (and sure I ought to know him), he will accept the employment with pleas- ure. All I can say — if he writes a book, I will get him two hundred subscribers, and those of the best wits in Europe. Whether this request is complied with or not, I shall not be uneasy ; but there is one petition I must make to him and to you, which I solicit with the warmest ardor, and in which I cannot bear a refusal. I mean, dear madam, that I may be allowed to subscribe myself, your ever affectionate and obliged 72 OLIVEH GOLDSMITH, kinsman, Oliver Goldsmith. Now see how I blot and blun- der, when I am asking a favor." CHAPTER X. ORIENTAL APPOINTMENT— AND DISAPPOINTMENT— EXAMINATION AT THE COLLEGE OF SURGEONS— HOW TO PROCURE A SUIT OF CLOTHES— FRESH DISAPPOINTMENT — A TALE OF DISTRESS — THE SUIT OF CLOTHES IN PAWN — PUNISHMENT FOR DOING AN ACT OF CHARITY — GAYETIES OF GREEN ARBOR COURT — LETTER TO HIS BROTHER — LIFE OF VOLTAIRE — SCROGG1N, AN ATTEMPT AT MOCK-HEROIC POETRY. While Goldsmith was yet laboring at his treatise, the pro- mise made him by Dr. Milner was carried into effect, and he was actually appointed physician and surgeon to one of the factories on the coast of Coromandel. His imagination was immediately on fire with visions of Oriental wealth and mag- nificence. It is true the salary did not exceed one hundred pounds, but then, as appointed physician, he would have the exclusive practice of the place, amounting to one thousand pounds per annum ; with advantages to be derived from trade, and from the high interest of money — twenty per cent ; in a word, for once in his life, the road to fortune lay broad and straight before him. Hitherto, in his correspondence with his friends, he had said ♦nothing of his India scheme ; but now he imparted to them his brilliant prospects, urging the importance of their circulating his proposals and obtaining him subscriptions and advances on his forthcoming work, to furnish funds for his outfit. In the mean time he had to task that poor drudge, his muse, for present exigencies. Ten pounds were demanded for his appointment-warrant. Other expenses pressed hard upon him. Fortunately, though as yet unknown to fame, his literary capability was known to "the trade," and the coinage of his brain passed current in Grub Street. Archibald Hamil- ton, proprietor of the Critical Review, the rival to that of Grif- fiths, readily made him a small advance on receiving three articles for his periodical. His purse thus slenderly replen- ished, Goldsmith paid for his warrant ; wiped off the score of OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 73 his milkmaid ; abandoned his garret, and moved into a shabby first floor in a forlorn court near the Old Bailey ; there to await the time for bis migration to the magnificent coast of Coro- mandel. Alas! poor Goldsmith! ever doomed to disappointment. Early in the gloomy month of November, that month of fog and despondency in London, he learned the shipwreck of his hope. The great Coromandel enterprise fell through ; or rather the post promised to him was transferred to some other candi- date. The cause of this disappointment it is now impossible to ascertain. The death of his quasi patron, Dr. Milner, which happened about this time, may have had some effect in pro- ducing it; or there may have been some heedlessness and blundering on his own part; or some obstacle arising from his insuperable indigence; whatever may have been the cause, he never mentioned it, which gives some ground to surmise that he himself was to blame. His friends learned with surprise that he had suddenly relinquished his appoint- ment to India about which he had raised such sanguine expec- tations; some accused him of fickleness and caprice; others supposed him unwilling to tear himself from the growing fasci- nations of the literary society of London. In the mean time, cut down in his hopes, and humiliated in his pride by the failure of his Coromandel scheme, he sought, without consulting his friends, to be examined at the College of Physicians for the humble situation of hospital mate. Even here poverty stood in his way. It was necessary to appear in a decent garb before the examining committee ; but how was he to do so? He was literally out at elbows as well as out of cash. Here again the muse, so often jilted and neglected by him, came to his aid. In consideration of four articles fur- nished to the Monthly Review, Griffiths, his old taskmaster, was to become his security to the tailor for a suit of clothes. Goldsmith said he wanted them but for a single occasion, on which depended his appointment to a situation in the army; as soon as that temporary purpose was served they would either be returned or paid for. The books to be reviewed were ac- cordingly lent to him ; the muse was again set to her compul- sory drudgery; the articles were scribbled off and sent to the bookseller, and the clothes came in due time from the tailor. From the records of the College of Surgeons, it appears that Goldsmith underwent his examination at Surgeons' Hall on the 21st of December, 1758, ^4 OLIVER GOLDSMim. Either from a confusion of mind incident to sensitive and imaginative persons on such occasions, or from a real want of surgical science, which last is. extremely probable, he failed in his examination, and was rejected as unqualified. The effect of such a rejection was to disqualify him for every branch of public service, though he might have claimed a re-examina- tion, after the interval of a few months devoted to further study. Such a re-examination he never attempted, nor did he ever communicate his discomfiture to any of his friends. On Christmas day, but four days after his rejection by the College of Surgeons, while he was suffering under the mortifi- cation of defeat and disappointment, and hard pressed for means of subsistence, he was surprised by the entrance into his room of the poor woman of whom he hired his wretched apart- ment, and to whom he owed some small arrears of rent. She had a piteous tale of distress, and was clamorous in her afflic- tions. Her husband had been arrested in the night for debt, and thrown into prison. This was too much for the quick feelings of Goldsmith; he was ready at any time to help the distressed, but in this instance he was himself in some measure a cause of the distress. What was to be done? He had no money, it is true ; but there hung the new suit of clothes in which he had stood his unlucky examination at Surgeons' Hall. Without giving himself time for reflection, he sent it off to the pawnbroker's, and raised thereon a. sufficient sum to pay off his own debt, and to release his landlord from prison. Under the same pressure of penury and despondency, he borrowed from a neighbor a pittance to relieve his immediate wants, leaving as a security the books which he had recently reviewed. In the midst of these straits and harassments, he re- ceived a letter from Griffiths demanding in peremptory terms the return of the clothes and books, or immediate payment for the same. It appears that he had discovered the identical suit at the pawnbroker's. The reply of Goldsmith is not known; it was out of his power to furnish either the clothes or the money ; but he probably offered once more to make the muse stand his bail. His reply only increased the ire of the wealthy man of trade, and drew from him another letter still more harsh than the first, using the epithets of knave and sharper, and containing threats of prosecution and a prison. The following letter from poor Goldsmith gives the most touch- ing picture of an inconsiderate but sensitive man, harassed by care, stung by humiliations, and driven almost to despondency. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. % a $iR: I know of no misery but a jail to which my own im- prudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen it inevi- table these three or four weeks, and, by heavens ! request it as a favor— as a favor that may prevent something more fatal. I have been some years struggling with a wretched being— with all that contempt that indigence brings with it— with all those passions which make contempt insupportable. What, then,- -has a jail that is formidable? I shall at least have the society r of wretches, and such is to me true society. " I tell you, again and again, that I am neither able nor willing to pay you a farthing, but I will be punctual to any appointment you or the tailor shall make ; thus far, at least, I do not act the sharper, since, unable to pay my own debts one way, I would generally give some security another. No, sir; had I been a sharper- had I been possessed of less good-nature and native generosity, I might surely now have been in better circumstances. " I am guilty, I own, of meannesses which poverty unavoid- ably brings with it ; my reflections are filled with repentance for my imprudence, but not with any remorse for being a vil- lain ; that may be a character you unjustly charge me with. Your books, I can assure you, are neither pawned nor sold, but in the custody of a friend, from whom my necessities obliged me to borrow some money ; whatever becomes Rue Jacob, Fauxbourg St. Germains." ) A word of comment on this letter: Travelling is, indeed, a very different thing with Goldsmith the poor student at twenty, and Goldsmith the poet and pro- fessor at forty. At twenty, though obliged to trudge on foot from town to town, and country to country, paying for a supper and a bed by a tune on the flute, everything pleased, every- thing was good ; a truckle bed in a garret was a couch of down, and the homely fare of the peasant a feast fit for an epicure. Now, at forty, when he posts through the country in a carriage, with fair ladies by his side, everything goes wrong: he has to quarrel with postilions, he is cheated by landladies, the hotels are barns, the meat is too tough to be eaten, and he is half poisoned by green peas ! A line in his letter explains the secret : "the ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have yet seen." "One of our chief amusements is scolding at every, thing we meet with, and praising everything and every person 1<*Q OLIVER GOLDSMITH. we have left at home !" the true English travelling amusement. Poor Goldsmith! he has "all his confirmed habits about him;" that is to say, he has recently risen into high life, and acquired high-bred notions ; he must be fastidious like his fellow-travel- lers ; he dare not be pleased with what pleased the vulgar tastes of his youth. He is unconsciously illustrating the trait so humorously satirized by him in Ned Tibbs, the shabby beau, who can find "no such dressing as he had at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's;" whose very senses have grown genteel, and who no longer "smacks at wretched wine or praises detestable custard." A lurking thorn, too, is worrying him throughout this tour; he has "outrun the constable;" that is to say, his expenses have outrun his means, and he will have to make up for this butterfly flight by toiling like a grub on his return. Another circumstance contributes to mar the pleasure he had promised himself in this excursion. At Paris the party is unexpectedly joined by a Mr. Hickey , a bustling attorney, who is well acquainted with that metropolis and its environs, and insists on playing the cicerone on all occasions. He and Goldsmith do not relish eac\h other, and they have several petty altercations. The lawyer is too much a man of business and method for the careless poet, and is disposed to manage everything. He has perceived Goldsmith's whimsical pecu- liarities without properly appreciating his merits, and is prone to indulge in broad bantering and raillery at his expense, par- ticularly irksome if indulged in presence of the ladies. He makes himself merry on his return to England, by giving the following anecdote as illustrative of Goldsmith's vanity: "Being with a party at Versailles, viewing the waterworks, a question arose among the gentlemen present, whether the distance from whence they stood to one of the little islands was within the compass of a leap. Goldsmith maintained the affirmative; but, being bantered on the subject, and remem- bering his former prowess as a youth, attempted the leap, but, falling short, descended into the water, to the great amuse- ment of the company." Was the Jessamy Bride a witness of this unlucky exploit? This same Hickey is the one of whom Goldsmith, some time subsequently, gave a good-humored sketch, in his poem of "TheEetaliation." " Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, And slander itself must allow him good nature j OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 177 He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser; I answer No, no, for he always was wiser; Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat, His very worst foe can't accuse him of that; Perhaps he confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, no ! Then what was his failing? Come, tell it, and burn ye- He was, could he help it? a special attorney." One of the few remarks extant made by Goldsmith during his tour is the following, of whimsical import, in his "Ani- mated Nature." ''In going through the towns of France, some time since, I could not help observing how much plainer their parrots spoke than ours, and how very distinctly I understood their parrots speak French, when I could not understand our own, though they spoke my native language. I at first ascribed it to the different qualities of the two languages, and was for entering into an elaborate discussion on the vowels and consonants; but a friend that was with me solved the difficulty at once, by as- suring me that the French women scarce did anything else the whole day than sit and instruct their feathered pupils; and that the birds were thus distinct in their lessons in «omsequence of continual schooling." His tour does not seem to have left in his memory the most fragrant recollections ; for, being asked, after his return, whether travelling on the Continent repaid "an Englishman for the privations and annoyances attendant on it," he replied, ' ' I recommend it by all means to the sick if they are without the sense of smelling, and to the poor if they are without the sense of feeling ; and to both if they can discharge from their minds all idea of what in England we term comfort." It is needless to say that the universal improvement in the art of living on the Continent has at the present day taken away the force of Goldsmith's reply, though even at the time it was more humorous than correct, 3/7£5 ujjxyjzM ituLuusMiin. CHAPTER XXX. DEATH OF GOLDSMITH'S MOTHER — BIOGRAPHY OP PARNELL— AGREEMENT WITH DAVIES FOR THE HISTORY OF ROME— LIFE )F BOLINGBROKE— THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. On his return to England, Goldsmith received the melan- choly tidings of the death of his mother. Notwithstanding the fame as an author to which he had attained, she seems to have been disappointed in her early expectations from him. Like others of his family, she had been more vexed by his early follies than pleased by his proofs of genius ; and in sub- sequent years, when he had risen to fame and to intercourse with the great, had been annoyed at the ignorance of the world and want of management, which prevented him from pushing his fortune. He had always, however, been an affec- tionate son, and in the latter years of her life, when she had become blind, contributed from his precarious resources to pre- vent her from feeling want. He now resumed the labors of the pen, which his recent ex- cursion to Paris rendered doubly necessary. We should have mentioned a " Life of Parnell," published by him shortly after the " Deserted Village." It was, as usual, a piece of job work, hastily got up for pocket-money. Johnson spoke slightingly of it, and the author, himself, tkought proper to apologize for its meagreness ;~ yet, in so doing, used a simile, whicti for beauty of imagery and felicity of language, is enough of itself to stamp a value upon the essay. "Such," says he, "is the very unpoetical detail of the life of a poet. Some dates and some few facts, scarcely more in- teresting than those that make the ornaments of a country tombstone, are all that remain of one whose labors now begin to excite universal curiosity. A poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently great to attract much attention; his real merits are known but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. When his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to investigate the peculiarities of his disposition; the dews of morning are past, and ive vainly try to continue the chase by the meridian splendor." : .He.now entered^ into an; agreement with Davies to. .prepare an abridgment, in one volume- duodecimo, of his History: of -Rome- but first- to- write- a work for which there was a more OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 179 immediate demand. Davies was about to republish Lord Bolingbroke's "Dissertation on Parties," which he conceived would be exceedingly applicable to the affairs of the day, and make a probable hit during the existing state of violent poli- tical excitement ; to give it still greater effect and currency he engaged Goldsmith to introduce it with a prefatory life of Lord Bolingbroke. About this time Goldsmith's friend and countryman Lord Clare, was in great affliction, caused by the death of his only son, Colonel Nugent, and stood in need of the sympathies of a kind-hearted friend. At his request, therefore, Goldsmith paid him a visit at his noble seat of Gosfield, taking his tasks with him. Davies was in a worry lest Gosfield Park should prove a Capua to the poet, and the time be lost. "Dr. Gold- smith," writes he to a friend, "has gone with Lord Clare into the country, and I am plagued to get the • proofs from him of the Life of Lord Bolingbroke." The proofs, however, were furnished in time for the publication of the work in December. The Biography, though written during a time of political turmoil, and introducing a work intended to be thrown into the arena of politics, maintained that freedom from party pre- judice observable in all the writings of Goldsmith. It was a selection of facts drawn from many unreadable sources, and arranged into a clear, flowing narrative, illustrative of the career and character of one who, as he intimates, "seemed formed by nature to take delight in struggling with opposi- tion ; whose most agreeable hours were passed in storms of his own creating ; whose lif e was spent in a continual conflict of politics, and as if that was too short for the combat, has left his memory as a subject of lasting contention." The sum received by the author for this memoir, is supposed, from circumstances, to have been forty pounds. Goldsmith did not find the residence among the great unat- tended with mortifications. He had now become accustomed to be regarded in London as a literary lion, and was annoyed, at what he considered a slight, on the part of Lord Camden. He complained of it on his return to town at a party of his friends. "I met him," said he, "at Lord Clare's house in the country ; and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man." "The company," says Boswell, " laughed heartily at this piece of 'diverting simplicity.'" And fore- most among the laughers was doubtless the rattle-pated Bos- well. Johnson, however, stepped forward, as usual, to defend 180 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. the poet, whom he would allow no one to assail but himself ; perhaps in the present instance he thought the dignity of literature itself involved in the question. " Nay, gentlemen," roared he, "Dr. 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." After Goldsmith's return to town he received from Lord Clare a present of game, which he has celebrated and perpetu- ated in his amusing verses entitled the " Haunch of Venison." Some of the lines pleasantly set forth the embarrassment caused by the appearance of such an aristocratic delicacy in the humble kitchen of a poet, accustomed to look up to mutton as a treat : " 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 fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ; Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting, To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thought 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 so-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 was fry'd in, ****** But hang it— to poets, who seldom can eat, % , \ Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt; IVs like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.''' We have an amusing anecdote of one of Goldsmith's blun- ders which took place on a subsequent visit to Lord Clare's, when that nobleman was residing in Bath. Lord Clare and the Duke of Northumberland had houses next to each other, of similar architecture. Eeturning home one morning from an early walk, Goldsmith, in one of his fre- quent fits of absence, mistook the house, and walked up into the duke's dining-room, where he and the duchess were about to sit down to breakfast. Goldsmith, still supposing himself in the house of Lord Clare, and that they were visitors, made them an easy salutation, being acquainted with them, and threw himself on a sofa in the lounging manner of a man per- fectly at home. The duke and duchess soon perceived his mistake, and, while they smiled internally, endeavored, with the eonsiderateness of well-bred people, to prevent any awk- ward embarrassment. They accordingly chatted sociably with OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 181 him about matters in Bath, until, breakfast being served^ they invited him to partake. The truth at once flashed upon poor heedless Goldsmith ; he started up from his free-and-easy posi- tion, made a confused apology for his blunder, and would have retired perfectly disconcerted, had not the duke and duchess treated the whole as a lucky occurrence to throw him in their way, and exacted a promise from him to dine with them. This may be hung up as a companion-piece to his blunder on his first visit to Northumberland House. CHAPTER XXXI. DINNER AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY — THE ROWLEY CONTROVERSY — HORACE WALPOLE'S CONDUCT TO CHATTERTON— JOHNSON AT REDCLIFFE CHURCH — GOLDSMITH'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND — DAVIES'S CRITICISM — LETTER TO BEN.NET LANGTON. On St. George's day of this year (1771), the first annual ban- quet of the Royal Academy was held in the exhibition room ; the walls of which were covered with works of art, about to be submitted to public inspection. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who first suggested this elegant festival, presided in his official character; Drs. Johnson and Goldsmith, of course, were present, as pro- fessors of the academy ; and beside the academicians, there was a large number of the most distinguished men of the day as guests . Goldsmith on this occasion drew on himself the atten- tion of the company by launching out with enthusiasm on the poems recently given to the world by Chatterton as the works of an ancient author by the name of Rowley, discovered in the tower of Redcliffe Church, at Bristol. Goldsmith spoke of them with rapture, as a treasure of old English poetry. This imme- diately raised the question of their authenticity; they having been pronounced a forgery of Chatterton's. Goldsmith was warm for their being genuine. When he considered, he said, the merit of the poetry; the acquaintance with life and the human heart displayed in them, the antique quaintness of the language and the familiar knowledge of historical events of their supposed day, he could not believe it possible they could be the work of a boy of sixteen, of narrow education, and con- fined to the duties of an attorney's office. They must -be the productions of Rowley. 182 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Johnson, who was a stout unbeliever in Kowley, as he had been in Ossian, rolled in his chair and laughed at the enthusi- asm of Goldsmith. Horace Walpole, who sat near by, joined in the laugh and jeer as soon as he found that the, u trouvaille " as he called it, "of his friend Chatterton" was in question. This matter, which had excited the simple admiration of Gold- smith, was no novelty to him, he said. "He might, had he pleased, have had the honor of ushering the great discovery to . the learned world." And so he might, had he followed his first impulse in the matter, for he himself had been an original be- liever ; had pronounced some specimen verses sent to him by Chatterton wonderful for their harmony and spirit; and had been ready to print them and publish them to the world with his sanction. When he found, however, that his unknown cor- respondent was a mere boy, humble in sphere and indigent in circumstances, and when Gray and Mason pronounced the poems forgeries, he had changed his whole conduct toward the unfortunate author, and by his neglect and coldness had dashed all his sanguine hopes to the ground. Exulting in his superior discernment, this cold-hearted man of society now went on to divert himself, as he says, with the credulity of Goldsmith, whom he was accustomed to pronounce "an inspired idiot;" but his mirth was soon dashed, for on ask. ing the poet what had become of this Chatterton, he was an- swered, doubtless in the feeling tone of one who had experi- enced the pangs of despondent genius, that "he had been to London and had destroyed himself." The reply struck a pang of self-reproach even to the cold heart of Walpole ; a faint blush may have visited his cheek at his recent levity. "The persons of honor and veracity who were present," said he in after years, when he found it neces- sary to exculpate himself from the charge of heartless neg- lect of genius, "will attest with what surprise and concern I thus first heard of his death." Well might he feel concern. His cold neglect had doubtless contributed to madden the spirit of that youthful genius, and hurry him toward his untimely end; nor have all the excuses and palliations of Walpole's friends and admirers been ever able entirely to clear this stigma from his fame. But what was there in the enthusiasm and credulity of hon- est Goldsmith in this matter, to subject him to the laugh of Johnson or the raillery of Walpole? Granting the poems were not ancient, were they not good? Granting they were not the OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 183 productions of Rowley, were they the less admirable for being the productions of Chatterton? Johnson himself testified to their merits and the genius of their composer when, some years afterward, he visited the tower of Redcliffe Church, and was shown the coffer in which poor Chatterton had pretended to find them. " This," said he, " is the most extraordinary young man that has encountered my knowledge. It is wonderful how the whelp has written such things.'''' As to Goldsmith, he persisted in his credulity, and had sub- sequently^ dispute with Dr. Percy on the subject, which in- terrupted and almost destroyed their friendship. After all, his enthusiasm was of a generous, poetic kind ; the poems remain beautiful monuments of genius, and it is even now difficult to persuade one's self that they could be entirely the production of a youth of sixteen. In the month of August was published anonymously the His- tory of England, on which Goldsmith had been for some time employed. It was in four volumes, compiled chiefly, as he ac- knowledged in the preface, from Rapin, Carte, Smollett, and Hume, "each of whom," says he, "have their admirers, in proportion as the reader is studious of political antiquities, fond of minute anecdote, a warm partisan, or a deliberate rea- soner." It possessed the same kind of merit as his other his- torical compilations ; a clear, succinct narrative, a simple, easy, and graceful style, and an agreeable arrangement of facts ; but was not remarkable for either depth of observation or minute accuracy of research. Many passages were transferred, with little if any alteration, from his Letters from a Nobleman to his Son" on the same subject. The work, though written with- out party feeling, met with sharp animadversions from political scribblers. The writer was charged with being unfriendly to liberty, disposed to elevate monarchy above its proper sphere ; a tool of ministers ; one who would betray his country for a pension. Tom Davies, the publisher, the pompous little bibli- opole of Russell Street, alarmed lest the book should prove unsalable, undertook to protect it by his pen, and wrote a long article in its defence in The Public Advertiser. He was vain of his critical effusion, and sought by nods and winks and innuen- does to intimate his authorship. "Have you seen," said he in a letter to a friend, ' ' ' An Impartial Account of Goldsmith's His- tory of England ' ? If you want to know who was the writer of it, you will find him in Russell Street ; — hut mum ! " The history, on the whole, however, was well received ; some 184 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. of the critics declared that English history had never before been so usefully, so elegantly, and agreeably epitomized, - ' and, like his other historical writings, it has kept its ground " in English literature. Goldsmith bad intended this summer, in company with Sir Joshua Reynolds, to pay a visit to Bennet Langton, at his seat in Lincolnshire, where he was settled in domestic life, having the year previously married the Countess Dowager of Rothes. The following letter, however, dated from his chambers in the Temple, on the 7th of September, apologizes for putting off the visit, while it gives an amusing account of his summer occu- pations and of the attacks of the critics on his History of Eng- land: ■ ' My dear Sir : Since I had the pleasure 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 will 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 off 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 honor of waiting upon Lady Rothes and you, and staying double the time of our late intended visit. We often meet, and never without remember- ing you. I see Mr. Beauclerc very often both in town and country. He is now going directly forward to become a second Boyle ; deep in chemistry and physics. Johnson has been down on a visit to a country parson, Doctor Taylor ; and is returned to his old haunts at Mrs. Thrale's. Burke is a farmer, en alien- , clant a better place; but visiting about too. Every soul is 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 Natural 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 VL1VEK UULJJSMirU. 185 'Abridgment of the History of England,' for which I have been a good deal abused in the newspapers, for betraying the liberties of the people. God 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 Richard says, ivould do no harm to nobody. However, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and consequently an honest man. When you come to look at any part of it, you'll say that I am a sore Whig. God bless you, and with my most respectful compliments to her Ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your most affectionate humble servant, " Oliver Goldsmith." CHAPTER XXXII. MARRIAGE OF LITTLE COMEDY — GOLDSMITH AT BARTON — PRACTI- CAL JOKES AT THE EXPENSE OP HIS TOILET — AMUSEMENTS AT BARTON—AQUATIC MISADVENTURE. Though Goldsmith found it impossible to break from his literary occupations to visit Bennet Langton, in Lincolnshire, he soon yielded to attraptions from another quarter, in which somewhat of sentiment may have mingled. Miss Catherine Horneck, one of his beautiful fellow-travellers, otherwise called Little Comedy, had been married in August to Henry William Bunbury, Esq., a gentleman of fortune, who has become cele- brated for the humorous productions of his pencil. Goldsmith was shortly afterward invited to pay the newly married couple a, visit at their seat at Barton, in Suffolk. How could he re- sist such an invitation— especially as the Jessamy Bride would, of, course, be among the guests? It is true, he was hampered with work ; he was still more hampered with debt ; his accounts with Newbery were perplexed ; but all must give way. New advances are procured from Newbery, on the promise of a new tale in the style of the Vicar of Wakefield, of which he showed him a few roughly-sketched chapters ; so, his purse replenished ill the old way, " by hook or by crook," he posted off to visit the bride at Barton. He found there a joyous household, and one where he was welcomed with affection. Garrick was there, and played the part of master of the revels, for he was 186 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. an intimate friend of the master of the house. Notwithstand- ing early misunderstandings, a social intercourse between the actor and the poet had grown up of late, from meeting together continually in the same circle. A few particulars have reached us concerning Goldsmith while on this happy visit. We be- lieve the legend has come down from Miss Mary Horneck her- self. ' ' While at Barton, " she says, ' ' his manners were always playful and amusing, taking the lead in promoting any scheme of innocent mirth, and usually prefacing the invitation with ' Come, now, let us play the fool a little. ' At cards, which was commonly a round game, and the stake small, he was always the most noisy, affected great eagerness to win, and teased his opponents of the gentler sex with continual jest and banter on their want of spirit in not risking the hazards of the game. But one of his most favorite enjoyments was to romp with the children, when he threw off all reserve, and seemed one of the most joyous of the group. "One of the means by which he amused us was his songs, chiefly of the comic kind, which were sung with some taste and humor; several, I believe, were of 'his own composition, and I regret that I neither have copies, which might have been readily procured from him at the time, nor do I remember their names." His perfect good humor made him the object of tricks of all kinds; often in retaliation of some prank which he himself had played off. Unluckily these tricks were sometimes made at the expense of his toilet, which, with a view peradventure to please the eye of a certain fair lady, he had again enriched to the impoverishment of his purse. " Being at all times gay in his dress," says this ladylike legend, " he made his appearance at the breakfast-table in a smart black silk coat with an expen- sive pair of ruffles ; the coat some one contrived to soil, and it was sent to be cleansed ; but, either by accident, or probably by design, the day after it came home, the sleeves became daubed with paint, which was not discovered until the ruffles also, to his great mortification, were irretrievably disfigured. " He always wore a wig, a peculiarity which" those who judge of his appearance only from the fine poetical head of Eeynolds would not suspect ; and on one occasion some person contrived seriously to injure this important adjunct to dress. It was the only one he had in the country, and the misfortune seemed ir- reparable until the services of Mr. Bunbury's valet were called in, who, however, performed his functions so indifferently that UJU1 VMM 'VVJbJJSMlTJtl. 187 poor Goldsmith's appearance became the signal for a general smile. " This was wicked waggery, especially when it was directed to mar all the attempts of the unfortunate poet to improve his personal appearance, about which he was at all times dubiously sensitive, and particularly when among the ladies. We have in a former chapter recorded his unlucky tumble * into a fountain at Versailles, when attempting a feat of agility in presence of the fair Hornecks. Water was destined to be equally baneful to him on the present occasion. "Some differ-^ ence of opinion," says the fair narrator, " having arisen with, Lord Harrington respecting the depth of a pond, the poet re- marked that it was not so deep but that, if anything valuable was to be found at the bottom, he would not hesitate to pick it up. His lordship, after some banter, threw in a guinea; Gold- smith, not to be outdone in this kind of bravado, in attempting to fulfil his promise without getting wet, accidentally fell in, to the amusement of all present, but persevered, brought out the money, and kept it, remarking that he had abundant ob- jects on whom to bestow any farther proofs of his lordship's whim or bounty. " All this is recorded by the beautiful Mary Horneck, the Jes- samjr Bride herself; but while she gives these amusing pictures of poor Goldsmith's eccentricities, and of the mischievous pranks played off upon him, she bears unqualified testimony, which we have quoted elsewhere, to the qualities of his head and heart, which shone forth in his. countenance, and gained him the love of all who knew him. Among the circumstances of this visit vaguely called to mind by this fair lady in after years, was that Goldsmith read to her and her sister the first part of a novel which he had in hand. It was doubtless the manuscript mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, on which he had obtained an advance of money from Newbery to stave off some pressing debts, and to provide , funds for this very visit. It never was finished. The book- seller, when he came afterward to examine the manuscript, objected to it as a mere narrative version of the Good-Natured Man. Goldsmith, too easily put out of conceit of his writings, threw it aside, forgetting that this was the very Newbery who kept his Vicar of Wakefield by him nearly two years through doubts of its success. The loss of the manuscript is deeply to he .regretted;. it doubtless would have- been properly wrought up before given to the press, and might have given us new 188 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. scenes in life and traits of character, while it could not fail to bear traces of his delightful style. What a pity he had not been guided by the opinions of his fair listeners at Barton, instead of that of the astute Mr. Newbery ! i CHAPTER XXXIII. PINNER AT GENERAL OGLETHORPE'S— ANECDOTES OF THE GEN- ERAL — DISPUTE ABOUT DUELLING — GHOST STORIES. We have mentioned old General Oglethorpe as one of Gold- smith's aristocratical acquaintances. This veteran, born in 1698, had commenced life early, by serving, when a mere strip- ling, under Prince Eugene, against the Turks. He had con- tinued in military life, and been promoted to the rank of major- general in 1745, and received a command during the Scottish rebellion. Being of strong Jacobite tendencies, he was suspected and accused of favoring the rebels ; and though acquitted by a court of inquiry, was never afterward employed ; or, in techni- cal language, was shelved. He had since been repeatedly a member of parliament, and had always distinguished himself by learning, taste, active benevolence, and high Tory principles. His name, however, has become historical, chiefly from his transactions in America, and the share he took in the settle- ment of the colony of Georgia. It lies enbalmed in honorable immortality in a single line of Pope's : " One. driven by strong benevolence of soul. Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole." The veteran was now seventy-four years of age,, but healthy and vigorous, and as much the preux chevalier as in his younger days, when he served with Prince Eugene. His table was often the gathering-place of men of talent. Johnson was frequently there, and delighted in drawing from the general details of his various "experiences." He was anxious that he should give the world his life. "I know no man," said he, "whose life would be more interesting." Still the vivacity of the general's mind and the variety of his knowledge made him skip from subject to subject too fast for the Lexicograpb?r. " Oglethorpe," growled he, "never completes what he has to say." OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Jgg Boswell gives us an interesting and characteristic account oC a dinner party at the general's (April 10th, 1772), at which Goldsmith and Johnson were present. After dinner, when the cloth was removed, Oglethorpe, at Johnson's request, gave an account of the siege of Belgrade, in the true veteran style. Pouring a little wine upon the table, he drew his lines and par- allels with a wet finger, describing the positions of the opposing forces. " Here were we— here were the Turks, "to all which Johnson listened with the most earnest attention, poring over the plans and diagrams with his usual purblind closeness. In the course of conversation, the general gave an anecdote of himself in early life, when serving under Prince Eugene. Sitting at table once in company with a prince of VAirtem- berg, the latter gave a fillip to a, glass of wine, so as to make some of it fly in Oglethorpe's face. The manner in which it was done was somewhat equivocal. How was it to be taken by the stripling officer? If seriously, he must challenge the prince ; but in so doing he might fix on himself the character of a drawcansir. If passed over without notice, he might be charged with cowardice. His mind was made up in an in- stant. " Prince," said he, smiling, "that is an excellent joke; but we do it much better in England." So saying, he threw a whole glass of wine in the prince's face. "II a bien fait, mon prince," cried an old general present, " vous 1'avez commence." (He has done right, my prince; you commenced it.) The prince had the good sense to acquiesce in the decision of the veteran, and Oglethorpe's retort in kind was taken in good part. It was probably at the close of this story that the officious Boswell, ever anxious to promote conversation for the benefit of his note-book, started the question whether duelling were consistent with moral duty. The old gentleman fired up in an instant. "Undoubtedly," said he, with a lofty air; "un- doubtedly a man has a right to defend his honor." Goldsmith immediately carried the war into Boswell's own quarters, and pinned him with the question, "what he would do if affronted?" The pliant Boswell, who for the moment had the fear of the general rather than of Johnson before his eyes, replied, "he should think it necessary to fight." "Why, then, that solves the question," replied Goldsmith. "No, sir!" thundered out Johnson; "it does not follow that what a man would dp, is therefore right. " He, however, subsequently went into a dis- cussion to show that there were necessities in the case arising 190 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. out of the artificial refinement of society, and its proscription of any one who should put up with an affront without fighting a duel. "He then," concluded he, "who fights a duel does not fight from passion against his antagonist, but out of self- defence, to avert the stigma of the world, and to prevent him- self from being driven out of society. I could wish there were not that superfluity of refinement ; but while such notions pre- vail, no doubt a man may lawfully fight a duel." Another question started was, whether people who disagreed on a capital point could live together in friendship. Johnson said they might. Goldsmith said they could not, as they had not the idem velle atque idem nolle — the same likings and aversions. Johnson rejoined, that they must shun the subject on which they disagreed. "But, sir," said Goldsmith, "when people live together who have something as to which they dis- agree, and which they want to shun, they will be in the situa- tion mentioned in the story of Blue Beard : ' you may look into all the chambers but one ;' but we should have the greatest in- clination to look into that chamber, to talk of that subject." "Sir," thundered Johnson, in a loud voice, " I am not saying that you could live in friendship with a man from whom you differ as to some point ; I am only saying that I could do it." Who will not say that Goldsmith had the best of this petty contest? How just was his remark! how felicitous the illus- tration of the blue chamber ! how rude and overbearing was the argumentum ad hominem of Johnson, when he felt that he had the worst of the argument ! The conversation turned upon ghosts. General Oglethorpe told the story of a Colonel Prendergast, an officer in the Duke of Marlborough's army, who predicted among his comrades that he should die on a certain day. The battle of Malplaquet took place on that day. The colonel was in the midst of it, but came out unhurt. The firing had ceased, and his brother officers jested with him about the fallacy of his prediction. "The day is not over," replied he, gravely; "I shall die, not- withstanding what you see." His words proved true. The order for a cessation of firing had not reached one of the French batteries, and a random shot from it killed the colonel on the spot. Among his effects was found a pocket-book, in which he had made a solemn entry, that Sir John Friend, who had been executed for high treason, had appeared to him, either in a dream or vision, and predicted that he would meet him on a certain day (the very day of the battle). Colonel OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 191 Cecil, who took possession of the effects of Colonel Prender- gast, and read the entry in the pocket-book, told this story to Pope, the poet, in the presence of Geneiial Oglethorpe. This story, as related by the general, appears to have been well received, if not credited, by both Johnson and Goldsmith, each of whom had something to relate in kind. Goldsmith's brother, the clergyman in whom he had such implicit confi- dence, had assured him of his having seen an apparition. Johnson also had a friend, old Mr. Cave, the printer, at St. John's Gate, "an honest man, and a sensible man," who told him he had seen a ghost : he did not, however, like to talk of it, and seemed to be in great horror whenever it was men- tioned. "And pray, sir," asked Boswell, "what did he say was the appearance?" "Why, sir, something of a shadowy being." The reader will not be surprised at this superstitious turn in the conversation of such intelligent men, when he recollects that, but a few years before this time, all London had been agitated by the absurd story of the Cock-lane ghost ; a matter which Dr. Johnson had deemed worthy of his serious investi- gation, and about which Goldsmith had written a pamphlet. CHAPTER XXXIV. MR. JOSEPH CRADOCK— AN AUTHOR'S CONFIDINGS— AN AMANUEN- SIS—LIFE AT EDGEWARE — GOLDSMITH CONJURING — GEORGE COLMAN— THE FANTOCCINI. ! Among the agreeable acquaintances made by Goldsmith about this time was a Mr. Joseph Cradock, a young gentleman of Leicestershire, living at his ease, but disposed to "make himself uneasy," by meddling with literature and the theatre; in fact, he had a passion for plays and players, and had come up to town with a modified translation of Voltaire's tragedy of Zobeide, in a view to get it acted. There was no great diffi- culty in the case, as he was a man of fortune, had letters of introduction to persons of note, and was altogether in a dif- ferent position from the indigent man of genius whom mana- gers might harass with impunity. Goldsmith met him at the bouse of Yates, the actor, and finding that he was a friend of 192 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Lord Clare, soon became sociable with him. Mutual tastes quickened the intimacy, especially as they found means of serving each other. Goldsmith wrote an epilogue for the tra- gedy of Zobeide; and Cradock, who was an amateur musician, arranged the music for the Threnodia Augustalis, a lament on the death of the Princess Dowager of Wales, the political mis- tress and patron of Lord Clare, which Goldsmith had thrown off hastily to please that nobleman. The tragedy was played with some success at Covent Garden; the Lament was recited and sung at Mrs. Comely s'" rooms — a very fashionable resort) in Soho Square, got up by a woman of enterprise of that name. It was in whimsical ]parody of those gay and somewhat pro- miscuous assemblages that Goldsmith used to call the motley evening parties at his lodgings "little Cornelys." The Threnodia Augustalis was not publicly known to be by Goldsmith until several years after his death. Cradock was one of the few polite intimates who felt more disposed to sympathize with the generous qualities of the poet than to sport with his eccentricities. He sought his society whenever he came to town, and occasionally had him to his seat in the country. Goldsmith appreciated his sympathy, and unburthened himself to him without reserve. Seeing the lettered ease in which this amateur author was enabled to live, and the time he could bestow on the elaboration of a manu- script, "Ah! Mr. Cradock," cried he, "think of me that must write a volume every month !" He complained to him of the attempts made by inferior writers, and by others who could scarcely come under that denomination, not only to abuse and depreciate his writings, but to render him ridiculous as a man ; perverting every harmless sentiment and action into charges of absurdity, malice, or folly. "Sir," said he, in the fulness of his heart, " I am as a lion baited by curs !" Another acquaintance which he made about this time, was a young countryman of the name of M'Donnell, whom he met "in a state of destitution, and, of course, befriended. The fol- lowing grateful recollections of his kindness and his merits were furnished by that person in after years : " It was in the year 1772," writes he, "that the death of my elder brother— when in London, on my way to Ireland -left me in a most forlorn situation ; I was then about eighteen ; I possessed neither friends nor money, nor the means of getting to Ireland, of which or of England I knew scarcely anything, from having so long resided in France In this situation J had OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 193 strolled about for two or three days, considering what to do, but unable to come to any determination, when Providence directed me to the Temple Gardens. I threw myself on a seat, and, willing to forget my miseries for a moment, drew out a book; that book was a volume of Boileau. I had not been there long when a gentleman, strolling about, passed near me, and observing, perhaps, something Irish or foreign in my garb or countenance, addressed me : ' Sir, you seem studious ; I hope you find this a favorable place to pursue it.' ' Not very studi- ous, sir; I fear it is the want of society that brings me hither; I am solitary and unknown in this metropolis ;' and a passage from Cicero— Oratio pro Archia— occurring to me, I quoted it; 'Hsec studia pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.' ' You are a scholar, too, sir, I perceive.' ' A piece of one, sir; but I ought still to have been in the college where I had the good fortune to pick up the little I know.' A good deal of con- versation ensued; I told him part of my history, and he, in return, gave his address in the Temple, desiring me to call soon, from which, to my infinite surprise and gratification, I found that the person who thus seemed to take an interest in my fate was my countryman, and a distinguished ornament of letters. "I did not fail to keep the appointment, and was received in the kindest manner. He told me, smilingly, that he was not rich ; that he could do little for me in direct pecuniary aid, but would endeavor to put me in the way of doing something for myself ; observing, that he could at least furnish me with ad- vice not wholly useless to a young man placed in the heart of a great metropolis. ' In London,' he continued, ' nothing is to be got for nothing ; you must work ; and no man who chooses to be industrious need be under obligations to another, for here labor of every kind commands its reward. If you think proper to assist me occasionally as amanuensis, I shall be obliged, and you will be placed under no obligation, until something more permanent can be secured for you.' This employment, which I pursued for some time, was to translate passages from Buffon, which was abridged or altered, accord- ing to circumstances, for his Natural History." Goldsmith's Uterary tasks were fast getting ahead of him, and he began now to " toil after them in vain." Five volumes of the Natural History here spoken of had long since been pajd for by Mr. Griffin, yet most of them were still to be written. His young amanuensis bears testimony to his 194 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. embarrassments and perplexities, but to the degree of equa- nimity with which he bore them : "It has been said," observes he, "that he was irritable. Such may have been the case at times ; nay, I believe it was so ; for what with the continual pursuit of authors, printers, and booksellers, and occasional pecuniary embarrassments, few could have avoided exhibiting similar marks of impa- tience. But it was never so toward me. I saw him only in his bland and kind moods, with a flow, perhaps an overflow, of the milk of human kindness for all who were in any manner dependent upon him. I looked upon him with awe and venera- tion, and he upon me as a kind of parent upon a child. "His manner and address exhibited much frankness and cordiality, particularly to those with whom he possessed any degree of intimacy. His good-nature was equally apparent. You could not dislike the man, although several of his follies and foibles you might be tempted to condemn. He was generous and inconsiderate ; money with him had little value." To escape from many of the tormentors just alluded to, and to devote himself without interruption to his task, Godsmith took lodgings for the summer at a farm-house near the six-mile stone on the Edgeware road, and carried down his books in two return post-chaises. He used to say he believed the farmer's family thought him an odd character, similar to that in which the Spectator appeared to his landlady and her chil- dren: he was The Gentleman. Boswell tells us that he went to visit him at the place in company with Mickle, translator of the Lusiad. Goldsmith was not at home. Having a curiosity to see his apartment, however, they went in, and found curi- ous scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil. The farm-house in question is still in existence, though much altered. It stands upon a gentle eminence in Hyde Lane, com- manding a pleasant prospect toward Hendon. The room is still pointed out in which She Stoops to Conquer was written ; a convenient and airy apartment, up one flight of stairs. Some matter of fact traditions concerning the author were furnished, a few years since, by a son of the farmer, who was sixteen years of age at the time Goldsmith resided with his father. Though he had engaged to board with the family, his meals were generally sent to him in his room, in which he passed the most of his time, negligently dressed, with his shirt- OLIVER GOLDSMITH 195 collar open, busily engaged in writing. Sometimes, probably when in moods of composition, he would wander into the kitchen, without noticing any one, stand musing with his back to the fire, and then hurry off again to his room, no doubt to commit to paper some thought which had struck bim. Sometimes he strolled about the fields, or was to be seen loitering and reading and musing under the hedges. He was subject to fits of wakefulness and read much in bed ; if not dis- posed to read, he still kept the candle burning ; if he wished to extinguish it, and it was out of his reach, he flung his slipper at it, which would be found in the morning near the over- turned candlestick and daubed with grease. He was noted here, as everywhere else, for his charitable feelings. No beg- gar applied to him in vain, and he evinced on all occasions great commiseration for the poor. He had the use of the parlor to receive and entertain com- pany, and was visited by Sir Joshua Eeynolds, Hugh Boyd, the reputed author of " Junius," Sir William Chambers, and other distinguished characters. He gave occasionally, though rarely, a dinner party ; and on one occasion, when his guests were detained by a thunder shower, he got up a dance and car- ried the merriment late into the night. As usual, he was the promoter of hilarity among the young, and at one time took the children of the house to see a com- pany of strolling players at Hendon. The greatest amusement to the party, however, was derived from his own jokes on the road and his comments on the performance, which produced infinite laughter among his youthful companions. Near to his rural retreat at Edgeware, a Mr. Seguin, an Irish merchant, of literary tastes, had country quarters for his family, where Goldsmith was always welcome. In this family he would indulge in playful and even grotesque humor, and was ready for anything— conversation, music, or a game of romps. He prided himself upon his dancing, and would walk a minuet with Mrs. Seguin, to the infinite amuse- ment Of herself and the children, whose shouts of laughter he bore with perfect good-humor. He would sing Irish songs, and the Scotch ballads of Johnny Armstrong. He took the lead in the children's sports of blind-man's buff, hunt the slipper, etc., or in their games at cards, and was the most noisy of the party, affecting to cheat and to be excessively eager to win ; while with children of smaller size he would turn the hind part of his wig before, and play all kinds of tricks to amuse them. 196 OLlVEll GOLDSMITH] One word as to his musical skill and his performance on the flute, which comes up so invariably in all his fireside revels. He really knew nothing of music scientifically ; he had a good ear, and may have played sweetly ; but we are told he could not read a note of music. Roubillac, the statuary, once played a trick upon him in this respect. He pretended to score down an air as the poet played it, but put down crotchets and semi- breves at random. When he had finished, Goldsmith cast his eyes over it and pronounced it correct ! It is possible that his execution in music was like his style in writing; in sweetness and melody he may have snatched a grace beyond the reach of art! He was at all times a capital companion for children, and knew how to fall in with their humors. "I little thought," said Miss Hawkins, the woman grown, ' ' what I should have to boast, when Goldsmith taught me to play Jack and Jill by two bits of paper on his fingers." He entertained Mrs. Garrick, we are told, with a whole budget of stories and songs ; delivered the ' ' Chimney Sweep" with exquisite taste as a solo ; and per- formed a duet with Garrick of "Old Rose and Burn the Bellows." "I was only five years old," says the late George Colman, " when Goldsmith one evening, when drinking coffee with my father, took me on his knee and began to play with me, which amiable act I returned with a very smart slap in the face .; it must have been a tingler, for I left the mariss of my little spiteful paw upon his cheek. This infantile outrage was fol- lowed by summary justice, and I was locked up by my father in an adjoining room, to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I began to howl and scream most abominably. At length a friend appeared to extricate me from jeopardy ; it was the good-natured doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, and a smile upon his countenance, which was still partially red from the effects Of my petulance. I sulked and sobbed, and he fondled and soothed until I began to brighten. He seized the propitious moment, placed three hats upon the carpet, and a shilling under each; the shillings, he told me, were England, France, and Spain. ' Hey, presto, cockolorum ! ' cried the doctor, and lo ! on uncovering the shillings, they were all found congregated under one. I was no politician at the time, and therefore might not have wondered at the sudden revolution which brought England, France, and Spain all under One crown; but, as I was also no conjurer, it amazed me be- OLIVER GOLDSMITH. VJ7 yond measure. From that time, whenever the doctor came to visit my father, 'I pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile;' a game of romps constantly ensued, and we were always cor- dial friends and merry playfellows." Although Goldsmith made the Edge ware farmhouse his head- quarters for the summer, he would absent himself for weeks at a time on visits to Mr. Cradock, Lord Clare, and Mr. Langton, at their country-seats. He would often visit town, also, to dine and partake of the public amusements. On one occasion he accompanied Edmund Burke to witness a performance of the Italian Fantoccini or Puppets, in Panton Street ; an exhibi- tion which had hit the caprice of the town, and was in great vogue. The puppets were set in motion by wires, so well con- cealed as to be with difficulty detected. Bos well, with his usual obtuseness with respect to Goldsmith, accuses him of be- ing jealous of the puppets ! ' ' When Burke, " said he, ' ' praised the dexterity with which one of them tossed a pike," ' Pshaw,' said Goldsmith with some warmth, ' I can do it better myself. ' " " The same evening," adds Boswell, "when supping at Burke's lodgings, he broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets." Goldsmith jealous of puppets ! This even passes in absurdity Boswell's charge upon him of being jealous of the beauty of the two Miss Hornecks. The Panton Street puppets were destined to be a source of further amusement to the town, and of annoyance to the little autocrat of the stage. Foote, the Aristophanes of the English drama, who was always on the alert to turn every subject of popular excitement to account, seeing the success of the Fan- toccini, gave out that he should produce a Primitive Puppet- show at the Haymarket, to be entitled The Handsome Cham- bermaid, or Piety in Pattens : intended to burlesque the senti- mental comedy which Garrick still maintained at Drury Lane. The idea of a play to be performed in a regular theatre by puppets excited the curiosity and talk of the town. "Will your puppets be as large as life, Mr. Foote?" demanded a lady of rankf " Oh, no, my lady;" replied Foote, u not much larger than Garrick" 198 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. CHAPTER XXXV. BROKEN HEALTH — DISSIPATION AND DEBTS— THE IRISH WIDOW — PRACTICAL JOKES — SCRUB— A MISQUOTED PUN— MALAGRIDA— GOLDSMITH PROVED TO BE A FOOL — DISTRESSED BALLAD SINGERS— THE POET AT RANELAGH. Goldsmith returned to town in the autumn (1772), with his health much disordered. His close fits of sedentary applica- tion, during which he in a manner tied himself to the mast, had laid the seeds of a lurking malady in his system, and pro- duced a severe illness in the course of the summer. Town life was not favorable to the health either of body or mind. He could not resist the siren voice of temptation, which, now that he had become a notoriety, assailed him on every side. Ac- cordingly we find him launching away in a career of social dissipation; dining and supping out; at clubs, at routs, at theatres ; he is a guest with. Johnson at the Thrales', and an object of Mrs. Thrale's lively sallies ; he is a Hon at Mrs. Vesey's and Mrs. Montagu's, where some of the high-bred blue-stock- ings pronounce him a "wild genius, "and others, peradventure, a "wild Irishman." In the meantime his pecuniary difficul- ties are increasing upon him, conflicting with his proneness to pleasure and expense, and contributing by the harassment of his mind to the wear and tear of his constitution. His ' \ Ani- mated Nature, " though not finished, has been entirely paid for, and the money spent. The money advanced by Garrick on Newbery's note still hangs over him as a debt. The tale on which Newbery had loaned from two to three hundred pounds previous to the excursion to Barton has proved a failure. The bookseller is urgent for the settlement of his complicated ac- count ; the perplexed author has nothing to offer him in liqui- dation but the copyright of the comedy which he has in his portfolio; "Though to tell you the truth, Frank," said he, "there are great doubts of its success." The offer was ac- cepted, and, like bargains wrung from Goldsmith in times of emergency, turned out a golden speculation to the bookseller. In this way Goldsmith went on "overrunning the consta- ble," as he termed it ; spending everything in advance ; work- ing with an overtasked head and weary heart to pay for past OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 199 pleasures and past extravagance, and at the same time incur- ring new debts, to perpetuate his struggles and darken his future prospects. While the excitement of society and the ex- citement of composition conspire to keep up a feverishness of the system, he has incurred an unfortunate habit of quacking himself with James' powders, a fashionable panacea of the day. A. farce, produced this year by Garrick, and entitled The Irish Widow, perpetuates the memory of . practical jokes played off a year or two previously upon the alleged vanity of poor, simple-hearted Goldsmith. He was one evening at the house of his friend Burke, when he was beset by a tenth muse, an Irish widow and authoress, just arrived from Ire- land, full of brogue and blunders, and poetic fire and rantipole gentility. She was soliciting subscriptions for her poems ; and assailed Goldsmith for his patronage; the great Goldsmith — her countryman, and of course her friend. She overpowered him with eulogiums on his own poems, and then read some of her own, with vehemence of tone and gesture, appealing continually to the great Goldsmith to know how he relished them. Poor Goldsmith did all that a kind-hearted and gallant gen- tleman could do in such a case ; he praised her poems as far as the stomach of his sense would permit : perhaps a little fur- ther; he offered her his subscription, and it was not until she had retired with many parting compliments to the great Gold- smith, that he pronounced the poetry which had been inflicted on him execrable. The whole scene had been a hoax got up by Burke for the amusement of his company, and the Irish widow, so admirably performed, had been personated by a Mrs. Balfour, a lady of his connection, of great sprightliness and talent. We see nothing in the story to establish the alleged vanity of Goldsmith, but we think it tells rather to the disadvantage of Burke ; being unwarrantable under their relations of friend- ship, and a species of waggery quite beneath his genius. Croker, in his notes to Boswell, gives another of these prac- tical jokes perpetrated by Burke at the expense of Goldsmith's credulity. It was related to Croker by Colonel O'Moore, of Cloghan Castle, in Ireland, who was a party concerned. The colonel and Burke, walking one day through Leicester Square on their way to Sir Joshua Eeynolds's, with whom they were to dine, observed Goldsmith, who was likewise to be a guest, 200 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. standing and regarding a crowd which, was staring and shout- ing at some foreign ladies in the window of a hotel." " Observe Goldsmith, "said Burke to O'Moore, "and mark what passes be- tween us at Sir Joshua's." They passed on and reached there before him. Burke received Goldsmith with affected reserve and coldness; being pressed to explain the reason, "Beally," said he, "I am ashamed to keep company with a person who could act as you have just done in the Square." Goldsmith protested he was ignorant 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 unnoticed?" "Surely, surely, my dear friend," cried Goldsmith, with alarm, "surely I did not say so?" "Nay," replied Burke, "if you had not said so, how should I have known it?" "That's true," answered Gold- smith ; " I -am very sorry — it was very foolish : I do recollect that something of the hind passed through my mind, but I did not think I had uttered it. " It is proper to observe that these jokes were played off by Burke before he had attained the full eminence of his social position, and that he may have felt privileged to take liberties with Goldsmith as his countryman and college associate. It is evident, however, that the peculiarities of the latter, and his guileless simplicity, made him a butt for the broad waggery of some of his associates; while others more polished, though equally perfidious, were on the watch to give currency to his bulls and blunders. The Stratford jubilee, in honor of Shakespeare, where Bos- well had made a fool of himself, was still in every one's mind. It was sportively suggested that a fete should be held at Lich- field in honor of Johnson and Garrick, and that the Beaux' Stratagem should be played by the members of the Literary Club. "Then," exclaimed Goldsmith, " I shall certainly play Scrub. I should like of all things to try my hand at that char- acter." The unwary speech, which any one else might have made without comment, has been thought worthy of record as whimsically characteristic. Beauclerc was extremely apt to circulate anecdotes at his expense, founded perhaps on some trivial incident, but dressed up with the embellishments of his sarcastic brain. One relates to a venerable dish of peas, served up at Sir Joshua's table, which should have been green, but were any other color. A wag suggested to Goldsmith, in a/: OLlVEit GOLDSMITH. gOl whisper, that they should be sent to Hammersmith, as that was the way to turn-em-green (Turnham-Green). Goldsmith, delighted with the pun, endeavored to repeat it at Burke's table, but missed the point. ' ' That is the way to make 'em green," said he. Nobody laughed. He perceived he was at fault. "I mean that is the road to turn 'em green." A dead pause and a stare; " whereupon," adds Beauclerc, " he started up disconcerted and abruptly left the table. " This is evidently one of Beauclerc's caricatures. On another occasion the poet and Beauclerc were seated at the theatre next to Lord Shelburne, the minister, whom politi- cal writers thought proper to nickname Malagrida. ' ' Do you know," said Goldsmith to his lordship in the course of conver- sation, "that I never could conceive why they call you Mal- agrida, for Malagrida was a very good sort of man." This was too good a trip of the tongue for Beauclerc to let pass: he serves it up in his next letter to Lord Charlemont, as a speci- men of a mode of turning a thought the wrong way, peculiar to the poet ; he makes merry over it with his witty and sarcas- tic compeer, Horace Walpole, who pronounces it " a picture- of Goldsmith's whole life." Dr. Johnson alone, when he hears it bandied about as Goldsmith's last blunder, growls forth a friendly defence: "Sir," said he, "it was a mere blunder in emphasis. He meant to say, I wonder they should use Mala- grida as a term of reproach." Poor Goldsmith! On such points he was ever doomed to be misinterpreted. Eogers, the poet, meeting in times long subsequent with a survivor of those days, asked him what Goldsmith really was in conversa- tion. The old conversational character was too deeply stamped in the memory of the veteran to be effaced. " Sir," replied the old wiseacre, ' ' he was a fool. The right word never came to him. If you gave him back a bad shilling, he'd say, Why it's as good a shilling as ever was born. You know he ought to have said coined. Coined, sir, never entered his head. He was a fool, sir." We have so many anecdotes in which Goldsmith's simplicity is played upon, that it is quite a treat to meet with one in which he is represented playing upon the simplicity of others, espe- cially when the victim of his joke is the " Great Cham" himself, whom all others are disposed to hold so much in awe. Gold- smith and Johnson were supping cosily together at a tavern in Dean 'Street, Soho, kepb by Jack Eoberts, a singer at Drury Lane, and a protege of Garrick's. Johnson delighted in these \ 202 OLIVER GOLDSMITM. gastronomical tete-a-tetes, and was expatiating in high good humor on rumps and kidneys, the veins of his forehead swell- ing with the ardor of mastication. " These," said he, "are pretty little things ; but a man .must eat a great many of them before he is filled." "Aye; but how many of them," asked Goldsmith, with affected simplicity, "would reach to the moon?" "To the moon! Ah, sir, that, I fear, exceeds your calculation." "Not at all, sir; I think I could tell." "Pray then, sir, let us hear." "Why, sir, one, if it were long enough!'''' Johnson growled for a time at finding himself caught in such a trite schoolboy trap. "Well, sir," cried he at length, "I have deserved it. I should not have provoked so foolish an answer by so foolish a question." Among the many incidents related as illustrative of Gold- smith's vanity and envy is one which occurred one evening when he was in a drawing-room with a party of ladies, and a ballad-singer under the window, struck up his favorite song of " Sally Salisbury." " How miserably this woman sings !" ex- claimed he. "Pray, doctor," said the lady of the house, "could you do it better?" "Yes, madam, and the company shall be judges." The company, of course, prepared to be entertained by an absurdity ; but their smiles were well-nigh turned to tears, for he acquitted himself with a skill and pathos that drew universal applause. He had, in fact, a deli- cate ear for music, which had been jarred by the false notes of the ballad-singer; and there were certain pathetic ballads, associated with recollections of his childhood, which were sure to touch the springs of his heart. We have another story of him, connected with ballad-singing, which is still more charac- teristic. He was one evening at the house of Sir William Chambers, in Berners Street, seated at a whist-table with Sir William, Lady Chambers, and Baretti, when all at once he threw down his cards, hurried out of the room and into the street. He returned in an instant, resumed his seat, and the game went on. Sir William, after a little hesitation, ventured to ask the cause of his retreat, fearing he had been overcome by the heat of the room. "Not at all," replied Goldsmith; "but in truth I could not bear to hear that unfortunate woman in the street, half singing, half sobbing, for such tones could only arise from the extremity of distress; her voice grated painfully on my ear and jarred my frame, so that I could not rest until I had sent her away. " "It was in fact a poor ballad- singer, whose cracked voice had been heard by others of the OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 203 party, but without having the same effect on their sensibilities. It was the reality of his fictitious scene in the story of the " Man in Black;" wherein he describes a woman in rags with one child in her arms and another on her back, attempting to sing ballads, but with such a mournful voice that it was dim- cult to determine whether she was singing or crying. "A wretch," he adds, "who, in the deepest distress, still aimed at good humor, was an object my friend was by no means capable of withstanding." The Man in Black gave the poor woman all that he had— a bundle of matches. Goldsmith, it is probable, sent his ballad-singer away rejoicing with all the money in his pocket. Eanelagh was at that time greatly in vogue as a place of public entertainment. It was situated near Chelsea ; the prin- cipal room was a rotunda of great dimensions, with an orches- tra in the centre, and tiers of boxes all round. It was a place to which Johnson resorted occasionally. "lama great friend to public amusements," said he, "for they keep people from vice."* Goldsmith was equally a friend to them, though per- haps not altogether on such moral grounds. He was particu- larly fond of masquerades, which were then exceedingly popu- lar, and got up at Eanelagh with great expense and magnifi- cence. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who had likewise a taste for such amusements, was sometimes his companion, at other times he went alone; his peculiarities of person and manner would soon betray him, whatever might be his disguise, and he would be singled out by wags, acquainted with his foibles, and more successful than himself in maintaining their incog- nito, as a capital subject to be played upon. Some, pretend- ing not to know him, would decry his writings, and praise those of his contemporaries; others would laud his verses to the skies, but purposely misquote and burlesque them; others would annoy him with parodies ; while one young lady, whom he was teasing, as he supposed, with great success and infinite Humor, silenced his rather boisterous laughter by quoting his own line about "the loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind." * "Alas, sir!" said Johnson, speaking, when in another mood, of grand houses, fine gardens, and splendid places of public amusement; "alas, sir! these are only struggles for happiness. When I first entered Ranelagh it gave an expansion and gay sensation to my mind, such as I never experienced anywhere else. But, as Xerxes wept when he viewed his immense army, and considered Aat not one of that great multitude would be alive a hundred years afterward, so it went to my heart to consider that there was not one in all that brilliant circle that was not afraid to go home and think." 204 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. On one occasion he was absolutely driven out of the house hf the persevering jokes of a wag, whose complete disguise gave him no means of retaliation. His name appearing in the newspapers among the distin- guished persons present at one of these amusements, his old enemy, Kenrick, immediately addressed to him a copy of anonymous verses, to the following purport. To Dr. Goldsmith ; on seeing his name in the list of mum- mers at the late masquerade : " How widely different, Goldsmith, are the ways Of Doctors now, and those of ancient daysl Theirs taught the truth in academic shades, Ours in lewd hops and midnight masquerades, So changed the times ! say, philosophic sage, Whose genius suits so well this tasteful age, Is the Pantheon, late a sink obscene, Become the fountain of chaste Hippocrene? Or do thy moral numbers quaintly flow, Inspired by th' Aganippe of Soho? Do wisdom's sons gorge cates and vermicelli, Like beastly Bickerstaffe or bothering Kelly? Or art thou tired of th' undeserved applause Bestowed on bards affecting Virtue's cause? Is this the good that makes the humble vain, The good philosophy should not disdain? If so, let pride dissemble all it can. A modern sage is still much less than man." Goldsmith was keenly sensitive to attacks of the kind, and meeting Kenrick at the Chapter Coffee-house, called him to sharp account for taking such a liberty with his name, and calling his morals in question, merely on account of his being seen at a place of general resort and amusement. Kenrick shuffled and sneaked, protesting that he meant nothing dero- gatory to his private character. Goldsmith let him know, however, that he was aware of his having more than once in- dulged in attacks of this dastard kind, and intimated that an- other such outrage would be followed by personal chastise- ment. Kenrick having played the craven in his presence, avenged himself as soon as he was gone by complaining of his having made a wanton attack upon him, and by making coarse com- ments upon his writings, conversation, and person. The scurrilous satire of Kenrick, however unmerited, may have checked Goldsmith's taste for masquerades. Sir Joshua Reynolds calling on the poet one morning, found him walking about his room in somewhat of a reverie, kicking a bundle of ; OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 205 clothes before Mm like a foot-ball. It proved to be an expen- sive masquerade dress, which he said he had been fool enough to purchase, and as there was no other way of getting the worth of his money, he was trying to take it out in exercise. CHAPTER XXXVI. INVITATION TO CHRISTMAS — THE SPRING VELVET COAT— THE HAYMAKING WIG — THE MISCHANCES OP LOO— THE FAIR CUL- PRIT—A DANCE WITH THE JESSAMY BRIDE. From the feverish dissipations of town, Goldsmith is sum- moned away to partake of the genial dissipations of the coun- try. In the month of December, a letter from Mrs. Bunbury invites him down to Burton, to pass the Christmas holidays. The letter is written in the usual playful vein which marks his intercourse with this charming family. He is to come in his " smart spring- velvet coat," to bring a new wig to dance with the haymakers in, and above all, to follow the advice of herself and her sister (the Jessamy Bride), in playing loo. This letter, which plays so archly, yet kindly, with some of poor Gold- smith's peculiarities, and bespeaks such real ladylike regard for him, requires a word or two of annotation. The spring- velvet suit alluded to appears to have been a gallant adorn- ment (somewhat in the style of the famous bloom-colored coat) in which Goldsmith had figured in the preceding month of May— the season of blossoms — for, on the 21st of that month, we find the following entry in the chronicle of Mr. William Filby, tailor: To your blue velvet suit, £21 10-s, 9d. Also, about the same time, a suit of livery and a crimson collar for the serving man. Again we hold the Jessamy Bride responsible for this gorgeous splendor of wardrobe. The new wig no doubt is a bag-wig and solitaire, still highly the mode, and in which Goldsmith is represented as figuring when in full dress, equipped with his sword. As to the dancing with the haymakers, we presume it al- ludes to some gambol of the poet, in the course of his former visit to Barton ; when he ranged the fields and lawns a char- tered libertine, and tumbled into the fish-ponds. As to the suggestions about loo, they are in sportive allusion tip the doctor's mode of playing that gam© in their merry 206 ' OLIVER GOLDSMITH. evening parties; affecting the desperate gambler and easy- dupe ; running counter to all rule ; making extravagant ven- tures ; reproaching all others with cowardice ; dashing at all hazards at the pool, and getting himself completely loo'd, to the great amusement of the company. The drift of the fair sisters' advice was most probably to tempt him on, and then leave him in the lurch. With these comments we subjoin Goldsmith's reply to Mrs. Bunbury, a fine piece of off-hand, humorous writing, which has but in late years been given to the public, and which throws a familiar light on the social circle at Barton. "Madam: I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candor could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer. I am not so ignorant, madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town 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 say, madam, there are many sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, 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, 1 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 me to wear it the first day in the year, that is, in the middle of winter ! — a spring-velvet coat in the middle of winter ! ! ! That would be a solecism indeed! 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 can never think 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 danpe with the girls that are makers of hay,' OtlVMl GOLDSMITH got u The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of: you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous kind of laughter, 'naso contemnere adunco;' that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary proposi- tions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indig- nation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You 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. Round 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 snug, 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? ' . . . 'I, sir? I pass.' ' Pray what does Miss Horneck? take courage, come do, 1 . . . ' Who, I? let me see, sir, why I must pass too.' Mr. Bunbury f rets, and I fret like the devil, To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on, Till, made by my losses as bold as a lion, I venture at all, while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own. . . . ' Come give me five cards.' ' Well done! ' cry the ladies; 'Ah, Doctor, that's good ! The pool's very rich, ... ah ! the Doctor is loo'd ! ' Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext, I ask for advice from the lady that's next: ' Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; Don't you think the best way is to venture for't twice? ' 'I advise,' cries the lady, ' to try it, I own. . . . 'Ah! the Doctor is loo'd! Come, Doctor, put down.' Thus, 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 you're skill' d in, Whether crimes such as yonrs should not come before Fielding: For giving advice that is not worth a straw, May well be call'd picking of pockets in law; And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye, Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 203 olivbr &OEMMWM What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought! By the gods, I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought! Both are plac'd at the bar, with all proper decorum^ With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before 'em; Both cover^their faces with mobs and all that, But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat. When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry runs round, ' Pray what are their crimes? ' . . . .' They've been pilfering found. 1 '.But, pray, who have they pilfer'd? ' . . . ' A doctor, I hear;' ' What) yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near? ' * The same/ . . . ' What a pity! how does it surprise one, Two handsomer culprits 1 never set eyes on! ' Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering, To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. First Sir Charles advances With phrases well-strung, ' Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.' 1 The younger the wrose, ' I return him again, ' It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.' 4 But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves.* 'What signifies handsome, when people are thieves? ' 'But where is your justice? their cases are hard.' ' What signifies justice? I want the reward. " ' There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there's the parish of St. Leonard Shorediteh offers forty- pounds; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the- pound to St. Giles' watch-house, offers forty pounds— I shall have all that if I convict them ! ' — " ' But consider their case, ... it may yet be your own! And see how they kneel ! Is your heart made of stone?' 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, you cannot. It cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter: and next — but I want room— so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. I don't value you all I "O. G." We regret that we have no record of this Christmas visit to Barton ; that the poet had no Boswell to follow at his heels, and take note of all his sayings and doings. We can only picture him in our minds, casting off all care ; enacting the lord of misrule; presiding at the Christmas revels; providing all kinds of merriment ; keeping the card-table in an uproar, and finally opening the ball on the first day of the year in his spring-velvet suit, with the Jessamy Bride for a partner. QUVm GOLDSMITH, 209 CHAPTEE XXXVII. THEATRICAL DELAYS— NEGOTIATIONS WITH COLMAN— LETTER TO GARRICK— CROAKING OF THE MANAGER— NAMING OF THE PLAY —SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER — FOOTE'S PRIMITIVE PUPPET-SHOW, PIETY ON PATTENS — FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE COMEDY — AGITATION OF THE AUTHOR— SUCCESS— COLMAN SQUIBBED OUT OF TOWN. The gay life depicted in the two last chapters, while it kept Goldsmith in a state of continual excitement, aggravated the malady which was impairing his constitution ; yet his increas- ing perplexities in money matters drove him to the dissipation of society as a relief from solitary care. The delays of the theatre added to those perplexities. He had long since finished his new comedy, yet the year 1772 passed away without his being able to get it on the stage. No one, uninitiated in the interior of a theatre, that little world of traps and trickery, can have any idea of the obstacles and perplexities multiplied in the way of the most eminent and successful author by the mismanagement of managers, the jealousies and intrigues of rival authors, and the fantastic and impertinent caprices of actors. A long and baffling negotiation was carried on between Goldsmith and Colman, the manager of Covent Garden; who retained the play in his hands until the middle of January (1773), without coming to a decision. The theatrical season was rapidly passing away, and Goldsmith's pecuniary difficul- ties were augmenting and pressing on him. We may judge of his anxiety by the folio wing letter: " To George Colman, Esq. "Dear Sir: I entreat you'll relieve me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a long time. Whatever objections you have made or shall make to my play, I will en- deavor to remove and not argue about them. To bring in any new judges either of its merits or faults I can never submit to. Upon a former occasion, when my other play was before Mr. Garrick, he offered to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's tribu- nal, but I refused the proposal with indignation : I hope I shall not experience as harsh treatment from you as from him, I 210 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditor that way ; at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be prepared. For God's sake take the play, and let us make the best of it, and let me have the same measure, at least, which you have given as bad plays as mine. " I am your friend and servant, " Oliver Goldsmith." Colman returned the manuscript with the blank sides of the leaves scored with disparaging comments and suggested alter- ations, but with the intimation that the faith of the theatre should be kept, and the play acted notwithstanding. Gold- smith submitted the criticisms to some of his friends, who pro- nounced them trivial, unfair, and contemptible, and intimated that Colman, being a dramatic writer himself, might be actu- ated by jealousy. The play was then sent, with Colman's comments written on it, to Garrick ; but he had scarce sent it when Johnson interfered, represented the evil that might result from an apparent rejection of it by Covent Garden, and under- took to go forthwith to Colman, and have a talk with him on the subject. Goldsmith, therefore, penned the following note to Garrick: " Dear Sir: I ask many pardons for the trouble I gave you yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium of confirming Mr. Colman's sentence. I therefore request you will send my play back by my servant ; for having been assured of having it acted at the other house, though I confess yours in every respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in me to forego an advantage which lies in my power of appealing from Mr. Colman's opinion to the judgment of the town. I entreat, if not too late, you will keep this affair a secret for some time. " I am, dear sir, your very humble servant, "Oliver Goldsmith." The negotiation of Johnson with the manager of Covent Garden was effective. " Colman," he says, "was prevailed on at last, by much solicitation, nay, a kind of force," to bring forward the comedy. Still the manager was ungenerous ; or, at least, indiscreet enough to express his opinion, that it would not reach a second representation. The plot, he said, was bad ? OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 2H and the interest not sustained ; ' ' it dwindled, and dwindled, and at last went out like the snuff of a candle. " The effect of his croaking was soon apparent within the walls of the theatre. Two of the most popular actors, Woodward and Gentleman Smith, to whom the parts of Tony Lumpkin and Young Mar- low were assigned, refused to act them ; one of them alleging, in excuse, the evil predictions of the manager. Goldsmith was advised to postpone the performance of his play until he could get these important parts well supplied. "No," said he, "I would sooner that my play were damned by bad players than merely saved by good acting." Quick was substituted for Woodward in Tony Lumpkin, and Lee Lewis, the harlequin of the theatre, for Gentleman Smith in Young Marlow ; and both did justice to their parts. Great interest was taken by Goldsmith's friends in the suc- cess of his piece. The rehearsals were attended by Johnson, Cradock, Murphy, Reynolds and his sister, and the whole Hor- neck connection, including, of course, the Jessamy Bride, whose presence may have contributed to flutter the anxious heart of the author. The rehearsals went off with great ap- plause, but that Colman attributed to the partiality of friends. He continued to croak, and refused to risk any expense in new scenery or dresses on a play which he was sure would prove a failure. The time was at hand for the first representation, and as yet the comedy was without a title. " We are all in labor for a name for Goldy's play," said Johnson, who, as usual, took a kind of fatherly protecting interest in poor Goldsmith's affairs. The Old House a New Inn was thought of for a time, but still did not please. Sir Joshua Reynolds proposed The Belle's Stratagem, an elegant title, but not considered applicable, the perplexities of the comedy being produced by the mistake of the hero, not the stratagem of the heroine. The name was afterward adopted by Mrs. Cowley for one of her comedies. The Mistakes of a Night was the title at length fixed upon, to which Goldsmith prefixed the words She Stoops to Conquer. The evil bodings of Colman still continued ; they were even communicated in the box office to the servant of the Duke of Gloucester, who was sent to engage a box. Never did the play of a popular writer struggle into existence through more diffi- culties. In the meantime Foote's Primitive Puppetshow, entitled the ffandsome Housemaid, or Piety on Pattens, had been brought 212 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. out at the Haymarket on the 15th of February. All the world, fashionable and unfashionable, had crowded to the theatre. The street was thronged with equipages — the doors were stormed by the mob. The burlesque was completely success- ful, and sentimental comedy received its quietus. Even Gar- rick, who had recently befriended it, now gave it a kick, as he saw it going down hill, and sent Goldsmith's humorous pro- logue to help his comedy of the opposite school. Garrick and Goldsmith, however, were now on very cordial terms, to which the social meetings in the circle of the Hornecks and Bunburys may have contributed. On the 15th of March the new comedy was to be performed. Those who had stood up for its merits, and been irritated and disgusted by the treatment it had received from the manager, determined to muster their forces, and aid in giving it a good launch upon the town. The particulars of this confederation, and its triumphant success, are amusingly told by Cumberland in his memoirs. "We were not over sanguine of success, but perfectly de- termined to struggle hard for our author. We accordingly assembled our strength at the Shakespeare tavern, in a con- siderable body, for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul of the corps : the poet took post silently by his side, with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb White- foord, and a phalanx of North British, predetermined applaud- ers, under the banner of Major Mills, all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimitable glee; and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery as patiently and com- placently as my friend Boswell would have done any day or every day of his life. In the meantime, we did not forget our duty; and though we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson was chief actor, we betook ourselves in good time to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing up of the curtain. As our stations were preconcerted, so were our signals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner that gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how to follow them up. ' ' We had among us a very worthy and efficient member, long since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, of amiable memory, who was gifted by nature with the most sonorous, and at the same time, the most con- tagious laugh that ever echoed from the human lungs. The OUVEU tiOWSMlTlt 213 neighing of the horse of the son of Hystaspes ^^J%£ tt^towhole thunder of the theatre could not drown it. This ^XS^ f ricmd **# ^warned us that he knew kind ana.ingeiuu cannon did that was iu eveswere upon Johnson, who sat in a front row of a ode to and when \e laughed, everybody thought themselv^ Granted to roar. In the meantime, my friend followed SSwith a rattle so irresistibly comic that, when he had ^^tVZSt £ S ^ed^my^ifl Xrehe?ound mo^and now, unluckily, he fancied tha be found aToke in almost everything that was said; so that he ,r 4 . a HZve could be more mal-apropos than some of bis bufsts^ry noTand then were. These were dang = moments for the pit began to take umbrage; but we carriea oTpSnt tirough P and triumphed not only over Colmans ^luTcf «tem*nt has been condemned as exaggerated or Reeled. Cumberland's memoirs have »T^J^ characterized as partaking of romance, and m the present m stance he had particular motives for tampering w lt h the tru tK He was a dramatic writer himself, jealous of the success 01* rival andtnSous to have it attributed to the private manage- ment "friends. According to various accounts public and private, such management was unnecessary, for the V ece was « received throughout with the greatest acclamation^ Goldsmith in the present instance, had not dared, as on a forget o^asion, to be present at the first Pert™* £■ had been so overcome by his apprehensions that, at the pre paratory dmner he could hardly utter a word and was *, choked that he could not swallow a mouthful. When .Jm frtenda trooped to the theatre, he stole away to St. James Park therhe was found by a friend between seven and eight 214 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. o'clock, wandering up and down the Mall like a troubled spirit. With difficulty he was persuaded to go to the theatre, where his presence might be important should any alteration be necessary. He arrived at the opening of the fifth act, and made his way behind the scenes. Just as he entered there was a slight hiss at the improbability of Tony Lumpkin's trick on his mother, in persuading her she was forty miles off, on Crack- skull Common, though she had been trundled about on her own grounds. "What's. that? what's that!" cried Goldsmith to the manager, in great agitation. "Pshaw ! Doctor," replied Colman, sarcastically, "don't be frightened at a squib, when we've been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder!" Though of a most forgiving nature Goldsmith did not easily forget this ungracious and ill-timed sally. If Colman was indeed actuated by the paltry motives as- scribed to him in his treatment of this play, he was most am- ply punished by its success, and by the taunts, epigrams, and censures levelled at him through the press, in which his false prophecies were jeered at; his critical judgment called in ques- tion: and he was openly taxed with literary jealousy. So galling and unremitting was the fire, that he at length wrote to Goldsmith, entreating him "to take him off the rack of the newspapers;" in the meantime, to escape the laugh that was raised about him in the theatrical world of London, he took refuge in Bath during the triumphant career of the comedy.; The following is one of the many squibs which assailed the ears of the manager: To George Colman, Esq. ON THE SUCCESS OP DR. GOLDSMITH'S NEW COMEDY. " Come. Cdley, doff those mourning weeds, Nor thus with jokes be flamm'd; Tho' Goldsmith's present play succeeds, His next may still be damm'd. As this has 'scaped without a fall, To sink his next prepare; New actors hire from Wapping Wall, And dresses from Rag Fair. For scenes let tatter'd blankets fly, The prologue Kelly write; Then swear again the piece must die Before the author's night. Should these tricks fail, the lucky elf, To bring to lasting shame, E'en write the best you can yourself, Aud print it in his name." OLIVER GOLDSMim. 215 The solitary hiss, which had startled Goldsmith, was as- cribed by some of the newspaper scribblers to Cumberland himself, who was "manifestly miserable" at the delight of the audience, or to Ossian Macpherson, who was hostile to the whole Johnson clique, or to Goldsmith's dramatic rival, Kelly. The following is one of the epigrams which appeared : " At Dr. Goldsmith's merry play, All the spectators laugh, they say: The assertion, sir, I must deny, For Cumberland and Kelly cry. Bide, si sapis." Another, addressed to Goldsmith, alludes to Kelly's early apprenticeship to stay-making : " If Kelly finds fault with the shape of your muse, And thinks that too loosely it plays, He surely, dear Doctor, will never refuse To make it a new Pair of Stays /" Cradock had returned to the country before the production of the play; the following letter, written just after the per- formance, gives an additional picture of the thorns which be- set an author in the path of theatrical literature : " My dear Sir: The play has met with a success much be- yond your expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this. Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved ; Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part" (Miss Hardcastle) "unless, according to the custom of the theatre she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue ; but then Mrs. Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken : I was obliged, therefore, to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall, on the whole, be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation |jp OLIVER GOLDSMITH. "I am, my dear Cradock, your obliged and obedient ser" vant, "Oliver Goldsmith. " P*S» Present my most bumble respects to Mrs. Cradock." Johnson, who bad taken such a conspicuous part in promot- ing the interests of poor " Goldy," was triumphant at the suc- cess of the piece. ' ' I know of no comedy for many years, " said he, ' ' that has so much exhilarated an audience ; that has answered so much the great end of comedy — making an au- dience merry." Goldsmith was happy, also, in gleaning applause from less authoritative sources. Northcote, the painter, then a youth- ful pupil of Sir Joshua Eeynolds ; and Ralph, Sir Joshua's con- fidential man, had taken their stations in the gallery to lead the applause in that quarter. Goldsmith asked Northcote's opinion of the play. The youth modestly declared he could not presume to judge in such matters. ' ' Did it make you laugh?" " Oh, exceedingly!" "That is all I require," replied Goldsmith ; and rewarded him for his criticism by box-tickets for his first benefit night. The comedy was immediately put to press, and dedicated to Johnson in the following grateful and affectionate terms : " In inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honor to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety." The copyright was transferred to Mr. Newberry, according to agreement, whose profits on the sale of the work far ex- ceeded the debts for which the author in his perplexities had pre-engaged it. The sum which accrued to Goldsmith from his benefit nights afforded but a slight palliation of his pecuniary difficulties. His friends, while they exulted in his success, little knew of his continually increasing embarrassments, and of the anxiety of mind which kept tasking his pen while it im- paired the ease and freedom of spirit necessary to felicitous composition. OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 211 CHAPTEK XXXVII A NEWSPAPER ATTACK — THE EVANS AFFRAY— JOHNSON'S COM- MENT. The triumphant success of She Stoops to Conquer brought forth, of course, those carpings and cavillings of underling scribblers, which are the thorns and briers in the path of suc- cessful authors. Goldsmith, though easily nettled by attacks of the kind, was at present too well satisfied with the reception of his comedy to heed them; but the following anonymous letter, which appeared in a public paper, was not to be taken with equal equanimity : " For the London Packet. "to dr. goldsmith. 1 l Vous vous noyez par vanite. "Sir: The happy knack which you have learned of puffing your own compositions, provokes me to come forth. You have not been the editor of newspapers and magazines not to discover the trick of literary humbug; but the gauze is so thin than the very foolish part of the world see through it, and dis- cover the doctor's monkey face and cloven foot. Your poetic vanity is as unpardonable as your personal. Would man be- lieve it, and will woman bear it, to be told that for hours the great Goldsmith will stand surveying his grotesque orang- outang's figure in a pier-glass ? Was but the lovely H-k as much enamored, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain. But your vanity is preposterous. How will this same bard of Bedlam ring the changes in the praise of Goldy! But what has he to be either proud or vain of ? ' The Trav- eller ' is a flimsy poem, built upon false principles— principles •diametrically opposite to liberty. What is The Good-Natured Man but a poor, water-gruel dramatic dose ? What is ' The Deserted Village ' but a pretty poem of easy numbers, without fancy, dignity, genius, or fire ? And, pray, what may be the last speaking pantomime, so praised by the doctor himself, but an incoherent piece of stuff, the figure of a woman with a fish's 218 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. tail, without plot, incident, or intrigue? We are made to laugh at stale', dull jokes, wherein we mistake pleasantry for wit, and grimace for humor.; wherein every scene is unnatural and inconsistent with the rules, the laws of nature and of the drama ; viz. , two gentlemen come to a man of fortune's house, eat, drink, etc., and take it for an inn. The one is intended as a lover for the daughter ; he talks with her for some hours ; and, when he sees her again in a different dress, he treats her as a bar-girl, and swears she squinted. He abuses the master of the house, and threatens to kick him out of his own doors. The squire, whom we are told is to be a fool, proves to be the most sensible being of the piece ; and he makes out a whole act by bidding his mother lie close behind a bush, persuading her that his father, her own husband, is a highwayman, and that he has come to cut their throats, and, to give his cousin an opportunity to go off, he drives his mother over hedges, ditches, and through ponds. There is not, sweet, sucking Johnson, a natural stroke in the whole play but the young fellow's giving the stolen jewels to the mother, supposing her to be the landlady. T n iat Mr. Colman did no justice to this piece, I honestly allow ; that he told all his friends it would be damned, I positively aver ; and, from such ungenerous insinu- ations, without a dramatic merit, it rose to public notice, and it is now the ton to go and see it, though I never saw a person that either liked it or approved it, any more than the absurd plo of Home's tragedy of Alonzo. Mr. Goldsmith, correct yoxxr arrogance, reduce your vanity, and endeavor to believe, as a man, you are of the plainest sort ; and as an author, but a mortal piece of mediocrity. " Brise le miroir infidele Qui vous cache la verite. " Tom Tickle." It would be difficult to devise a letter more calculated to wound the peculiar sensibilities of Goldsmith. The attacks upon him as an author, though annoying enough, he could have tolerated; but then the allusion to his ''grotesque" per- son, to his studious attempts to adorn it ; and above all, to his being an unsuccessful admirer of the lovely H — k (the Jessamy Bride), struck rudely upon the most sensitive part of his highly sensitive nature. The paragraph, it was said, was first pointed out to him by an officious friend, an Irishman, who told him he was bound in honor to resent it; but he OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 219 needed no such prompting. He was in a high state of excite- ment and indignation, and accompanied by his friend, who is said to have been a Captain Higgins, of the marines, he re- paired to Paternoster Eow, to the shop of Evans, the pub- lisher, whom he supposed to be the editor of the paper. Evans was summoned by his shopman from an adjoining room. Goldsmith announced his name. "I have called," added he, ' ' in consequence of a scurrilous attack made upon me, and an unwarrantable liberty taken with the name of a young lady. As for myself, I care little; but her name must not be sported with." Evans professed utter ignorance of the matter, and said he would speak to the editor. He stooped to examine a file of the paper, in search of the o ff ensive article ; whereupon Gold- smith's friend gave him a signal, that now was a favorable moment for the exercise of his cane. The hint was taken as quick as given, and the cane was vigorously applied to the back of the stooping publisher. The latter rallied in an in- stant, and, being a stout, high-blooded Welshman, returned the blows with interest. A. lamp hanging overhead was broken, and sent down a shower of oil upon the combatants ; but the battle Baged with unceasing fury. The shopman ran off for a constable ; but Dr. Kendrick, who happened to be in the adjacent room, sallied forth, interfered between the com- batants, and put an end to the affray. He conducted Gold- smith to a coach, in exceedingly battered and tapered plight, and accompanied him home, soothing him with much mock commiseration, though he was generally suspected, and on good grounds, to be the author of the libel. Evans immediately instituted a suit against Goldsmith for an assault, but was ultimately prevailed upon to compromise the matter, the poet contributing fifty pounds to the Welsh charity. Newspapers made themselves, as may well be supposed, ex- ceedingly merry with the combat. Some censured him severely for invading the sanctity of a man's own house ; others accused him of having, in his former capacity of editor of a maga- zine, been guilty of the very offences that he now resented in others. This drew from him the following vindication: "To the Public. "Lest it should be supposed that I have been willing to correct in others an abuse of which I have been guilty myself, 220 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. I beg leave to declare, that, in all my life, I never wrote or dictated a single paragraph, letter, or essay in a newspaper, except a few moral essays under the character of a Chinese, about ten years ago, in the Ledger, and a letter, to which I signed my name in the St. James'' Chronicle. If the liberty of the press, therefore, has been abused, I have had no hand in it. "I have always considered the press as the protector of our freedom, as a watchful guardian, capable of uniting the weak against the encroachments of power. Whakconcerns the pub- lic most properly admits of a public discussion. But, of late, the press has turned from defending public interest to making inroads upon private life ; from combating the strong to over- whelming the teeble. No condition is now too obscure for its abuse, and the protestor has become the tyrant of the people. In this manner the freedom of the press is beginning to sow the seeds of its own dissolution ; the great must oppose it from principle, and the weak from fear ; till at last every rank of mankind shall be found to give up its benefits, content with security from insults. "How to put a stop to this licentiousness, by which all are indiscriminately abused, and by which vice consequently es- capes in the general censure, I am unable to tell ; all I could wish is that, as the law gives us no protection against the injury, so it should give caluminators no shelter after having provoked correction. The insults which we receive before the public, by being more open, are the more distressing; by treating them with silent contempt we do not pay a sufficient deference to the opinion of the world. By recurring to legal redress we too often expose the weakness of the law, which only serves to increase our mortification by failing to relieve us. In short, every man should singly consider himself as the guardian of the liberty of the press, and, as far as his influence can extend, should endeavor to prevent its licentiousness be- coming at last the grave of its freedom. "Oliver Goldsmith." Boswell, who had just arrived in town, met with this article in a newspaper which he found at Dr. Johnson's. The doctor was from home at the time, and Bozzy and Mrs. Williams, in a critical conference over the letter, determined from the style that it must have been written by the lexicographer himself. The latter on his return soon undeceived them. " Sir," said he to Boswell, " Goldsmith would no more have askccl me to h t ave 'OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 221 Wrote such a thing as that for him, than he would have asked me to feed him with a spoon, or do anything else that denoted his imbecility. Sir, had he shown it to any one friend, he would not have been allowed to publish it. He has, indeed, done it very well; but it is a foolish thing well done. I sup- pose he has been so much elated with the success of his new comedy, that he has thought everything that concerned him must be of importance to the public." CHAPTER XXXIX, B6SWELL IN HOLY WEEK— DINNER AT OGLETHORPE^— DINNEB AT PAOLI'S— THE POLICY OF TRUTH— GOLDSMITH AFFECTS IN- DEPENDENCE OF ROYALTY— PAOLI'S COMPLIMENT— JOHNSON'S EULOGIUM ON THE FIDDLE— QUESTION ABOUT SUICIDE— BOS- WELL'S SUBSERVIENCY. The return of Boswell to town to his task of noting down the conversations of Johnson enables us to glean from his journal some scanty notices of Goldsmith. It was now Holy Week, a time during which Johnson was particularly solemn in his manner and strict in his devotions. Boswell, who was the imitator of the great moralist in everything, assumed, of course, an extra devoutness on the present occasion. "He had ;an odd mock solemnity of tone and manner," said Miss Burney (afterward Madame D'Arblay), " which he had acquired from - constantly thinking and imitating Dr. Johnson. ' ' It would seem that he undertook to deal out some second-hand homilies, a la . Johnson, for the edification of Goldsmith during Holy Week. 1 The poet, whatever might be his religious feeling, had no dis- position to be schooled by so shallow an apostle. "Sir," said he in reply, " as I take my shoes from the shoemaker, and my coat from the tailor, so I take my religion from the priest." Boswell treasured up the reply in his memory or his memo- randum book. A few days afterward, the Oth of April, he kept Good Friday with Dr. Johnson, in orthodox style ; break- fasted with him on tea and crossbuns ; went to church with him morning and evening; fasted in the interval, and read with him in the Greek Testament: then, in the piety of his heart, complained of the sore rebuff he had met with in the 222 OLIVER GO LI) SMITH. course of his religious exhortations to the poet, and lamented that the latter should indulge in "this loose way of talking." "Sir," replied Johnson, "Goldsmith knows nothing— he. has made up his mind about nothing. " This reply seems to have gratified the lurking jealousy of Bos well, and he has recorded it in his journal. Johnson, how- ever, with respect to Goldsmith, and indeed with respect to everybody else, blew hot as well as cold, according to the hu- mor he was in. Boswell, who was astonished and piqued at the continually increasing celebrity of the poet, observed some time after to Johnson, in a tone«of surprise, that Goldsmith had acquired more fame than all the officers of the last war who were not generals. "Why, sir," answered Johnson, his old feeling of good- will working uppermost, "you will find ten thousand fit to do what they did, before you find one to do 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." On the 13th of April we find Goldsmith and Johnson at the table of old General Oglethorpe, discussing the question of the degeneracy of the human race. Goldsmith asserts the fact, and attributes it to the influence of luxury. Johnson denies the fact ; and observes that, even admitting it, luxury could not be the cause. It reached but a small proportion of the human race. Soldiers, on sixpence a day, could not in- dulge in luxuries; the poor and laboring classes, forming the great mass of mankind, were out of its sphere. Wherever it could reach them, it strengthened them and rendered them prolific. The conversation was not of particular force or point as reported by Boswell; the dinner party was a very small one, in which there was no provocation to intellectual display. After dinner they took tea with the ladies, where we find poor Goldsmith happy and at home, singing Tony Lumpkin's song of the "Three Jolly Pigeons," and another, called the " Humors of Ballamaguery, " to a very pretty Irish tune. It was to have been introduced in She Stoops to Conquer, but was left out, as the actress who played the heroine could not sing. It was in these genial moments that the sunshine of Gold- smith's nature would break out, and he would say and do a thousand whimsical and agreeable things that made him the life of the strictly social circle. Johnson, with whom conver- sation was everything, used to judge Goldsmith too much by his own colloquial standard, and undervalue him for being less OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 223 provided than himself with acquired facts, the ammunition of the tongue and often the mere lumber of the memory; others, however, valued him for the native felicity of his thoughts, however carelessly expressed, and for certain good-fellow qualities, less calculated to dazzle than to endear. " It is amaz- ing," said Johnson one day, after he himself had been talking like an oracle ; " it is amazing how little Goldsmith knows; he seldom comes where he is not more ignorant than anyone else." "Yet," replied Sir Joshua Reynolds, with aifectionate promptness, " there is no man whose company is more MJced." Two or three days after the dinner at General Oglethorpe's, Goldsmith met Johnson again at the table of General Paoli, the hero of Corsica. Martinelli, of Florence, author of an Italian History of England, was among the guests; as was Boswell, to whom we are indebted for minutes of the conversa- tion which took place. The question was debated whether Martinelli should continue his history down to that day. ' ' To be sure he should, " said Goldsmith. ' ' No, sir ;" cried Johnson, "it would give great offence. He would have to tell of almost all the living great what they did not wish told." Goldsmith. —"It may, perhaps, be necessary for a native to be more cau- tious ; but a foreigner, who comes among us without prejudice, may be considered as holding the place of a judge, and may speak his mind freely." Johnson.—" Sir, a foreigner, when he sends a work from the press, ought to be on his guard against catching the error and mistaken enthusiasm of the people among whom he happens to be." Goldsmith.—' ' Sir, he wants only to sell his history, and to tell truth; one an honest, the other a laudable motive." Johnson.— " Sir, they are both laudable motives. It is laudable in a man to wish to live by his labors ; but he should write so as he may live by them, not so as he may be knocked on the head. I would advise him to be at Calais before he publishes his history of the present age. A foreigner who attaches himself to a political party in this country is in the worst state that can be imagined ; he is looked upon as a mere intermeddler. A native may do it from inter- est." Boswell.— "Or principle." Goldsmith.— "There are people who tell a hundred political lies every day, and are not hurt by it. Surely, then, one may tell truth with perfect safety." Johnson.— " Why, sir, in the first place, he who tells a hundred lies has disarmed the force of his lies. But, besides, a man had rather have a hundred lies told of him than one $ruth which he does not wish to be told." Goldsmith.—" For 224 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. my part, I'd tell the truth, and shame the devil." Johnson. — "Yes, sir, but the devil will be angry. I wish to shame the devil as much as you do, but I should choose to be out of the reach of his claws." Goldsmith. — " His claws can do you no hurt where you have the shield of truth." This last reply was one of Goldsmith's lucky hits, and closed the argument in his favor. "We talked," writes Bos well, " of the king's coming to see Goldsmith's new play." "I wish he would," said Goldsmith, adding, however, with an affected indifference, ' ' Not that it would do me the least good." " Well, then," cried Johnson, laughing, " let us say it would do him good. No, sir, this affec- tation will not pass ; it is mighty idle. In such a state as ours, who would not wish to please the chief magistrate?" " I do wish to please him," rejoined Goldsmith. " I remem- ber a line in Dry den : ' And every poet is the monarch's friend,' it ought to be reversed." "Nay," said Johnson, "there are finer lines in Dryden on this subject : ' For colleges on bounteous kings depend, And never rebel was to arts a friend.' " General Paoli observed that "successful rebels might be." "Happy rebellions," interjected Martinelli. "We have no such phrase, " cried Goldsmith. ' ' But have you not the thing?" asked Paoli. " Yes," replied Goldsmith, "all our happy revo- lutions. They have hurt our constitution, and will hurt it, till we mend it by another happy revolution. " This was a sturdy sally of Jacobitism that quite surprised Boswell, but must have been relished by Johnson. General Paoli mentioned a passage in the play, which had been construed into a compliment to a lady of distinction, whose marriage with the Duke of Cumberland had excited the strong disapprobation of the king as a mesaillance. Boswell, to draw Goldsmith out, pretended to think the compliment unintentional. The poet smiled and hesitated. The general came to his relief. "Monsieur Goldsmith," said he, "est comme la mer, qui jette des perles et beaucoup d'autres belles choses, sans s'en appercevoir" (Mr. Goldsmith is like the sea, which casts forth pearls and many other beautiful things with- out perceiving it). ^'Tres-bien dit, et tres-elegamment" (very well said, and OLIVER GOLDSMITH £25 Very elegantly), exclaimed Goldsmith; delighted with so beau- tiful a compliment from such a quarter. Johnson spoke disparagingly of the learning of a Mr. Harris^ of Salisbury, and doubted his being a good Grecian. " He is what is much better," cried Goldsmith, with prompt good- nature, "he is a worthy, humane man." " Nay, sir," rejoined the logical Johnson, " that is not to the purpose of -our argu- ment ; that will prove that he can play upon the fiddle as well as Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian." Goldsmith found he had got into a scrape, and seized upon Giardini to help him out of it. "The greatest musical performers," said he, dexterously turning the conversation, "have but small emoluments; Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year." " That is indeed but little for a man to get," observed Johnson, " who does best that which so many endea- vor to do. There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the fiddle. In all other things we can do something at first. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give him a hammer ; not so well as a smith, but tolerably. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one ; but give him a fiddle and fiddlestick, and he can do nothing." This, upon the whole, though reported by the one-sided Bos- well, is a tolerable specimen of the conversations of Goldsmith and Johnson; the former heedless, often illogical, always on the kind-hearted side of the question, and prone to redeem him- self by lucky hits ; the latter closely argumentative, studiously sententious, often profound, and sometimes laboriously pro- saic. They had an argument a few days later at Mr. Thrale's table, on the subject of suicide. "Do you think, sir," said Boswell, "that all who commit suicide are mad?" " Sir," replied John- son, "they are not often universally disordered in their intel- lects, but one passion presses so upon them that they yield to it, and commit suicide, as a passionate man will stab another. I have often thought," added he, "that after a man has taken the resolution to kill himself, it is not courage in him to do anything, however desperate, because he has nothing to fear." "I don't see that," observed Goldsmith. "Nay, but, my dear sir," rejoined Johnson, "why should you not see what every one else does?" "It is," replied Goldsmith, "for fear of some- thing that he has resolved to kill himself ; and will not that timid disposition restrain him?" "It does not signify," pur- 226 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. sued Johnson, "that the fear of something made him resolve; it is upon the state of his mind, after the resolution is taken, that I argue. Suppose a man either from fear, or pride, or conscience, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill himself ; when once the resolution is taken he has nothing to fear. He may then go and take the King of Prussia by the nose at the head of his army. He cannot fear the rack who is determined to kill himself. " Boswell reports no more of the discussion, though Goldsmith might have continued it with advantage : for the very timid disposition, which through fear of some- thing, was impelling the man to commit suicide, might restrain him from an act, involving the punishment of the rack, more terrible to him than death itself. It is to be regretted in all these reports by Boswell, we have scarcely anything but the remarks of Johnson ; it is only by accident that he now and then gives us the observations of others, when they are necessary to explain or set off those of his hero. "When in that -presence" says Miss Burney, "he was unobservant, if not contemptuous of every one else. In truth, when he met with Dr. Johnson, he commonly forbore even answering anything that was said, or attending to any- thing that went forward, lest he should miss the smallest sound from that voice, to which he paid such exclusive, though mer- ited homage. But the moment that voice burst forth, the atten- tion which it excited on Mr. Boswell amounted almost to pain. His eyes goggled with eagerness ; he leaned his ear almost on the shoulder of the doctor; and his mouth dropped open to catch every syllable that might be uttered; nay, he seemed not only to dread losing a word, but to be anxious not to miss a breathing; as if hoping from it latently, or mystically, some information." On one occasion the Doctor detected Boswell, or Bozzy, as he called him, eavesdropping behind his chair, as he was con- versing with Miss Burney at Mr. Thrale's table. "What are you doing there, sir?" cried he, turning round angrily, and clapping his hand upon his knee. "Go to the table, sir." Boswell obeyed with an air of affright and submission, which raised a smile on every face. Scarce had he taken his seat, however, at a distance, than impatient to get again at the side of Johnson, he rose and was running off in quest of something to show him, when the doctor roared after him authoritatively, " What are you thinking of, sir? Why do you get up before the cloth is removed? Come back to youy place, sir;" — and OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 227 the obsequious spaniel did as he was commanded. " Running about in the middle of meals !" muttered the doctor, pursing his mouth at the same time to restrain his rising risibility. Boswell got another rebuff from Johnson, which would have demolished any other man. He had been teasing him with many direct questions, such as What did you do, sir? What did you say, sir? until the great philologist became perfectly enraged. U I will not be put to the question!' 1 '' roared he. "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? Why is a cow's tail long? Why is a fox's tail bushy?" "Why, sir," replied pil-garlick, "you are so good that I venture to trouble you." " Sir," replied Johnson, "my being so good is no reason why you should be so ill" "You have but two topics, sir;" exclaimed he on another oc- casion, "yourself and me, and I am sick of both," Boswell's inveterate disposition to toad was a sore cause of mortification to his father, the old laird of Auchinleck (or Af- fleck). He had been annoyed by his extravagant devotion to Paoli, but then he was something of a military hero; but this tagging at the heels of Dr. Johnson, whom he considered a kind of pedagogue, set his Scotch blood in a ferment. " There's nae hope for Jamie, mon, " said he to a friend ; ' ' Jamie is gaen clean gyte. What do you think, mon? He's done wi' Faoli; he's off wi' the land-louping scoundrel of a Corsican ; and whose tail do you think he has pinn'd himself to now, mon? A do- minie, mon; an auld dominie: he keeped a schule, and cau'd it an acaadamy." We shall show in the next chapter that Jamie's devotion to the dominie did not go unrewarded. CHAPTER XL. CHANGES IN THE LITERARY CLUB — JOHNSON'S OBJECTION TO GAR- RICK — ELECTION OF BOSWELL. The Literary Club (as we have termed the club in Gerard Street, though it took that name some time later) had now being in existence several years. Johnson was exceedingly chary at first of its exclusiveness, and opposed to its being augmented in number. Not long after its institution, Sir 228 0L1VEB GOLDSMITH. Joshua Keynolds was speaking of it to Garrick. "I like it much," said little David, briskly; " I think I shall be of you." " When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. Johnson," says Bos- well, "he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. * He'll be of us ?■' growled he. 'How does he know we will permit him? The first duke in England has no right to hold such language.'" When Sir John Hawkins spoke favorably of Garrick's pre- tensions, "Sir," replied Johnson, "he will disturb us by his buffoonery." In the same spirit he declared to Mr. Thrale, that if Garrick should apply for admission, he would black-ball him. "Who, sir?" exclaimed Thrale, with surprise; " Mr. Gar- rick — your friend, your companion — black-ball him !" "Why, sir," replied Johnson, "I love my little David dearly— better than all or any of his flatterers do; but surely one ought to sit in a society like ours, " 'Unelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or player.' " The exclusion from the club was a sore mortification to Gar- rick. though he bore it without complaining. He could not help continually to ask questions about it — what was going on there — whether he was ever the subject of conversation. By degrees the rigor of the club relaxed: some of the members grew negligent. Beauclerc lost his right of membership by neglecting to attend. On his marriage, however, with Lady Diana Spencer, daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, and recently divorced from Viscount Bolingbroke, he had claimed and regained his seat in the club. The number of members had likewise been augmented. The proposition to increase it- originated with Goldsmith. "It would give," he thought, "an agreeable variety to their meetings ; for there can be nothing new among us," said he; " we have travelled over each other's minds." Johnson was piqued at the suggestion. "Sir," said he, "you have not travelled over my mind, I promise you." Sir Joshua, less confident in the exhaustless fecundity of his mind, felt and acknowledged the force of Goldsmith's suggest- ion. Several new members, therefore, had been added; the first, to his great joy, was David Garrick. Goldsmith, who was now on cordial terms with him, had zealously promoted his election, and Johnson had given it his warm approbation. Another new member was Beauclerc's friend, Lord Charle- mont; and a still more important one was Mr., afterward Sir OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 229 William Jones, the famous Orientalist, at that time a young lawyer of the Temple and a distinguished scholar. To the great astonishment of the club, Johnson now proposed his devoted follower, Boswell, as a member. He did it in a note addressed to Goldsmith, who presided on the evening of the 23d of April. The nomination was seconded by Beauclerc. According to the rules of the club, the ballot would take place at the next meeting (on the 30th) ; there was an intervening week, therefore, in which to discuss the pretensions of the can- didate. We may easily imagine the discussions that took place. Boswell had made himself absurd in such a variety of ways, that the very idea of his admission was exceedingly irk- some to some of the members. ''The honor of being elected into the Turk's Head Club, " said the Bishop of St. Asaph, ' ' is not inferior to that of being representative of Westminster and Surrey;" what had Boswell done to merit such an honor? what chance had he of gaining it? The answer was simple: he had been the persevering worshipper, if not sycophant of Johnson. The great lexicographer had a heart to be won by apparent af- fection; he stood forth authoritatively in support of his vassal. If asked to state the merits of the candidate, he summed them up in an indefinite but comprehensive word of his own coining ; he was clubahle. He moreover gave significant hints that if Boswell were kept out he should oppose the admission of any other candidate. No further opposition was made; in fact none of the members had been so fastidious and exclusive in regard to the club as Johnson himself ; and if he were pleased, they were easily satisfied ; besides, they knew that with all his faults, Boswell was a cheerful companion, and possessed lively social qualities. On Friday, when the ballot was to take place, Beauclerc gave a dinner, at his house in the Adelphi, where Boswell met several of the members who were favorable to his election. After dinner the latter adjourned to the club, leaving Boswell in company with Lady Di Beauclerc until the fate of his elect- ion should be known. He sat, he says, in a state of anxiety which even the charming conversation of Lady Di could not entirely dissipate. It was not long before tidings were brought of his election, and he was conducted to the place of meeting, where, beside the company he had met at dinner, Burke, Dr. Nugent, Garrick, Goldsmith, and Mr. William Jones were waiting to receive him. The club, notwithstanding all its learned dignity in the eyes of the world, could at times "un-, 230 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. bend and play the fool" as well as less important bodies. Some of its jocose conversations have at times leaked out, and a society in which Goldsmith could venture to sing his song of " an old woman tossed in a blanket," could not be so very staid in its gravity. We may suppose, therefore, the jokes that had been passing among the members while awaiting the arrival of Boswell. Beauclerc himself could not have repressed his dis- position for a sarcastic pleasantry. At least we have a right to presume all this from the conduct of Dr. Johnson himself. With all his gravity he possessed a deep fund of quiet hu- mor, and felt a kind of whimsical responsibility to protect the club from the absurd propensities of the very questionable associate he had thus inflicted on them. Rising, therefore, as Boswell entered, he advanced with a very doctorial air, placed himself behind a chair, on which he leaned as on a desk or pul- pit, and then delivered, ex cathedra, a mock solemn charge, pointing out the conduct expected from him as a good member of the club ; what he was to do, and especially what he was to avoid; including in the latter, no doubt, all those petty, pry- ing, questioning, gossiping, babbling habits which had so often grieved the spirit of the lexicographer. It is to be regretted that Boswell has never thought proper to note down the par- 1 Jars of this charge, which, from the well known characters and positions of the parties, might have furnished a parallel to the noted charge of Launcelot Gobbo to his dog. CHAPTER XLI. DINNER AT DILLY'S— CONVERSATIONS ON NATURAL HISTORY— IN- TERMEDDLING OF BOSWELL — DISPUTE ABOUT TOLERATION — JOHNSON'S REBUFF TO GOLDSMITH— HIS APOLOGY — MAN-WOR- SHIP — DOCTORS MAJOR AND MINOR — A FAREWELL VISIT. A few days after the serio-comic scene of the elevation of Boswell into the Literary Club, we find that indefatigable biographer giving particulars of a dinner at the Dillys, book- sellers, in the Poultry, at which he met Goldsmith and John- son, with several other literary characters. His anecdotes of the conversation, of course, go to glorify Dr. Johnson ; for, as he observes in his biography, "his conversation alone, or what OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 231 led to it, or was interwoven with it, is the business of this work." Still on the present, as on other occasions, he gives unintentional and perhaps unavoidable gleams of Goldsmith's \ good sense, which show that the latter only wanted a less pre- judiced and more impartial reporter, to put down the charge of colloquial incapacity so unjustly fixed upon him. The conver- sation turned upon the natural history of birds, a beautiful subject, on which the poet, from his recent studies, his habits of observation, and his natural tastes, must have talked with instruction and feeling; yet, though we have much of what Johnson said, we have only a casual remark or two of Gold- smith. One was on the migration of swallows, which he pro- nounced partial; "The stronger ones," said he, "migrate, the others do not." Johnson denied to the brute creation the faculty of reason. "Birds," said he, "build by instinct; they never improve; they build their first nest as well as any one they ever build." "Yet we see," observed Goldsmith, " if you take away a bird's nest with the eggs in it, she will make a slighter nest and lay again." " Sir'" replied 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, mak' her nest quickly, and consequently it will be slight." "The nidification of birds," rejoined Goldsmith, "is what is least known in natural history, though one of the most curious things in it." While conversation was going on in this placid, agreeable and instructive manner, the eternal meddler and busy-body Boswell, must intrude, to put it in a brawl. The Dillys were dissenters ; two of their guests were dissenting clergymen; another, Mr. Toplady, was a clergyman of the . established church. Johnson, himself, was a zealous, uncom- promising churchman. None but a marplot like Boswell would have thought, on such an occasion, and in such company, to broach the subject of religious toleration; but, as has been well observed, "it was his perverse inclination to introduce subjects that he hoped would produce difference and debate." In this present instance he gained his point. An animated dispute immediately arose, in which, according to Boswell's report, Johnson monopolized the greater part of the conversa- tion ; not always treating the dissenting clergymen with the greatest courtesy, and even once wounding the feelings of the mild and amiable Bennet Langton by his harshness. Goldsmith mingled a little in the dispute and with some g»4« < 1 232 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. vantage, but was cut short by flat contradictions when most in the right. He sat for a time silent but impatient under such overbearing dogmatism, though Bos well, with his usual misinterpretation, attributes his " restless agitation" to a wish to get in and shine. "Finding himself excluded," continues Boswell, " he had taken his hat to go away, but remained for a time with it in his hand, like a gamester, who, at the end of a long night, lingers for a little while to see if he can have a favorable opportunity to finish with success." Once he was beginning to speak when he was overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the table, and did not perceive his attempt ; whereupon he threw down, as it were, his hat and his argument, and, darting an angry glance at Johnson, exclaimed in a bitter tone, " Take it." Just then one of the disputants was beginning to speak, when Johnson uttering some sound, as if about to interrupt him, Goldsmith, according to Boswell, seized the opportunity to vent his own envy and spleen under pretext of supporting another person. "Sir," said he to Johnson, " the gentleman has heard you patiently for an hour; pray allow us now to hear him." It was a reproof in the lexicographer's own style, and he may have felt that he merited it; but he was not accustomed to be reproved. "Sir," said he, 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 after some time .went away, having an- other engagement. That evening, as Boswell was on the way with Johnson and Langton to the club, he seized the occasion to make some dis- paraging remarks on Goldsmith, which he thought would just then be acceptable to the great lexicographer. "It was a pity," he said, "that Goldsmith would, on every occasion, endeavor to shine, by which he so often exposed himself. '* Langton contrasted him with Addison, who, content with the fame of his writings, acknowledged himself unfit for conversa- tion ; and on being taxed by a lady with silence in company, replied, " Madam, I have but nine pence in ready money, but I can draw for a thousand pounds." To this Boswell rejoined that Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his cabinet, but was always taking out his purse. "Yes, sir," chuckled Johnson, " and that so often an empty purse." By this time Johnson arrived at the club ? however, his angry feelings had subsided, and his native generosity and sense of OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ggg justice had got the uppermost. He found Goldsmith in com- pany with Burke, Garrick, and other members, but sitting silent and apart, "brooding," as Boswell says, "over the reprimand he had received." Johnson's good heart yearned to- ward him; and knowing his placable nature, " I'll make Gold- smith forgive me," whispered he; then, with a loud voice, "Dr. Goldsmith," said he, "something passed to-day where you and I dined— I ash your pardon" The ire of the poet was extinguished in an instant, and his grateful affection for the magnanimous though sometimes overbearing moralist rushed to his heart. "It must be much from you, sir," said he, " that I take ill!" "And so," adds Boswell, "the difference was over, and they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual. " We do not think these stories tell to the poet's disadvantage, even though related by Boswell. Goldsmith, with all his modesty, could not be ignorant of his proper merit; and must have felt annoyed at times at being undervalued and elbowed aside by light-minded or dull men, in their blind and exclusive homage to the literary auto- crat. It was a fine reproof he gave to Boswell on one occasion, for talking of Johnston as entitled to the honor of exclusive superiority. "Sir, you are for making a monarchy what should be a republic." On another occasion, when he was con- versing in company with great vivacity, and apparently to the satisfaction of those around him, an honest Swiss, who sat near, one George Michael Moser, keeper of the Eoyal Acad- emy, perceiving Dr. Johnson rolling himself as if about to speak, exclaimed, "Stay, stay! Toctor Shonson is going to say something." " And are you sure, sir," replied Goldsmith, sharply, "that you can comprehend what he says?" I This clever rebuke, which gives the main zest to the anec- .dote, is omitted by Boswell, who probably did not perceive the point of it. He relates another anecdote of the kind, on the authority of Johnson himself. The latter and Goldsmith were one evening in company with the Eev. George Graham, a master of Eton, who, notwithstanding the sobriety of his cloth, had got intoxi- cated ■ ' to about the pitch of looking at one man and talking to another." " Doctor," cried he in an ecstacy of devotion and good-will, but goggling by mistake upon Goldsmith, " I should be glad to see you at Eton." "I shall be glad to wait upon you," replied Goldsmith. "No, no!" cried the other eagerly, " 'tis not you I mean, Doctor Minor, 'tis Doctor Major there." 234 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. "You may easily conceive," said Johnson in relating the anec- dote, "what effect this had upon Goldsmith, who was irascible as a hornet." The only comment, however, which he is said to have made, partakes more of quaint and dry humor than bitterness: "That Graham," said he, "is enough to make one commit suicide." What more could be said to express the in- tolerable nuisance of a consummate bore f We have now given the last scenes between Goldsmith and Johnson which stand recorded by Bosweil. The latter called on the poet a few days after the dinner at Dilly's, to take leave of him prior to departing for Scotland ; yet, even in this last interview, he contrives to get up a charge of "jealousy and envy." Goldsmith, he would fain persuade us, is very angry that Johnson is going to travel with him in Scotland ; and endeavors to persuade him that he will be a dead weight "to lug along through the Highlands and Hebrides." Any one else, knowing the character and habits of Johnson, would have thought the same ; and no one but Bosweil would have supposed his office of bear-leader to the ursa major a thing to be envied.* * One of Peter Pindar's (Dr. Wolcot) most amusing jeux d' esprit is his congratu- latory epistle to Bosweil on this tour, of which we subjoin a few lines. O Bosweil, Bozzy, Bruce, whate'er thy name, Thou mighty shark for anecdote and fame; Thou jackal, leading lion Johnson forth, To eat M'Pherson 'midst his native north; To frighten grave professors with his roar, And shake the Hebrides from shore to shore. Bless'd be thy labors, most adventurous Bozzy, Bold rival of Sir John and Dame Piozzi ; Heavens 1 with what laurels shall thy head be crown'd! A grove, a forest, shall thy ears surround ! Yes! whilst the Rambler shall a comet blaze, And gild a world of darkness with his rays, Thee, too, that world with wonderment shall hail, A lively, bouncing cracker at his tail! OLIVER OOLJDSMATK 235 CHAPTER XLII. PROJECT OF A DICTIONARY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES— DISAPPOINT- MENT — NEGLIGENT AUTHORSHIP — APPLICATION FOR A PENSION ' — BEATTIE'S ESSAY ON TRUTH— PUBLIC ADULATION— A HIGE- ' MINDED REBUKE. The work which Goldsmith had still in hand being already paid for, and the money gone, some new scheme must be de- vised to provide for the past and the future — for impending debts which threatened to crush him, and expenses which were continually increasing. He now projected a work of greater compass than any he had yet undertaken ; a Diction- ary of Arts and Sciences on a comprehensive scale, which was to occupy a number of volumes. For this he received promises of assistance from several powerful hands. Johnson was to contribute an article on ethics ; Burke, an abstract of his " Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful," an essay on the Berk- leyan system of philosophy, and others on political science; Sir Joshua Reynolds, an essay on painting ; and Garrick, while he undertook on his own part to furnish an essay on acting, engaged Dr. Burney to contribute an article on music. Here was a great array of talent positively engaged, while other' writers of eminence were to be sought for the various depart- ments of science. Goldsmith was to edit the whole. An un- dertaking of this kind, while it did not incessantly task and exhaust his inventive powers by original composition, would give agreeable and profitable exercise to his taste and judg- ment in selecting, compiling, and arranging, and he calculated to diffuse over the whole the acknowledged graces of his style. He drew up a prospectus of the plan, which is said by Bishop Percy, who saw it, to have been written with uncommon ability, and to have had that perspicuity and elegance for which his writings are remarkable. This paper, unfortu- nately, is no longer in existence. Goldsmith's expectations, always sanguine respecting any new plan, were raised to an extraordinary height by the pre- sent project ; and well they might be, when we consider the powerful coadjutors already pledged. They were doomed, however, to complete disappointment. Da vies, the bibliopole 936 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. of Kussell Street, lets us into the secret of this failure. "The booksellers," said he, " notwithstanding they had a very good opinion of his abilities, yet were startled at the bulk, import- ance, and expense of so great an undertaking, the fate of which was to depend upon the industry of a man with whose indolence of temper and method of procrastination they had long been acquainted." Goldsmith certainly gave reason for some such distrust by the heedlessness with which he conducted his literary under- takings. Those unfinished, but paid for, would be suspended to make way for some job that was to provide for present ne- cessities. Those thus hastily taken up would be as hastily exe- cuted, and the whole, however pressing, would be shoved aside and left " at loose ends," on some sudden call to social enjoy- ment or recreation. Gradock tells us that on one occasion, when Goldsmith was hard at work on his Natural History, he sent to Dr. Percy and himself, entreating them to finish some pages of his work which lay upon his table, and for which the press was urgent, he being detained by other engagements at Windsor. They met by appointment at his chambers in the Temple, where they found everything in disorder, and costly books lying scattered about on the tables and on the floor ; many of the books on natural history which he had recently consulted lay open among uncorrected proof-sheets. The subject in hand, and from which he had suddenly broken off, related to birds. "Do you know anything about birds?" asked Dr. Percy, smil- ing. • ■ Not an atom," replied Cradock; " do you?" "Not I! I scarcely know a goose from a swan : however, let us try what we can do." They set to work and completed their friendly task. Goldsmith, however, when he came to revise it, made such alterations that they could neither of them recognize their . own share. The engagement at Windsor, which had thus caused Goldsmith to break off suddenly from his multifarious engagements, was a party of pleasure with some literary ladies. Another anecdote was current, illustrative of the carelessness with which he executed works requiring accuracy and re- search. On the 22& of June he had received payment in ad- vance for a Grecian History in two volumes, though only one was finished. As he was pushing on doggedly at the second volume, Gibbon, the historian, called in. "You are the man of all others I wish to see," cried the poet, glad to be saved the trouble of reference to his books. "What was the name of OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 237 that Indian king who gave Alexander the Great so much trouble?" "Montezuma," replied Gibbon, sportively. The heedless author was about committing the name to paper with- out reflection, when Gibbon pretended to recollect himself, and gave the true name, Porus. This story, very probably, was a sportive exaggeration ; but it was a multiplicity of anecdotes like this and the preceding one, some true and some false, which had impaired the confi- dence of booksellers in Goldsmith, as a man to be relied on for a task requiring wide and accurate research, and close and long-continued application. The project of the Universal Dictionary, therefore, met with no encouragement, and fell through. The failure of this scheme, on which he had built such spa- cious hopes, sank deep into Goldsmith's heart. He was- still further grieved and mortified by the failure of an effort made by some of his friends to obtain for him a pension from gov- ernment. There had been a talk of the disposition of the min- istry to extend the bounty of the crown to distinguished liter- ary men in pecuniary difficulty, without regard to their politi- cal creed : when the merits and claims of Goldsmith, however, were laid before them, they met no favor. The sin of sturdy independence lay at his door. He ., SQ,T7 A/R!E3 .A-ISTD TJ^ZRIG-HT P T A Tc n~u=t The demands now made by an educated musical public are so exacting, that very few piano-forte manufacturers can produce instru- ments that will stand the test which merit requires. Sohmer & Co. , as manufacturers, rank among this chosen few, who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In these days when many manufacturers urge the low price of their wares, rather than their superior quality, as an inducement to pur- chase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a piano, quality and price are too inseparably joined, to expect the one without the other. Every piano ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its touch, and. its workmanship; if any on 9 of these is wanting in excel- lence, however good the others may be, the instrument will be imper- fect. 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This is a Walnut case, with Music Balcony, Sliding Desk, Side Handles, &c Dimensions : Height, 75 inches ; Length, 48 inches ; Depth, 24 inches. This 5-Octave Organ, with Stool, Book and Music, we will box and deliver at dock in New York, for $125. Send trf express, prepaid, check, or registered letter to DICKI2TS02T <& CO., Pianos and Organs, 19 West Ilth Street, New York. LOVBLL'S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. RECENTLY PUBLISHED. False Hopes; OB, FALLACIES, SOCIALISTIC AND SEMI- SOCIALISTIC, BRIEFLY ANSWERED An Address, by Prof. GOLD WIN" SMITH, D.C.L. No. 110, Lovell's Library 15 cents k * This is the title of a pamphlet in which Mr. Goldvdn Smith dissects and lays bare, in the most unimpassioned way, but with the keenest of literary scalpels, the fallacies involved in communism, socialism, nationalization of land, strikes, the various plans in vogue for emancipating labor from the dominion of capital. Protection, and some theories of innovation with regard to Currency andBanking. The great number and prevalenceof these diseases of the body politic are, he thinks, mainly due to the departure or decline of re- ligious faith, which is so noticeable a feature of the present age; to popular education, which has gone far enough to make the masses think, but not think deeply ; to the ostentation of the vulgar rich, who ' deserve, fully as much as the revolutionary artisans, the name of a dangerous class ;' to the democratic movement of the times; and.totne revolution in pcience which has helped to excite the spirit of change in every sphere, little as Ltopiamsin is akin to science.'"— Toronto Globe. MR. SCARBOROUGH'S FAMILY By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 1 vol., 12mo., cloth, gilt tt-gjj 1 " " paper - °" Also in Lovell's Library, No. 133, 2 parts, each i*> "In 'Mr Scarborough's Family' there is abundance of 'go,' there are • manv striking scenes, and there is one character at least which is original almost to incredibility. 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Mrs. Margaret Caudle's inimitable night lectures, delivered during a period of thirty years, to her sulky husband, Job Caudle. ?*ew York: JTOWN W> ILOVKIJL €0,, 14 & 16 Ve*ey SU LOVELL'S LIBRARY -CATALOGUE. 165. Eyre's Acquittal 10 166. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by Verne... .20 167. Anti-Slavery Days... .20 168. Beauty's Daughters.. .20 169. Beyond the Sunrise. .. .20 (70. Hard Times, Dickens .20 171. Tom Cringle's Log.... .20 172. Vanity Fair ,30 173 Underground Russia. .20 L74. Middlemarch, Eliot.. .20 Do., Partll ,20 PSir Tom, Mrs Oliphant .20 . Pelham, by Lytton. . . .20 . The Story of Ida .10 178. Madcap Violet, Black .20 179. The Little Pilgrim 10 180. Kilmeny, by Black. . . .20 181. Whist or Bumble- puppy? 10 182. The Beautiful Wretch .20 183. Her Mother's Sin 20 184. Green Pastures and Piccadilly, Black ... .20 185. The Mysterious Island .15 Do., PartTI 15 Do.,PartIII 15 186. Tom Brown at Oxford .15 Do., Part II 15 187. Thicker than Water.. .20 188. In Silk Attire, Black. .20 189. Scottish Chiefs, P't I.. 20 Do., Part II 20 190. Willy Reilly, Carleton .20 J91. The Nautz Family .. .20 192. Great Expectations . . .20 193. Pendennis, Thackeray .20 Do., Part H 20 194. Widow Bedott Papers .20 195. Daniel Deronda, Eliot. .20 Do.,PartII 20 196. AltioraPeto, Oliphant .20 197. By the Gate of the Sea .15 |98. Tales of a Traveller.. ,20 199. Life and Voyages of Columbus P't I. .20 Do. (Irving), Part II... .20 200. The Pilgrim's Progress .20 201. Martin Chuzzlewit... .20 Do., Part II 20 202. Theophrastus Such. . . .10 3. Disarmed, M. Edwards .15 Eugene Aram, Lytton .20 The Spanish Gypsy and Other Poems 20 . Cast Up by the Sea. . . .20 . Mill on the Floss, P't I .15 Do. (Eliot), Part II 15 . Brother Jacob, Eliot. .10 . The Executor 20 . American Nates 15 811. The Newcomes, Parti .20 Do.,PartII 20 8. ThePrivateersman... .20 . The Three Feathers. .20 4. Phantom Fortune 20 5. Red Eric, Ballantyne. .20 6. Lady Silver dale's Sweetheart, Black. . . .10 217. The Four Macnicols. .10 218. Mr. Pisistratus Brown .10 219. Dombey & Son, Part I 20 Do., Partll 20 220. Book of Snobs 10 221. Grimm's Fairy Tales.. .20 222. The Disowned, Lytton .20 223. Little Dorrit, Dickens. .20 Do., Part II 20 224. Abbotsford and New- stead Abbey, Irving. .10 225. Oliver Goldsmith 10 226. The Fire Brigade 20 227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 228. Our Mutual Friend... .20 Do. Part II 20 229. Paris Sketches 15 230. Belinda, Broughton. . . .20 231. Nicholas Nickleby 20 Do.,PartII 20 232 Monarch Mincing Lane .20 233. Eight Years Wander- ing in Ceylon, Baker .20 234. Pictures from Italy 15 235. Adventures of Philip. .15 Do., Partll 15 236. Knickerbocker His- tory of New York .. . .20 237. The Boy at Mugby 10 238. The Virginians, P't I. .20 Do., Partll 20 239. Erling the Bold 20 240. Kenelm Chillingly 20 241. Deep Down 20 242. Samuel Brohl & Co. . . .20 243. Gautran, by Far j eon.. .20 244. Bleak House, Part I.. .20 Do., Partll 20 245. What Will He Do Wi' It .20 Do., Partll 20 246. Sketches of Young Couples 10 247. Devereux, Lytton 20 248. Life of Webster, 2 pts. .30 249. The Crayon Papers... .20 250. TheCaxtons, Lytton. .15 Do., Partll... 15 251. Autobiography of An- thony Trollope .20 252. Critical Reviews, by Thackeray 10 253. Lucretia, Lytton, P't I .20 254. Peter, the Whaler 20 255. Last of the Barons.. .15 Do.,Partn 15 256. Eastern Sketches 15 257. All in a Garden Fair. .20 258. File No. 113, Gaboriau .20 259. The Parisians, Lytton. .20 Do., Part II 20 260. Mrs. Darling's Letters .20 261. Master Humphrey's Clock 10 262. Fatal Boots, Thackr'y .10 263. The Alhambra, Irving .15 264. The Four Georges. .. .10 625. Plutarch's Lives, 5 pta 1.00 266. Under the Red Flag. . . .10 267. The Haunted House.. .10 268. When the Ship Comes Home 10 269. One False, both Fair. . .20 270. Mudfog Papers 10 271. My Novel, by Bulwer- Lytton. 3 parts 60 272. Conquest of Granada.. .20 273. Sketches by Boz 20 274. A Christmas Carol 15 275. lone Stewart, Linton.. .20 276. Harold, Lytton, Part I .15 Do., Partll 15 377. Dora Thorne , 20 278. Maid of Athens 20 279. The Conquest of Spain .10 280. Fitzboodle Papers 10 281. Bracebridge Hall.....'. .20 282. The Uncommercial Traveler 20 283. Roundabout Papers... .20 284. Rossmoyne, Duchess. .20 285. A Legend of the Rhine .10 286. Cox's Diary 10 287. Beyond Pardon, 20 288. Somebody's Luggage, and Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings 10 289. Godolphin, Lytton 20 290. Salmagundi, Irving.. . . .20 291. Famous Funny Fel- lows, Clemens. .20 292. Irish Sketches 20 293. The Battle of Life 10 294. Pilgrims of the Rhine .15 295. Random Shots, Adeler .20 296. Men's Wives 10 297. Mystery of Edwin Drood, by Dickens. . . .20 298. Reprinted Pieces from C.Dickens... 20 299. Astoria, by W. Irving. .20 300. Novels by Eminent Hands 10 301. Spanish Voyages 20 302. No Thoroughfare 10 303. Character Sketches... .10 304. Christmas Books 20 305. A Tour on the Prairies ,10 306. Ballads of Thackeray.. .15 307. Yellowplush Papers. . . U0 308. Life of Mahomet, P't I .15 Do., Part II 15 309. Sketches and Travels in London, Thack' ray .10 310. Life of Goldsmith .20 311. Capt. Bonneville 20 312. Golden Girls, Alan Muir .20 3ft. English Humorists . . . .15 314. Moorish Chronicles. . . .10 315. Winifred Power ..... . .20 316. Great Hoggarty Dia- mond — 1" 317. Pausanias, Lytton. lo 318. The New Abelard 20 319. A Real Queen. ........ -20 320 The Rose and the Eing/ "-^ 321. Wolfert's Roost, Irving 322. Mark Seaworth. g$r i— MaMMmira mmuiKii i i«iii' mfmrili^ljfeMM^KlHaw^jBKnriiM--. nn »ii> jmj Twwaillixin-Jitm Hnriir»«i nitr , r BLAST A3TD ITEE-VE KOD. COMPOSED OF THE NERVE-GIVING PRINCIPLES OF THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM, It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion; relieves Lassitude and Neuralgia ; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite- ment, or excessive brain fatigue; strengthens a failing memory, and gives renewed vigor in all diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility, ft is the only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. It aids wonderfully in the mental and bodily growth of infanta and chikfo'en. Under its use the teeth come easier, trie bones grow better, the skin plumper and smoother; the brain acquires more readily, and rests and sleeps more sweetly. An ill-fed brain learns no lessons, and is excusable \f peevish. It gives a 7uippier and better childhood. "It is with the utmost confidence that I recommend this excellent pre- paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, I do more than recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in sev- eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived from its use. I have recently watched its effects on a young friend who ha* suffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Phos- phites for a fortnight she said to me; * I feel another person; it is a pleas- ure to live. ' Many hard- working men and women — especially those engaged in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and other destructive stimulants, if they would h&v® recourse to a remedy so simple and so efficacious. " Emily Faithftjll. Physicians hath prescribed over 600,000 Packages because they enow rrs Composition, that it is not a secret remedy, and THAT THE FORMULA IS PRINTED ON EVERY LABEL. For Sale toy DruagUt* or toy af all, #x« 664 and 666 Sixth Avsnua, New TorL '^XSBSlSIIUBlSSaSme/: Deacidifieci using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 151 663 2 IIIIsl H BssW&fS warn \\ HHII liSllir HP HI Hll