aV . o> ,'A ■^ V- r^ ., ^ -'. -'c- ^^ .■^ .<^' ^. A' A^. r .VcP„ ■.-C^ -S' * .IN PairtteaV SIt J.H< I'jigravcA b>'-J,.ii.J (ong-acje ca)jX,r"^IS,jE. ©©ILISSMlt^eM.. THE U2SOa2aEa,^a@'i5S W®!B2]2S R GOLDSMITH, Ettottnt of ftfe ILffe atOJ SWrttiwas. STEREOTYPED PROM THE PARIS EDITION, EDITED BT WASHINGTON IRVING. COMPLETE IN ONE TOL.UME PUBLISHED BY J. CKISSY. 1834. *-0 ■'It 1 « 3-+ i"/y CONTENTS, Page Memoirs of the life and writings of Dr. Gold- smith 7 The Vicar of Wakefield, .... 57 An Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning, 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Prologue by Laberius, . . . . . 143 The Double Transformation, . . . ib. New Simile, in the manner of Swift, . . 144 Description of an Author's Bedchamber, . 145 The Hermit ; a Ballad, .... ib. An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, . 147 Stanzas on Woman, ib. The Traveller ; or, a Prospect of Society, ib. The Deserted Village, . . ." . 152 The Gift, 157 Epitaph on Dr. Parnell, .... ib. Epilogue to the Comedy of the Sisters, . ib. Epilogue spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley, ib. Epilogue intended for Mrs. Bulkley, . 158 The Haunch of Venison, . . . . 159 Song from the Oratorio of the Captivity, . 160 Song, , . ib. The Clown's Reply, .... ib. Epitaph on Edward Purdon, . . . IGl An Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize, . . ib. Retaliation, . . . . . . ib. Postscript to ditto, 163 Song 164 Prologue to Zobeide, . . . . ib. Epilogue spoken by Mr. Lewes, . . . ib. The Logicians Refuted, .... 165 Stanzas on the Taking of GLuebec, . . ib. On a beautiful Youth struck blind by Light- ning, ib. A Sonnet, . ib. DRAMATIC. The Good-natured Man. A Comedy, . 166 She Stoops to Conquer, or, the Mistakes of a Night. A Comedy, . . . .193 An Oratorio ; first printed in the Paris edi- tion, in 1825, from the original in Dr. Goldsmith's own handwriting, . . 221 PREFACES AND CRITICISM. The Preface to Dr. Brookes's Natural His- tory, 226 Introduction to a New History of the World, 228 Page The Preface to the Roman Histor3', 230 The Preface to a History of England, . . 231 The Preface to the History of the Earth, etc. 232 The Preface to the Beauties of English -Poetry, 233 The Preface to a Collection of Poems, etc. 238 Criticism on Massey's Translation of the Fasti of Ovid, 239 Criticism on Barrett's Translation of Ovid's Epistles 242 LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD TO HIS FRIENDS IN THE EAST. Letter r-,-' I. Introduction. A character of the Chi- nese Philosopher, . . .248 II. The arrival of the Chinese in Lon- don. His motives for the journey. Some description of the streets and houses, ib. III. The description of London continu- ed. The luxury of the English. Its benefits. The fine geuilenian. The fine lady, . . . .249 IV. English pride. Liberty. An instance of both. Newspapers. Politeness, 251 V. English passion for politics. A spe- cimen of a newspaper. Character- istic of the manners of different countries, .... 252 VI. Happiness lost by seeking after re- finement. The Chinese philoso- pher's disgraces, .... 253 VII. The tie of wisdom only to make us happy. The benefits of travelling upon the morals of a philosopher, 254 VIII. The Chinese deceived by a prostitute in the streets of London, . . 255 IX. The licentiousness of the English with regard to women. A charac- ter of a woman's man, . . 256 X. The journey of the Chinese from Pe- kin to Moscow. The customs of the Daures, .... 257 XI. The benefits of luxury in making a people more wise and happy, . 258 XII. The funeral solemnities of the En- glish. Their passion for flattering epitaphs, 259 XIII. An account of Westminster Abbey, 260 CONTENTS. Letter Page XIV. The reception of the Chinese from a Lady of distinction, . 262 XV. Against cruelty to animals. A story from the Zendevesta of Zoroastor, .... 263 XVI. Of falsehood propagated by books seemingly sincere, . . 264 XVII. Of the war now carried on be- tween France and England, with its frivolous motives, . 265 XVIII. The story of the Chinese ma- tron, .... 266 XIX. The Enghsh method of treating women caught in adultery. The Russian method, . . 267 XX. Some account of the repubUc of letters in England, . . 269 XXI. The Chinese goes to see a play, 270 XXII. The Chinese philosopher's son made a slave in Persia, . 272 XXIII. The English subscription in fa- vour of the French prisoners commended, .... 273 XXIV. The venders of quack medicines and nostrums ridiculed, . 274 XXV. The natural rise and decline of kingdoms, exemplified in the history of the kingdom of Lao, 275 XXVI. The character of the man in black, with some instances of his inconsistent conduct, . 276 XXVII. The history ofthe man in black, 278 XXVIII. On the great numbers of old maids and bachelors in Lon- ( don. Some of the causes, . 280 XXIX. A description of a club of au- thors, 281 XXX. The proceedings of the club of authors, . . . .282 XXXI. The perfection of the Chinese in the art of gardening. The description ofa Chinese garden 384 XXXII. Ofthe degeneracy of some ofthe English nobility. A mush- room feast among the Tartars, 285 XXXIII. The manner of writing among the Chinese. The eastern tales of magazines, etc. ridiculed, . 287 XXXIV. Ofthe present ridiculous passion of the nobility for painting, . 288 XXXV. The philosopher's son describes a lady, his fellow-captive, . 290 XXXVI. A continuance of his correspond- ence. The beautiful captive consents to marry her lord, . 291 XXXVII. The correspondence still con- tinued. He begins to be dis- gusted in the pursuit of wis- Letter XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. L. LI. LII. LIII. LIV. LV. LVI. LVII. LVIII. LIX. dom. An allegory to prove its futility, . . . .292 The Chinese philosopher praises the justice of a late sentence, and instances the injustice of the King of France, in the case of the Prince of Charolais, The description of true polite- ness. Two letters of different countries, by ladies falsely thought polite at home. The English still have poets, though not versifiers, The behaviour of the congrega- tion in St. Paul's church at prayers, ... The history of China more re- plete with great actions than that of Europe, An apostrophe on the supposed death of Voltaire, . Wisdom and precept may lessen our miseries, but can never in- crease ourpositive satisfactions 301 The ardour ofthe people of Lon- don in running after sights and monsters, A dream, .... Misery best relieved by dissipa- tion, The absurdity of persons in high station pursuing employments beneath them, exemplified in a fairy talc, . . The fairy tale continued, An attempt to define what is meant by English liberty, A bookseller's visit to the Chi- nese, The impossibility of distinguish- ing men in England by their dress. Two instances of this, The absurd taste for obscene and pert novels, such as Tristram Shandy, ridiculed. The character of an important trifler, His character continued ; with that of his wife, his house, and furniture, .... Some thoughts on the present situation of affairs in the differ- ent countries of Europe, . The diflSculty of rising in htera- ry reputation without intrigue or riches, .... A visitation dinner described, The Chinese philosopher's son 293 295 296 297 298 299 302 304 305 306 308 309 310 312 313 314 315 317 318 319 CONTENTS. Letter LX. LXI. LXII. LXIII. LXIV. LXV. LXVI. LXVIl. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. LXXL LXXII. LXXIII. LXXIV. LXXV. LXXVI. LXXVII. LXXVIII. LXXIX. LXXX. LXXXI. LXXXII. LXXXIII. LXXXIV. escapes with the beautiful cap tive from slavery, . The history of the beautiful cap- tive, Proper lessons to a j'outh enter- ing the world, with fables suit- ed to the occasion, . An authentic history of Cathe- rina Alexowna, wife of Peter the Great, .... The rise or the decline of litera- ture not dependent on man, but resulting from the vicissitudes of nature, .... The great exchange happiness for show. Their folly in this respect of use to society. The history of a philosophic cob- bler, The difference between love and gratitude, .... The folly of attempting to learn wisdom by being recluse, GLuacks ridiculed. Some particu- larly mentioned. The fear of mad-dogs ridiculed. Fortune proved not to be blind. The story of the avaricious miller 335 The shabby beau, the man in black, the Chinese philosopher, etc. at Vauxhall, The marriage-act censured. Life endeared by age. The description of a little great man, . . . The necessity of amusing each other with new books insisted 320 321 323 324 326 327 328 329 231 232 333 336 338 339 340 342 upon, . . . The preference of grace to beau- ty ; an allegory. The behaviour of a shopkeeper and his journeyman. The French ridiculed after their own manner, .... The preparations of both thea- tres for a winter campaign, The evil tendencyof increasing penal laws, or enforcing even those already in being with rigour, The ladies' trains ridiculed. The sciences useful inapopiilous state, prejudicial in a barbarous one, Some cautions on life taken from a modern philosopher of China, 351 Anecdotes of several poets who lived and died in circum- stances of wretchedness, . 352 343 344 345 346 49 Letter Page LXXXV. The trifling squabbles of stage players ridiculed, . , 353 LXXXVI. The races of Newmarket ridi- culed. The description of a cart-race, .... 355 LXXXVII. The folly of the western parts of Europe in employing the Russians to fight their battles, 356 LXXXVIII. The ladies advised to get hus- bands. A story to this pur- pose, ib. LXXXIX. The folly of remote or use- less disquisitions among the learned, .... 358 XC. The English subject to the spleen, .... 359 XCI. The influence of climate and soil upon the temper and dis- positions of the English, . 36i XCII. The manner in which some philosophers make artificial misery, .... 363 XCIII. The fondness of some to ad- mire the writings of lords, etc. 363 XCIV. The philosopher's son is again separated from his beautiful companion, . . . ib. XCV, The father consoles him upon this occasion, . . . 364 XC VI. The condolence and congratu- lation upon the death of the late king ridiculed. English mourning described, . . 365 XCVII. Almost every subject of litera- ture has been already ex- hausted, . , . . . 366 XCVIII. A description of the courts of justice in Westminster Hall 367 XCIX. A visit from the Httle beau. The indulgence with which the fair sex are treated in several parts of Asia, . . 368 C. A life of independence praised, 369 CI. That people must be conter>ted to be guided by those whom they have appointed to gov- ern. A story to this effect, 370 CII. The passion for gaming among ladies ridiculed, . . . 371 cm. The Chinese philosopher be- gins to think of quitting En- gland, . . . .372 CIV. The arts some make use of to appear learned, . . . 373 CV. The intended coronation de- scribed, . . . .374 CVI. Funeral elegies written upon the great ridiculed. A speci- men of one, . . . 375 CONTENTS. Letter Page CVII. The English too fond of believing every report without examination. A story of an incendiary to this purpose, 376 CVIIl. The utiUty and entertainment ■which might result from a jour- ney into the East, . . . 377 CIX. The Chinese philosopher attempts to find out famous men, . . 378 ex. Some projects for introducing Asi- atic employments into the courts of England, . . . .380 CXI. On the diiferent sects in England, particularly Methodism, . . 381 CXII. An election described, . . 382 CXIII. A literary contest of great import- ance; in which both sides fight by epigram, 383 CXIV. Against the marriage act. A fable, 385 CXV. On the danger of having too high an opinion of human nature, . 386 CXVI. Whether love be a natural or ficti- tious passion, .... 387 CXVII. A city night-piece, . . .389 CXVIII. On the meanness of the Dutch at the court of Japan, . . . ib. CXIX. On the distresses of the poor exem- plified in the life of a private sen- tinel, 390 CXX. On the absurdity of some late En- glish titles, . . . .392 CXXI. The irresolution of the English ac- counted for, .... 393 CXXII. The manner of travellers in their usual relations ridiculed, . . 394 CXXIII. The conclusion, . . .395 The Life of Dr. Parnell 398 The Life of Henry Lord Viscount Bolingbroke 407 THE BEE. No. I. Introduction, 424 On a beautiful youth struck blind by lightning, 426 Remarks on our Theatres, . . ib. The Story of Alcander and Septimius, 427 A letter from a Traveller, . . 429 Account of Mr. Maupertuis, . ib. II. On Dress, 430 Some particulars relative to Charles 12, 432 Happiness dependent on Constitution, 434 On our Theatres, .... 435 III. On the Use of Language, . . 436 The History of Hyspasia, . . 438 On Justice and Generosit}', . . 439 Some particulars relative to Father Freijo, 440 iV. Miscellaneous, . . . .441 A Flemish Tradition, . . .442 The Sagacity of some Insects, . 444 Page The Characteristics of Greatness, . 445 Conclusion of a City Night-Piece, 446 V. Upon Political Frugality, . . .447 A Reverie, 450 A word or two upon High Life Below Stairs, 452 Upon unfortunate Merit, . . . 453 VI. On Education, .... 454 On the instability of worldly grandeur, 458 Account of the Academies of Italy, 459 VII. Of Eloquence, .... 460 Custom and Laws compared, . . 463 On the Pride and Luxury of the Mid- dling class of People, . . 464 Sabinus and Olinda, . . , ib. The Sentiments of a Frenchman on the Temper of the English, . . 466 VIII. On Deceit and Falsehood . . 467 An Account of the Augustan Age of England, 469 Of the Opera in England, . . ' 471 ESSAYS. Pi-eface to the Essays, . . 473 I. Description of various Clubs, . 474 II. Specimen of a Magazine in Minia- ture, 477 III. Asem, an eastern Tale; or. Vindica- tion of the Wisdom of Providence in the Moral Government of the World, 478 IV. On the English Clergy and popular Preachers, .... 480 V. A Reverie at the Boar's-Head Tav- ern, Eastcheap, .... 482 VI. Adventures of a Strolling Player, 487 VII. Rules enjoined to be observed at a Russian Assembly, . . 490 VIII. Biographical Memoir supposed to be written by the Ordinary of New- gate, 491 IX. National Concord, . . . 492 X. Female Warriors, . . . 493 XI. National Prejudices, . . . 494 XII. Taste, 496 XIII. Cultivation of Taste, ... -199 XIV. Origin of Poetry, . . . .502 XV. Poetry distinguished from other Writing, 506 XVI. Metaphors, .... 510 XVII. Hyperboles 516 XVIII. Versification, .... 617 XIX. Schools of Music, Objections there- to, and Answers, . . . 519 XX. Carolan the Irish Bard, . . 521 XXI. On the Tenants of Leasowes, . 522 XXII. Sentimental Comedy, . . .523 XXIII. Scotch Marriages, . . . .525 XXIV. Dignity of Human Nature, . 526 op THE LIFE AINTD WRITINGS OF There are few writers for whom the reader feels such personal kindness as for OUver Goldsmith. The fascinating ease and simplicity of his style ; the benevolence that beams through every page ; the whimsical yet amiable views of human hfe and human nature; the mellow imforced humour, blended so happily with good feeling and good sense, throughout his writings; win their way ir- resistibly to the affections and carry the author with them. While writers of greater pretensions and more sounding names are suffered to he upon our shelves, the works of Goldsmith are cherished and laid in our bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but they mingle with our minds ; they sweeten our tempers and harmonize our thoughts ; they put us in good humour with ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they malce us hap- pier and better men. We have been curious therefore in gathering to- gether all the heterogeneous particulars concerning poor Goldsmith that stUl exist; and seldom have we met with an author's life more illustrative of his works, or works more faithfully illustrative of the author's life.* His rambling biography displays him the same kind, artless, good hmnoured, excur- sive, sensible, whimsical, intelhgent being that he appears in his writings. Scarcely an adventure or a character is given in his page that may not be traced to his own parti-coloured story. Many of his most ludicrous scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from his own blunders and mis- chances, and he seems really to have been buffeted into almost every maxim unparted by liim for the instruction of liis readers. OUver Goldsmith was a native of Ireland, and was born on the 29th of November, 1728. Two •The present biography is principally taken from the Scotch edition of Goldsmith's works, published in 1821. villages claim the honour of having giving him birth: Pallas in the county of Longford ; and EI- phin, in the county of Roscommon. The former is named as the place in the epitaph by Dr. John- son, inscribed on his monument in Westminster Abbey; but later investigations have decided in fa- vour of Elphin. He was the second son of the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, a clergyman of the estabhshed church, but vsdthout any patrimony. His mother was daughter of the Rev. Ohver Jones, master of the diocesan school at Elphin. It was not till some time after the birth of Oliver that his father ob- tained the living of Killcenny-West, in the county of Westmeath. Previous to this period he and his wife appear to have been almost entirely dependent on her relations for support. His father was equally distinguished for his lite- rary attainments and for the benevolence of his heart. His family consisted of five sons and two daughters. From this Httle world of home Gold- smith has drawn many of his domestic scenes, both whimsical and touching, which appeal so for- cibly to the heart, as well as to the fancy; his fa- ther's fireside furnished many of the family scenes of the Vicar of Wakefield; and it is said that the learned simphcity and amiable pecuharities of that worthy divine have been happily illustrated in the character of Dr. Primrose. The Rev. Henry Goldsmith, elder brother of the poet, and born seven years before liim, was a man of estimable worth and excellent talents. Great expectations were formed of him, from the promise of his youth, both when at school and at college ; but he offended and disappointed his friends, by entering into matrimony at the early age of nineteen, and resigning all ambitious views for love and a curacy. If, however, we may be- lieve the pictures drawn by the poet of his brother's 8 LIFE AND WRITINGS domestic life, his lot, though humble, was a happy one. He is the village pastor of the " Deserted Village," so exemplary in his character, and "pass- ing rich with forty pounds a year." It is to this brother, who was the guide and protector of Gold- smith during his childhood, and to whom he was tenderly attached, that he addresses those beautiful lines in his poem of the Traveller: Where'er I roam, whatever reahiis to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a length'ning chain. His family also form the ruddy and joyous group, and exercise the simple but generous rites of hospitality, which the poet so charmingly de- scribes : Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranlis that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good. The whimsical character of the Man in Black, in the "Citizen of the Worid," so rich in eccen- tricities and in amiable failings, is said to have been hkewise drawn partly from his brother, part- ly from his father, but in a great measure from the author himself. It is difficult, however, to assign with precision the originals of a writer's characters. They are generally composed of scattered, though accordant traits, observed in various individuals, which have been seized upon with the discriminat- ing tact of genius and combined into one harmoni- ous whole. Still, it is a fact, as evident as it is de- lightful, that Goldsmith has poured out the genu- ine feeUngs of his heart in his works; and has had continually before him, in his delineations of simple worth and domestic virtue, the objects of his filial and fraternal affection. Goldsmith is said, in his earher j^ears, to have been whimsical in his humours and eccentric in his habits. This was remarked in his infancy. Some- times he assumed the gravity and reser\'e of riper years, at other times would give free scope to the wild frolic and exuberant vivacity suited to his age. The singularity of his moods and manners, and the evidences he gave of a precocity of talent, caus- ed him to be talked of in the neighbourhood as a little prodigy. It is said that, even before he was eight years old he evinced a natural turn for poet- ry, and made many attempts at rhymes, to the amusement of his father and friends; and when somewhat older, after he had learned to v/rite, his chief pleasure was to scribble rude verses on small scraps of paper, and then commit them to the flames. His father had strained his slender means in giving a liberal education to his eldest son, arid had determined to bring up Ohver to trade. He was placed vmder the care of a village school-master, to be instructed in reading, virriting, and arithmetic. This pedagogue, whom his scholar afterwards so happily describes in the " Deserted Village," had been a quarter-master in the army during the wars of GLueen Anne, and, in his ovsm estimation, a man of no small pith and moment. Having passed through various parts of Europe, and being of an eccentric turn of mind, he acquired habits of ro- mancing that bordered on the marvellous, and, Uke many other travellers, was possessed with a prodi- gious itch for detailing his adventures. He him- self was most commonly the redoubted hero of his own story, and his pupils were always the amazed and willing auditory : And stiU they gazed, and stiU the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. The tales of wonder recounted by this second Pinto are said to have had surprising effects on his youthful hearers; and it has been plausibly con- jectured that to the vivid impressions thus made on the young imagination of our author, may be as- cribed those wandering propensities which mflu- enced his after life. After he had been for some time with this in- difierent preceptor, his mother, with whom he was always a favourite, exerted her influence to per- . suade his father to give him an education that woidd qualify him for a hberal profession. Her sohcita- tions, together with the passionate attachmentwhich the boy evinced for books and learning, and his early indications of talent, prevailed over all scru- ples of economy, and he was placed under the care of the Rev. Mr. GrifSn, schoolmaster of Elphin. He was boarded in the house of his uncle, John Goldsmith, Esq., of Ballyoughter, in the vicinity^ Here the amiableness of his disposition and the amusing eccentricity of his hmnour rendered him a universal favourite. A httle anecdote, preserved by the family of his uncle evinces the precocity of his wit. At an entertainment given by this gentleman to a party of young people in the neighbourhood, a fiddler was sent for, and dancing introduced. Oli- ver, although only nine years of age, was permitted to share in the festivities of the evening, and was called on to dance a hornpipe. His figure was never good, but at this tune it was pecuUariy short and clumsy, and having but recently recovered from the small-pox, his features were greatly disfigured. The scraper of catgut, struck with the oddity of the boy's appearance, "thought to display his waggery, by likening hun to .^sop dancing. This compari- son, according to his notions, being rmcommonly happy, he continued to harp on it for a considerable time, when suddenly the laugh of the company was turned against himself, by Oliver sarcastically re- marking, OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 9 Our herald hath proclaim'd this saying, See jEsop dancing, and his montey playing. So smart a repartee, from so young a boy, was the subject of much conversation, and perhaps of itself was decisive of his fortune. His friends im- mediately determined that he should be sent to the university ; and some of his relations, who belonged to the church, and possessed the necessary means, generously offered to contribute towards the ex- pense. The Rev. Mr. Green, and the Rev. Mr. Contarine, both men of distinguished worth and learning, stood forward on tliis occasion as the youth's patrons. To qualify him for the university, he was now sent to Athlone school, and placed under the tui- tion of the Rev. Mr. Campbell. There he re- mained two years ; but the ill health of the master having obhged him to resign his situation, Oliver was consigned to the care of the Rev. Patricl Hughes, at Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford, under whom he continued his studies till finally fitted for the university. Under thi; spectable teacher and excellent man, he is said to have made much greater progress than under any of the rest of his instructors. A short time before leaving the school of Mr. Hughes, our poet had an adventure which is be- h'eved to have suggested the plot of liis comedy of "She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of a JSTight." His father's house was distant about twenty miles from Edgeworthstown, and when on his jour- ney thither for the last tune, he had devoted so much time to amusement on the road, that it was almost dark when he reached the httle town of Ar- dagh. Some friend had given him a guinea, and Oliver, who was never niggard of his purse, re- solved to put up here for the night, and treat him- self to a good supper and a bed. Havmg asked for the best house in the village, he was conducted to the best house, instead of the best inn. The owner, immediately discovered the mistake, but be- ing a man of humour, resolved to carry on the joke. Oliver was therefore permitted to order his horse' to the stable, while he liimself waUied into the par- lour, and took his seat famiharly by the fire-side. The servants were then called about him to receive his orders as to supper. The supper was soon produced; the gentleman, with his Tsole and daugh- ters, were generously invited to partake; a bottle of wine was called for to crown the feast, and at going to bed, a hot cake was ordered to be prepared for liis breakfast. The laugh, to be sure, was ra- ther against our hero in the morning, when he called for his bill, and found he had been hospitably entertained in a private family. But findino- that his host was an acquaintance of his fatlier's, he en- tered into the humour of the scene, and laughed as heartily as the rest. On the nth of June, 1744, Goldsmith, then fif- teen years of age, was admitted a sizer in Trinity College, Dublin, under the Rev. Theaker "Wilder, one of the fellows, a man of violent temper, from whose overbearing disposition he suffered much vexation. The young student was giddy and thoughtless, and on one occasion invited a number of young persons of both sexes to a supper and dance in liis apartments, in direct violation of the college rules. The vigilant Wilder became ap- prised of the circmnstance, and rushed hke a tiger to the festive scene. He burst into the apartment, put the gay assembly to the rout, but previous to their dispersion, seized on the unfortunate delin- quent, and inffict'ed corporal chastisement on him, ill presence of the party. The youthful poet could not brook this outrage and indignity. He could not look his acquaintances in the face without the deepest feeling of shame and mortification. He detennined, therefore, to escape altogether from his terrible tutor, by abandoning his studies, and flying to some distant part of the globe. With this view he disposed of his books and clothes, and resolved to embark at Cork: but here his usual thoughtless and improvident turn was again dis- played, for he fingered so long in Dublin after his resolution had been taken, that his finances were reduced to a single shilhng v/hen he set out on the journey. He was accustomed afterwards to give a ludi- crous account of his adventures in tliis expedition, although it was attended by many distressful cir- cumstances. Having contrived to subsist three whole days on the shilling he set out with, he was then compelled by necessity to sell the clothes off his back, and at last was so reduced by famine, that he was only saved from sinking under it by the compassion of a ^-oung girl at a wake, from whom he got a handful of gray peas. This he used to say was the most delicious repast he had ever made. While in this state of hunger and wretchedness, without money and without friends, the rashness and folly of liis undertaking became every moment more apparent, and, in spite of liis lacerated feel- ings, and the dread of Wilder, he resolved to pro- pose a reconciliation with his friends, and once more to return to the college. Before he had reached the place of embarkation, therefore, he con- trived to get notice conveyed to his brother of his miserable condition, and hinted that if a promise of milder treatment were obtained from his tutor, he should be inclined to return. His affectionate brother instantly hastened to relieve his distress, equipped him vnih new clothing, and carried him back to college. A reconcihation was also in some degree effected with Wilder, but there was never afterwards between them any interchange of friend- ship or regard. From the despondency resulting from his tutor's 10 LIFE AND WRITINGS ill treatment, Goldsmith is said to have sunk iato habitual indolence; yet his genius sometimes dawn- ed through the gloom, and translations from the classics made, by him at this period were long re- membered by his cotemporaries with applause. He was not, however, admitted to the degree of Bache- lor of Arts tiU February 27, 1749, O. S. two years after the regular time. The chagrin and vexation attending his unlucky disputes with his tutor, were soon after succeeded by a calamity of deeper moment, and more lasting consequences to our poet. This was the death of his worthy and amiable father. He had now lost his natural guardian and best friend, and found himself young in the world, without either protector or guide. His uncle Contarine, however, in this emergency kindly interfered, and, with almost pa- rental anxiety, took the charge of advising and di recting his future progress. When he had com- pleted his studies at the university,* Mr. Contarine advised liim to prepare for holy orders ; but this was a measure always repugnant to his inclinations. An unsettled turn of mind, an miquenchable de- sire of visiting other countries, and perhaps an in- genuous sense of his unfitness for the clerical pro- fession, conspired to disincUne him to the church ; and though at length he yielded to the pressing so- licitations of his uncle and friends, by appl3dng to the bishop for ordination, it is thought he was more pleased than disappointed when rejected by his lordship, on account of his youth. He was now anxious, however, to be employed in some way or other, and when the office of private tutor in the family of a neighbouring gentleman was offered to him, he willingly accepted it. In tliis situation he remained about a year; but finding the emploj-ment much more disagreeable than he had been taught to believe it, and the necessary confinement pain- fully irksome, he suddenly gave up his charge, pro- cured a good horse, and, with about thirty potmds which he had saved, quitted his friends, and set out nobody knew whither. As tliis singular unpremeditated step had been taken without consulting any of his friends, and as no intelligence could be obtained either of him- self or the motives which had prompted his de- parture, his family became much alarmed for liis safety, and were justly offended at his conduct. *Dming his studies at llie university, he was a contempo- rary with Burke ; and it has been said that neitlier of them gave much promise of future celebrity. Goldsmith, however, got a premium at a Christmas examination; and a premium obtained at such examination is more honourable than any other, because it ascertains tlie person wlio receives it to be the first in literary merit. At tlic other examinations, the person thus distinguished may be only the second in merit ; he who has previously obtained the same honorary reward, Bometimes recei\'ing a written certificate that he was the best answerer ; it being a rule, that not more than one premium should be adjudged to the same person in one year. Week after week passed away, and no tidings of the fugitive. At last, when all hope of his re- turn had been given up, and when they concluded he must ha-ve left the country altogether, the fami- ly were astonished by his sudden reappearance at his mother's house; safe and sound, to be sure, but not exactly in such good trim as when he had left them. His horse was metamorphosed into a shabby Utile pony, not worth twenty sliillings; and instead of thirty pounds in his pocket, he was without a penny. On this occasion the indignation of his mother was strongly expressed; but his brothers and sisters, who were all tenderly attach- ed to him, interfered, and soon effected a recon- ciliation. • Once more reinstated in the good graces of his family, our poet amused them with a detail of his adventures in this last expedition. He pre- mised that he had long felt a strong inchnation to visit the New World, but knowing that his friends would throw obstacles in the way of his departure, he had determined to set out unknown to any of them. Intending to embark at Cork, he had gone directly thither, and immediately after he arrived disposed of his horse, and struck a bargain with a captain of a ship bound for North America. For three weeks after his arrival, the wind continued unfavorable for putting to sea ; and the vessel re- mained wind-bound in the harbour. In the mean time, he amused liimself by sauntering about the city and its environs, satisfying his curiosity, and examining every object worthy of notice. Hav- ing formed some acquaintances by means of the captain, he accompanied a party on an excursion into the comitry. The idea never occurred to him, that the wind, wliich had blown so perversely a-head during there weeks, might change in a sin- gle day ; he was not less surprised than chagrined, therefore, on his retm'n next morning, to find the vessel gone. Tliis was a death-blow to his scheme of emigration, as his passage-money was already in the pocket of the captain. Mortified and disappointed, he lingered about Cork, irresolute what to do, until the langxdshing state of his purse, wliich was reduced to two gui- neas, admonished him to make the best of his way home. He accordingly bought a poor httle pony, which he called Fiddleback, and found that he had just five sliillings left to defray the travelhng expen- ses of himself and liis steed. Tliis pittance, how- ever, was rather too scanty for a journey of a hun- dred and twenty miles, and he was at a loss how to procure a further supply. He at last bethought liimself of an old college friend, who lived on the road, not far from Cork, and determined to apply to liim for assistance. Having been often pressed by tliis person to spend a summer at his house, he had the less hesitation in paying him a visit under his present circumstances, and doubted not that he OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 11 ^ould at once obtain all the aid his situation re- quired. When on the road to the house of his friend, a poor woman with eight children, whose husband had been thrown into jail for rent, threw herself in his v/ay and implored for relief. The feelings of humanity being ever most easily awak- ened in Oliver's bosom, he gave her all that re- mained in his purse, and trusted his own wants to the expected liberality of liis old fellow-collegian. This dear friend, whose promised hospitalities were so securely relied on, received him with much apparent satisfaction, and only appeared anxious to learn the motive which could have prompted this chance visit. Charmed with this seeming cor- diality with which he was received, Oliver gave him an artless and honest account of his whole ex- pedition; and did not even conceal the cifTence which his departure musthave given to his friends. His good host listened with profound attention, and appeared to take so much interest in the detail of our poet's adventures, that he was at length in- duced to disclose the immediate object of his visit. This chanced to be the true touch-stone for try- ing the liberality of so honest a friend. A profound sigh, and querulous declamation on his own in- firm state of health, was the only return to Ms hint for assistance. When pressed a little further, this kind friend drily remarked, that for his part he could not understand how some people got them- selves into scrapes ; that on any other occasion he would have been happy to accommodate an old comrade, but really he had been lately so very ill, and was, even now, in such a sickly condition, that it was very inconvenient to entertain compa- ny of any kind. Besides, he could not well ask a person in health to share in lais slops and milk diet. If, however, Mr. Goldsmith could think of putting up with the family fare, such as it was, he would be made welcome; at the same time he must apprise him that it might not soon be got ready. The astonishment and dismay of our poet at the conclusion of this speech was sufficiently visible in his lengthened visage. Nothing but the utter emptiness of his purse, and his great distance from home, could have induced liim to pocket the insult, or accept so inhospitable an invitation. No better, however, could be made of it in his present circtun stances; so without showdng his chagrin, he good-humouredly partook of a miserable supper of brown bread and butter millc, served up at a late hour by a miserable looldng old woman, the fit handmaid of so miserable a ^master. Notwithstanding the Base colours in which our poet's host had exhibited himself, the former had too much good-nature to harbour resentment. When they met in the morning, therefore, he entered fa- miliarly into conversation, and even condescended to ask what he would advise him to do in his pre- sent difRculty. "My dear fellow," said his host, "return home immediately. You can never do with- out the assistance of your friends ; and if you keep them longer in suspense and alarm by remaining. away, you will only widen the breach which your rashness must have already occasioned, and perhaps- induce them to throv/ you off altogether." " But," rejoined Oliver, "how am I to get on without mo- ney! I told you I 'had not a shilling left, and it is quite impossible for me to proceed on the journey, unless you should be so obliging as to lend me a guinea "for the purpose." Here again his friend's countenance fell. He pleaded his inability to lend, in consequence of having spent all his ready cash during his late illness, interlarding this apology with many sage aphorisms on the disadvantages of boiTowing, and the sin of running into debt. " But my dear fellow," resumed he, " I'll tell you how you may get over the difficulty. May you not sell the little horse you brought with you last nightl The price of it will be suffxient for aU your expenses till you arrive among your friends, and, in the mean time, I think I can furnish you with another to help you forward on the jorur- ney." Oliver could discover no objection to apian, so feasible, and therefore agreed to it at once; but when he asked for a sight of the steed wliich was to carry him home, his host, with solemn gravity^ drew from under the bed a stout oaken staff, which he presented to him with a grin of self-approba- tion. Our poor poet now lost all patience, and was just about to snatch it from hun, and apply it to Ins pate, when a loiid rap announced a visiter. A person of interesting appearance was immediately afterwards ushered into the room, and, when the us- ual compliments were over, Oliver was presented to him by his host, as if nothing had happened, and described as the learned and ingenious young man of whom he had heard so much while at college. The agreeable manners of this gentleman soon gave an interesting turn to the conversation. Har- mony appeared to be once more restored between Oliver and his host, and the stranger invited them both to dine with him the following day. This was not acceded to on the part of the poet, with- out considerable reluctance; but the gentleman's pressing solicitations prevailed on him to consent. The hospitality and kindness displayed at tliis per- son's table was a strildng contrast to the penury and meanness exhibited by his fellow-collegian, and Oliver could hardly refrain from maldng some sarcastic remarks on the difference. The hints on this subject which were occasionally hazarded by the poet, led the gentleman to suspect that the two friends were not on the most cordial tenns. He was therefore induced to invite our poet to spend a few days at his house. An invitation of this kind, so opportunely and handsomely given, was a for- tunate circumstance for OUver. He did not hesi- tate a moment to accept it, and at parting with his 12 LIFE AND WRITINGS dear fellow-collegian, .archly recommended to him to take good care of the steed kept at so much ex- pense for the use of his friends; and, of all things, to beware of surfeiting them with a milk diet. To this sarcasm the other only replied by a sneer at the poet's poverty and improvident disposition. Their host being well acquainted with the charac- ter of his neighbour, seemed, when Ohver after- wards recounted to him aU the circumstances that had taken place, to be more amused than surprised at the detail. In the house of this new friend Goldsmith expe- rienced the most hospitable entertainment for seve- ral days. Two beautiful daughters, as well as the host himself, were emulous in finding amusement for their guest during his stay; and when about to depart, he was offered money to defray the expense of his journey, and a servant to attend him on horseback. The servant and horse he declined, but accepted of a loan of three half-guineas ; and with sentiments of the deepest respect and grati- tude, took leave of his benevolent host. He now pursued his journey without any fur- ther interruption, and arrived at his mother's house in the sudden and unexpected manner already nar- rated. Once more reconciled to his friends, he did not fail to transmit to his Idnd benefactor suitable acknowledgments expressive of the grateful sense he entertained of such unlooked-for and generous hospitaUty. It was now considered essential that he should fix on a profession, the pursuit of which might di- vert him from idle and expensive habits. After various consultations, it was determined that he should begin the study of the law, and his uncle Contarine agreed to advance the necessary funds. Provided with money for the expenses of his jour- ney, and to enable him to enter on his studies at the Temple, Oliver set out for London, but his customary imprudence again interfered. He fell by accident into the company of a sharper in Dub- lin, and being tempted to engage in play, was soon plundered of all his money, and again left to find his way home Vv^ithout a shilling in his pocket. His friends now almost despaired of him. Not- withstanding the brilliancy of his natural talents, it was feared that his habitual carelessness and im- providence would form a bar to his success in any profession whatever. That it would be vain for him to pursue the study of the law with such dis- positions was ob\ious ; and, of course, it was neces- sary once more to cast about for a profession. Af- ter various consultations, therefore, it was finally determined that physic should .be his future pur- suit; and his kind uncle, who had been prevailed on to pardon him once more, took him again under his protection, and at last fixed him at Edinburgh aa a student of medicine, about the end of the year 1752. On his ariival in that citj^, he had no sooner deposited his trunk in lodgings than he sallied out to see the town. He rambled about until a late hour, and when he felt disposed to turn his face homeward, recollected for the first time that he knew neither the name nor address of his landlady. In this dilemma, as he was wandering at random, he fortunately met with the porter who had carried his baggage, and who now served him as a guide. In the University of Edinburgh, at that time be coming famous as a school of medicine, he attend- ed the lectures of the celebrated Monro, and the other professors in medical science. What pro- gress he made in this study, however, is not par- ticularly ascertained. Riotous conviviality, and tavern adjournments, whether for business or plea- sure, were at that tune characteristic of Edinburgh society ; and it does not appear that our poet was able to resist the general contagion. His attention to his studies was far from being regular. Dissi- pation and play allured him from the class-room, and his health and his purse suffered in conse- quence. About this period, his contemporaries have reported, that he sometimes also sacrificed to the Muses, but of these early effusions no specimen seems to have been preserved. The social and good-humoured qualities of oui poet appear to have made him a general favourite with his fellow-students. He was a keen partici- pator in all their wild pranks and humorous frolics. He was also a prime table companion : always rea- dy with story, anecdote, or song, though it must be confessed that in such exliibitions he was far from being successful. His narrations were too frequent- ly accompanied by grimace or buffoonery; nor was his wit of that chaste and classical kind that might have been expected from liis education. On the contrary, it was generally forced, coarse, and un- natural. All his oral communications partook of these defects ; and it is a fact not less true than sin- gular, that even in after life he was never exempt from them, although accustomed to the politest li- terary society. When conversing on this feature in our poet's character, his friend Dr. Johnson many years after- wards, justly, but perhaps rather severely, remark- " The misfortune of Goldsmith in conversation is this : he goes on without loiowing how he is to get off. His genius is great, but his knowledge is small. As they say of a generous man, it is a pity he is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith, it is a pity he is not knowing : he would not keep his knowledge to himself." On another occasion, Johnson being called on for his opinion on the same subject, took a similar view of it, with much critical acumen, and all his usual power of amplification. "Goldsmith," said he, should not be for ever attempting to shine in con- versation; he has not temper for it, he is so much mortified when he fails. A game of jokes is com- OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 13 posed partly of skill, partly of chance ; a man may be beat at times by one who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now Goldsmith's putting himself against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one, who can not spare the hundred. It is not Worth a man's wliile. A man should not lay a hundred to one, unless he can easily spare it; though he has a hundred chances for him, he can get but a guinea, and he may lose a hundred. Goldsmith is in this state : when he contends, if he get the bet- ter, it is a very little addition to a man of his literary reputation; if he do not get the better, he is misera- bly vexed." Though now arrived at an age when reflection on passing objects and events might have been oc- casionally elicited, yet it does not appear that any thing of that kind worth preserving occurred in our poet's correspondence with his friends. The only circumstance which seems to have excited particu- lar remark was the economy of the Scotch in cook- ing and eating ; and of tliis he would sometimes give rather a ludicrous account. His first landlady, he used to say, nearly starved him out of his lodgings ; and the second, though somewhat more hberal, was still a wonderful adept in the art of saving. When permitted to put forth all her talents in this way, she would perform surprising feats. A single loin of mutton would sometimes be made to serve our poet and two fellow-students a whole week ; a bran- dered chop was served up one day, a fried steak ano- ther, collops with onion sauce a third, and so on, till the fleshy parts were quite consumed, when finally a dish of broth was made from the well-picked bones on the seventh day, and the landlady rested from her labours. After he had attended some courses of lectures at Edinburgh, it was thought advisable that he should complete his medical studies at the University of Leyden, then celebrated as a great medical school his uncle Contarine furnishing the funds. Gold- smith accordmgly looked out at Leith for a vessel for Holland ; but finding one about to sail for Bor- deaux, with lais usual eccentricity engaged a pas- sage. He found liimself, however, in an awkward dilemma about the time of embarkation. He had become security to a tailor for a fellow-student in a considerable amount. The tailor arrested him for debt; and, but fin' the interference of Mr. Lachlan Maclane and Dr. Sleigh, he would have been thrown into prison. Rescued from this difficulty, he embarked, but encountered a stonn, and a de- tention, and an escape from shipwreck, and finally arrived safe at Rotterdam, instead of Bordeaux; all which is thus related by himself, in an extract from a letter, vnthout date, to his generous uncle Conta- rine. " Some time after the receipt of your last, I em- barked for Bordeaux, on board a Scotch ship, call- ed the St. Andrew, CaptaLa John Wall, master. The ship made a tolerable appearance, and as ano- ther inducement, I was let to know that six agree- able passengers were to be my company. WeU, we were but two days at sea when a storm drove us into a city of England, called Newcastle-upon- Tyne. We all went ashore to refresh us, after the fatigue of our voyage. Seven men and I were one day on shore, and on the following evening, as we were all very merry, the room door bursts open, en- ters a sergeant and twelve grenadiers, with their bayonets screwed, and puts us all under the king's arrest. It seems my company were Scotchmen in the French service, and had been in Scotland to enhst soldiers for the French army. I endeavoured all I could to prove my innocence; however, I re- mained in prison with the rest a fortnight, and with difficulty got oft' even then. Dear sir, keep this all a secret, or at least say it was for debt ; for if it were once known at the university, I should hardly get a degree. But hear how Providence interposed in my favour ; the sliip was gone on to Bordeaux be- fore I got from prison, and was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and every one of the crew were drowned. It happened the last great storm. There was a ship at that time ready for HoUand; I embarked, and in nine days, thank my God, I ar- rived safe at Rotterdam, whence I travelled by land to Leyden, and whence I now write." He proceeds in the same letter to amuse his friends with a whimsical account of the costume and manners of the Hollanders; which we also ex- tract for the entertaimnent of the reader. " You may expect some account of this country ; and though I am not well quahfied for such an un- dertaking, yet I shall endeavour to satisfy some part of your expectations. Nothing surprised me more than the books every day pubUshed descrip- tive of the manners of tliis country. Any young man who takes it into liis head to publish his travels^ visits the countries he intends to describe; passes through them with as much inattention as his valei de chambre; and consequently, not having a fund himself to fill a volume, he apphes to those who wrote before him, and gives us the manners of a country; not as he must have seen them, but such as they might have been fifty years before. The modern Dutchman is quite a different creature from him of former times: he in every thing imitates a Frenchman, but in his easy disengaged air, which is the result of keeping pohte company. The Dutchman 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 oldest figures in nature. Upon a head of lank 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 liips reach almost up to his arm-pits. This well-clothed vegetable is now fit to 14 LIFE AND WRITINGS see company, or make love. But what a pleasing creature is the object of Ms appetitel 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 phleg- matic admirer but his tobacco. You must know, sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove with coals in it, which, when she sits, she snugs under her petticoats ; and at this chimney dozing Strephon lights his pipe. I take it that this continual smok- ing is what gives the man the ruddy healthful com- plexion he generally wears, by draining his super- fluous moisture ; while the woman, deprived of this amusement, overflows with such viscidities as tint the complexion, and give that paleness of visage which low fenny grounds and moist air conspire to cause. A Dutch woman and a Scotch will bear an opposition. The one is pale and fat, the other lean and ruddy. The one walks as if she were straddlmg after a go-cart, and the other takes too masculine a stride. I shall not endeavour to de- prive either country of its share of beauty; but must say, that of all objects on this earth, an En- glish farmer's daughter is most charming. Every woman there is a complete beauty, while the higher class of women want many of the requisites to make them even tolerable. Their pleasures here are very dull, though very various. You may smoke, you may doze, you may go to the Italian comedy, as good an amusement as either of the for- mer. This entertainment always brings in Har- lequin, who is generally a magician; and in conse- quence of his diabohcal art, perforins a thousand tricks on the rest of the persons of the drama, who are all fools. I have seen the pit in a roar of laughs ter at this humour, when with his sword he touches the glass from which another was drinking. ' Twas not Ms face they laughed at, for that was masked: they must have seen something vastly queer in the wooden sword, that neither I, nor you, sir, were you there, could see. •"-•" " In winter, when their canals are frozen, every house is forsaken, and all people are on the ice ; sleds drawn by horses, and skating, are at that time the reigmng amusements. They have boats here that slide on the ice, and are driven by the winds. When they spread all their sails they go more than a mile and a half a minute, and their motion is so rapid, the eye can scarcely accompany them. Their ordinary manner of travelling is very cheap and very convenient. They sail in covered boats drawn by horses ; and in these you ai-e sure to meet people of all nations. Here the Dutch slumber, the French chatter, and the English play at cards. Any man who likes company, may have them to Ms taste. For my part, I generally de- tached myself from all society, and was wholly taken up in observing the face of the country. No- tliing can equal its beauty. Wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas, presented themselves ; but when you enter their towns you are charmed beyond description. No misery is to be seen here ; every one is usefu^ ly employed. "Scotland and tliis country bear the Mghest contrast. There, hills and rocks' intercept every prospect; here,' 'tis all a continued plain. There you might see a well dressed duchess issuing from a dirty close ; and here a dirty Dutchman inhabit- ing a palace. The Scotch may be compared to a tulip planted in dung; but I never see.a Dutchman in Ms own house, but I think of a magnificent Egyptian temple dedicated to an ox. " Physic is by no means taught here so well as m Edinburgh ; and in all Leyden there are but four British students, owing to all necessaries being so extremely dear, and the professors so very lazy (the chemical professor excepted,) that we don't much care to come Mther. I am not certaia how long my stay here may be ; however, I expect to have the happiness of seeing you at Kilmore, if I can, next March." WMle resident in Leyden, he attended the lec- tures of Gaubius on chemistry, and those of Albi- nus on anatomy. In the letters of Goldsmith to Ms uncle, Gaubius is the only professor of whose talents he gives a favourable opinion.* Of all the other professors he seems to have formed rather a contemptuous estimate ; and with regard to the in- habitants in general, Ms remarks are by no means of a laudatory description. But to appreciate the characters of men, and describe the manners of a people with accuracy, require the mcest discrimi- nation, and much knowledge of the world. On such subjects, therefore, the opimons of our poel^ at this early period of his life, are to be the less re- garded. His Dutch characteristics can only be deemed good humoured caricatures, and probably were drawn as such, merely for the amusement of Ms friends m Ireland. It happened, unfortunately for Goldsmith, that one of Ms most dangerous propensities met with too much encouragement during Ms stay in Hol- land. The people of that country are much addict- ed to games of chance. Gaming tables are to be met with in every tavern, and at every place of amusement. Goldsmith, unable to resist the con- tagion of example, with his usual facUity sailed with the stream; and fortune, accoixhng to custom, alternately greeted him with smiles and frowns. His friend, Dr. EUis,t who was then also study- ing at Leyden, used to relate, that on one occasion he came to him with much exultation, and couut- * Gaubius died in 1780, at tlie age of 75, leaving a splendid reputation. He was tlie favourite pupil of Boerhaave. and wrote several learned and ingenious works. \ Aftei-wards clerii of the Irish House of Commons. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 1& ed out a considerable sum wliicli lie had won the preceding evening. " Perceiving that tliis tempo rary success," said Elhs, "was only fanning the flame of a ruhious passion, I was at some pains to point out to him the destructive consequences of indulging so dangerous a propensity. I exhorted him, since fortune had for once been unusually kind, to rest satisfied with his present gains, and showed, that if he set apart the money now in his hands, he would be able to complete his studies without further assistance from his friends. Gold- smith, who could perceive, though he could not al- ways pursue the right path, admitted all the truth of my observations, seemed grateful for my advice, and promised for the future strictly to adhere to it." The votary of play, however, is never to be so easily cured. Reason and ridicule are equally im- potent against that unliappy passion. To those infected with it, the charms of the gaming table may be said to be omnipotent. Soon after this, he once more gave himself up to it without control, and not only lost all he had lately won, but was stripped of every sliilling he had in the world. In this emergency he was obhged to have recourse to Dr. EUis for advice. His friend perceived that ad- monition was useless, and that so long as he re- mained within reach of the vortex of play, his, gambUng propensities could never be restrained It was therefore determined that he ought to quit HoUand ; and with a view to his further improve- ment, it was suggested that he should visit some of the neighbouring countries before returning to Ms own. He readily acceded to this proposal, and notwithstanding the paucity of his means, resolved to pursue it without delay. Elhs, however, kindly took his wants into consideration, and agreed to accommodate him with a sum of money to carry his plan into execution ; but in tliis, as in other in- stances, his heedless improvidence interfered to render his friend's generosity abortive. When about to set out on his journey, accident or curiosity led him into a garden at Leyden, where the choicest flowers were* reared for sale. In consequence of an unaccountable mania for flowers having at one time spread itself over Holland, an extensive trade in flower roots became universally prevalent in that co\mtry, and at this period the Dutch florists were the most celebrated in Europe.* Fortunes and law suits innumerable had been lost and won in this singular traffic ; and though the rage had now greatly subsided, flower roots still bore a considera- ble value. Unluckily, while rambling through the garden at Leyden, Goldsmith recollected that his * It was the celebrated tulip mania. For a tulip root, known by the name of Semper Augustus, 550Z. sterling was given; and for other tulip roots less rare, various prices were given, from one himdred to four hundred guineas. Tliis madness raged in Holland for many years, till at length the State in- terfered, and a law was enacted which put a stop to the trade. uncle was an amateur of such rarities. With his usual inconsiderateness he immediately concluded a bargain for a parcel of the roots, never reflecting on liis own limited means, or the purpose for which his money had been furnished. This absurd and extravagant purchase nearly exhausted the fund he had already received from his friend Elhs, and it is not unlikely that the gaming table gleaned the httle that remained ; for it has often been asserted, that after his magnificent speculation in tulip roots he actually set out upon his travels with only one clean shirt, and without a shilling in his pocket. When this expedition was projected, it is most likely that nothing more was intended than a short excursion into Belgium and France. The passion for travel, however, which had so long lain dormant in his mind was now thoroughly awakened. Blessed with a good constitution, 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 in- numerable privations; and neither poverty, fatigue, nor hardship, seems to have damped his ardour, or interrupted his progress. It is a well authenticated fact, that he performed the tour of Europe on foot, and that he fitnished the arduous and singular un- dertaldng without any other means than was ob- tained by an occasional display of his scholarship, or a tune upon his flute. It is much to be regretted that no account of his tour was ever given to the world by himself. The oral communications which he sometimes gave to friends, are said to have borne some resem- blance to the story of the Wanderer in the Vicar of Wakefield. The interest they excited did not arise so much from the novelty of the incidents as from the fine vein of moral reflection interwoven with the narrative. Like the Wanderer, he possessed a sufficient portion of ancient hterature, some taste in music, and a tolerable knowledge of the French language. His learning was a passport to the hos- pitaUties of the literary and religious establish- ments on the continent, and the music of his flute generally procured him a welcome reception at the cottages of the peasantry. "Whenever I ap- proached a peasant's house towards night-fall," he used to say, "I played one of my merriest tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but sub- sistence for the next day; but, in truth;" his con- stant expression, " I must own, whenever I attempt-" ed to entertain persons of a higher rank, they al- ways thought my performance odious, and never made me any return for my endeavours to please them." The hearty good-vdll, however, with which he was received by the harmless peasantry, seems to have atoned to him for the disregard of the rich. How much their simple maimers won upon his affections, may be discovered from the fine 16 LIFE AND WRITINGS passage in his "Traveller," in which he so happi- ly introduces himself: — 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 touch, falt'ring still. But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancers' skiU, Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. The learned and religious houses also appear to have been equally hospitable. "With the mem- bers of these establishments," said he, "I could converse on topics of literature, and then I always forgot the meanness of my circumstances." In many of the foreign universities and con- vents there are, upon certain days, philosophical theses mamtained against every adventitious dis- putant ; for which, if the champion opposes with any dexterity, he can claim a gratuity in money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. The talents of Goldsmith freqiiently enabled him to command the reUef afforded by this useful and hospitable cus- tom. In tills maiiner, without money or friends, he fought his way from convent to convent, and from city to city, examined manldnd more nearly, and, as he himself expressed it, saw both sides of the picture. To Goldsmith's close and familiar intercourse with the scenes and natives of the different coun- tries through which he passed, the world is indebt- ed for his " Traveller." For although that poem was afterwards " slowly and painfuUy elaborated," still the nice and accurate discrhnination of na- tional character displayed could only be acquired by actual examination. In the progress of his journey, he seems to have treasured liis facts and observations, with a view to the formation of this delightful poem. The first sketch of it is said to have been written after his arrival in Svntzerland, and was transmitted from that comitry to his bro- ther Henry in Ireland. After his arrival in Switzerland, he took up his abode for some time in Geneva. Here he appears to have found friends, or formed acquaintances ; for we find him recommended at this place as tu- tor to a yoimg gentleman on his travels. The youth to whom he was recommended was the ne- phew of Mr. S****** pawnbroker in London, who had unexpectedly acquired a large fortune by the death of liis uncle. Determined to see the world, he had just arrived at Geneva on the grand tour, and not being provided with a travelling tu- tor. Goldsmith was hired to perform the functions of that office. They set out together for Mar- seilles; but never were tutor and pupil so miserably assorted. The latter, before acquiiing his fortmie, had been for some time articled to an attorney, and while in that capacity had so well learned the art of managing in money concerns, that it had at length become his favomite study. Naturally ava- ricious, his training as an attorney had nothing diminished the reign of that sordid passion, and it discovered its most odious features in almost every transaction. When he engaged a tutor, there- fore, he took care to make a special proviso, that in all money matters he should be at liberty to tu- tor himself. A stipulation of this kind so cramp- ed the views and propensities of Goldsmith, and afforded to the pupil so many opportunities of dis- playing his mean disposition, that disgust and dis- like almost immediately ensued. When arrived at Marseilles they mutually agreed to separate; and the poet having received the small part of his salary that was due, his pupil, tenified at the ex- pense of travelling, instantly embarked for Eng- land. Goldsmith, thus freed from the trammels of tu- torship, set out once more on foot, and in that man- ner travelled through various districts of France. He finally pursued his journey into Italy, visiting Venice, Verona, Florence, and other celebrated places. At Padua, where he staid six months, he is said to have taken a medical degree, but upon what authority is not ascertained. While resi- dent at Padua he was assisted, it is beUeved, by remittances from his uncle Contarine, who, how- ever, mifortunately died about that time.* In Ital}'', Goldsmith found his talent for music al- most useless as a means of subsistence, for every peasant was a better musician than himself; but his skill in disputation still served his purpose, and the religious estabhslmients were equally hospita- ble. At length, curiosity being fuUy gratified, he resolved to retrace his steps towards his native home. He returned through France, as the short- er route, and as affording greater facilities to a pedestrian. He was lodged and entertained as formerly, sometimes at learned and religious estab- lishments, and sometimes at the cottages of the peasantry, and thus, with the aid of his philoso- phy and his flute, he disputed and piped his way homewards. When Goldsmith arrived at Dover from France, it was about the breaking out of the war in 1755-6. Being unprovided with money, a new difficulty now presented itself, how to fight his *The Rev. Thomas Contarine was descended from the no- ble family of the Contarini of Venice. His ancestor, having married a nun in his native country, was obliged to fly with her into France, where she died of the small-pox. Being pursued by ecclesiastical censures, Contarini came to Eng- land; but the pm-itanical manners which then prevailed, hav- ing afforded him but a cold reception, he was on his way to Ireland, when at Chester he met with a young lady of the name of Chaloner whom he married. Having afterwarda conformed to the established church, he, tlirough the interest of his wife's family, obtained ecclesiastical preferment in the diocese of Elphin. This gentleman was their lineal descen- dant. — Campbell's Biography of Goldsmith. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 17 way to the metropolis. His whole stock of cash could not defray the expense of the ordinary con- veyance, and neither flute nor logic could help him to a supper or a bed. By some means or other, however, he contrived to reach London in safety, On his arrival he had only a few halfpence in his pocket. To use his own words, in one of his let- ters, he found himself "without friend, recom- mendation, money, or impudence;" and, contrary to his usual habits, began to be filled with the gloomiest apprehensions. There was not a mo- ment to be lost, therefore, in seeking for a sit- uation that might afibrd him the means of imme- diate subsistence. His first attempt was to get ad- mission as an assistant to a boarding-school or aca demy, but, for want of a recommendation, even that poor and painful situation was found difficult to be obtained. This difficulty appears also to have been nothing lessened by his stooping to make use of a feigned name. What his motives were for such a measure has never been fully explained; but it is fair to infer, that his Uterary pride revolted at servitude, and perhaps, conscious that his powers would tdtimately enable him to emerge from his present obscurity, he was unwilling it should after- wards be known that he had occupied a situation so humble. Deceit and finesse, however, are at all times dangerous, be the motive for employing them ever so innocent; and in the present instance our author found them productive of considerable em- barrassment; for, when the master of the school demanded a reference to some respectable person for a character, Goldsmith was at a loss to account for using any other name than his own. In this dilemma he wrote to Dr. Radcliff, a mild benevo- lent man, who had been joint-tutor with his perse- cutor Wilder, in Trinity College, and had some- times lectured the other pupils. Having can- didly stated to the doctor the predicament in which he was placed, and explained the immediate object in view, he told him that the same post which conveyed this information would also bring him a letter of inquiry from the school-master, to which it was hoped he would be so good as return a fa- vourable answer. It appears that Dr. Radchff promptly complied with this request, for Goldsmith immediately obtained the situation. We learn from Campbell's Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland, that our author's letter of thanks to Dr. RadchfF on that occasion was accompanied with a very interesting account of his travels and adventures. The employment of usher at an academy in Lon- don, is of itself a task of no ordinary labour; but, independent of the drudgery and tod, it is attended with so many little irritating circumstances, that of all others it is perhaps a situation the most pain- ftd and irksome to a man of independent mind and liberal ideas. To a person of our author's temper 2 and habits, it was pecuHarly distasteful. How long he remained in this situation is not well ascertained, but he ever spoke of it in bitterness of spirit. The very remembrance of it seemed to be gall and worm- wood to him; and how keenly he must have felt its mortification and misery, may be gathered from the satire with which it is designated in various parts of his works. The language wliich he has put into the mouth of the Wanderer's cousin, when he appUes to him for an ushership, is feelingly charac- teristic. "I," said he, "have been an usher to a boarding-school myself; and may I die by an ano- dyne necklace, but I had rather be an under-turn- key in Newgate! I was up early and late: I was browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys within, and never permitted to stir out to meet civility abroad. But, are you sure you are fit for a school? Let me examine you a little. Have you been bred ap- prentice to the business 7" — No. — "Then you won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair?" — No. — " Then you won't do for a school. Have you had the small-pox 7" — No. — " Then you won't do for a school. Can you he three in a bed?" — No. — " Then you will never do for a school. Have you got a good stomach?" — Yes. — "Then you will by no means do for a school. No, sir: if you are for a genteel, easy profession, bind yourself seven years as an apprentice to turn a cutler's wheel; but avoid a school by any means." On another occasion, when talking on the same subject, our author thus summed up the misery of such an employment: — "After the fatigues of the day, the poor usher of an academy is obliged to sleep in the same bed with a Frenchman, a teacher of that language to the boys, who disturbs him every night, an hour perhaps, in papering and fillet- ing his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion, with his rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside him on his bolster." Having thrown up this wretched employment, he was obliged to cast about for one more congenial to his mind. In this, however, he again found con- siderable difficulty. His personal appearance and address were never prepossessing, but at that par- ticular period were still less so from the thread-bare state of his wardrobe. He applied to several of the medical tribe, but had the mortification to meet with repeated refusals ; and on more than one occasion was jeered with the mimicry of his broad Irish ac.. cent. At length a chemist, near Fish-street-hill, took him into his laboratory, where his medical knowledge soon rendered him an able and useful assistant. Not long after this, however, accident discovered to him that his old friend and fellow- student. Dr. Sleigh, was in London, and he deter- mined, if possible, to renew his acquaintance vfith him. " It was Sunday," said Goldsmith, "when I paid him the 'first visit, and it is to be supposed 1 LIFE AND WRITINGS was dressed 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 his friendship with me during his con- tinuance in London." The friendship of Dr. Sleigh* was not confined to the mere relief of our poet's immediate wants,^ but showed itself in an anxious soUcitude for his permanent success in life. Nobody better knew how to appreciate his talents and acquirements, and the accurate knowledge that Sleigh possessed of London quaUfied him to advise and direct the poet in his subsequent pursuits. Accordingly we find that Goldsmith, encouraged by his friend's advice, commenced medical practitioner at Bankside, in Southwark, whence he afterwards removed to the Temple and its neighbourhood. In Southwark it appears that his practice did not answer his ex- pectations, but in the vicinity of the Temple he was more successful. The fees of the physician, I however, were little, and that Uttle, as is usual among the poorer classes, was very iU paid. He found it necessary, therefore, to have recourse lilie- . wise to his pen, and being introduced by Dr. Sleigh to some of the booksellers, was almost im- mediately engaged in their service; — and thus, I " with very little practice as a physician, and very j little reputation as a poet," as he himself expresses [ it, he made " a shift to live." The peculiarities of j his situation at this period are described in the fol- ' lowing letter, addressed to the gentleman who had married his eldest sister. It is dated Temple Ex- change Coifee-house, December 27, 1757, and ad- dressed to Daniel Hodson, Esq., at Lishoy, near Ballymahon, Ireland. " Dear Sir, — It may be four years since my last letters went to Ireland; and from you in particular I received no answer, probably because you never wrote to me. My brother Charles, however, in- forms me of the fatigue you were at in sohciting a subscription to assist me, not only among my friends and relations, but acquaintance in general. Though my pride might feel some repugnance at being thus relieved, yet my gratitude can suffer no diminution. How much am I obliged to you, to them, for such generosity, or (why should not your virtues have the proper name) for such charity to me at that juncture. Sure I am born to ill fortune, to be so much a debtor, and unable to repay. But to say no more of this : too many professions of gratitude are often considered as indirect petitions for future favours ; let me only add, that my not receiving that supply was the cause of my present estabhshment * This gentleman subsequently settled in Cork, his native city, and was rapidly rising into eminence in his profession, ■when he was cut off in the flower of his age hy an inflamma- tory fever, which deprived the world of a fine scholar, a skilful physician, and an honest man. at London. You may easUy imagine what diffi- cxolties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations, money, or impudence j and that in a country where being born an Irish-* man was sufficient to keep me unemployed. Maiiy in such circumstances would have had recourse ttf the friar's cord, or the suicide's halter. But, with all my folhes, I had principle to resist the one, and resolution to combat the other. " 1 suppose you desire to know my present situ- ation. As there is nothing in it at which I shoxdd blush, or which mankind could censure, I see n& reason for making it a secret. In short, by a very little practice as a physician, and a very little repu- tation as a poet, I make a shift to live. Nothing is more apt to introduce us to the gates of the Muses than poverty ; but it were well for us if they only left us at the door — the mischief is, they sometimes' choose to give us their company at the entertain-' ment, and want, instead of being gentleman usher, often turns master of the ceremonies. Thus, upon hearing I write, no doubt you imagine I starve ; and the name of an author naturally reminds you of a garret. In this particular I do not think pro- per to undeceive my friends. But whether I eat or starve ; live in a first floor, or four pair of stairs high, I still remember them with ardour ; nay, my very country comes in for a share of my affection. Unaccountable fondness for country, this maladie du pays, as the French call it! Unaccountable, that he should still have an affection for a place, who never received, when in it, above coromon ci- vility ; who never brought any thing out of it, ex- cept his brogue and his blunders. Surely my affec- tion is equally ridiculous with the Scotchman's, who refused to be cured of the itch because it made him unco thoughtful o' his wife and bonnie Inve- rary. But now to be serious ; let me ask myself what gives me a wish to see Ireland again 1 The country is a fine one, perhaps ? No. — There are good company in Ireland? No. — The conversation there is generally made up of a smutty toast, or a bawdy song. The vivacity supported by some humble cousin, who has just folly enough to earn his dinner. — Then, perhaps, there is more wit and learning among the Irish ? Oh, Lord, no ! There has been more money spent in the encouragement of the Podareen mare there in 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 7 Then, all at once, because 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 con- fess I carry this spirit sometimes to the souring the pleasures I at present possess. If I go to the opera. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 19 where Signora Columba pours out all the mazes of melodyj I sit and sigh for Lishoy fireside, and Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, from Peg- gy Golden. If I climb Flamstead-hill, than where nature never exhibited a more magnificent pros- pect, I confess it fine, but then I had rather be placed on the little mount before Lishoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon in nature. Before Charles came hither, my thoughts sometimes found refuge from severe studies among my friends in Ireland. I fancied strange revolutions at home ; but I find it was the rapidity of my own motion that gave an imaginary one to objects really at rest. No alterations there. Some friends, he tells me, are still lean, but very rich ; others very fat, but still very poor. Nay, all the news I hear of you is, that you and Mrs. Hodson sometimes sally out in visits among the neighbours, and some- times make a migration from the blue bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish that you and she, and Lishoy and Ballymahon, and all of you, would fairly make a migration into Middlesex; though, upon second thoughts, this might be at- tended with a few inconveniencies : therefore, as the movmtaiii will not come to Mahomet, why Ma- homet shall go to the mountain ; or, to speak plain English, as you can not conveniently 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 design is purely to visit, and neither to cut a figure nor levy contributions, neither to excite en- vy nor solicit favour; in fact, my circumstances are adapted to neither. I am too poor to be gazed at, and too rich to need assistance. "You see, dear Dan, how long I have been talking about myself; but attribute my vanity to my afiection : as every man is fond of himself, and I consider you as a second self, I imagine you will consequently be pleased with these instances of egotism." Goldsmith then alludes to some concerns of a private nature, and concludes : " My dear sir, these things give me real uneasi- ness, and I could wish to redress them. But at present there is hardly a kingdom in Europe in which I am not a debtor. I have already discharged my most threatening and pressing demands, for we must be just before we can be grateful. For the rest I need not say, (you know I am,) your af- fectionate kinsman." The medical and Uterary pursuits of our author, though productive, at this period, of Uttle emolu- ment, gradually extended the sphere of his acquaint- ance. Several of his fellow students at Edinburgh and DubUn were now resident in London, and, by degrees, he continued to renew the intimacy that had formerly subsisted between them. Some of them occasionally assisted him with their purse, and others procured him the notice of the polite and the learned. Among the friendsliips thus agreeably renewed, there was one with a medical character,* afterwards eminent in his profession, who used to give the following account of our au- thor's first interview with him in London. " From the time of Goldsmith's leavmg Edin- burgh in the year 1754, I never saw liim tOl the year 1756, when I was in London attending the hospitals and lectures : early in January he called upon me one morning before I was up, and on my entering the room I recognised my old acquaint- ance, dressed in a rusty fuU trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly re- minded me of the 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 he had brought for my correction. In vain I pleaded ina- bihty, when he began to read, and every part on which I expressed a doubt as to the propriety, was immediately blotted out. I then more earnestly pressed him not to trust to my judgment, but to take the opinion of persons better qualified to de- cide on dramatic compositions. He now told me that he had submitted his production, so far as he had written, to Mr. Richardson, the author of Cla- rissa, on which I peremptorily declined offering another criticism on the performance. The name and subject of the tragedy have unfortunately es- caped my memory, neither do I recollect, with ex- actness, how much he had written, though I am inclined to believe that he had not completed the tliird act; I never heard whether he afterwards finished it. In this visit, I remember his relating a strange GLuixotic scheme he had in contemplation, of going to decipher the inscriptions on the Writ- ten 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 per annvim, wliich had been left for the purpose, was the temptation !" With regard to the sketch of a tragedy here al- luded to, the piece never was completed, nor did he afterwards attempt any thing in the same line. His project respecting the Written Mountains, was certainly an undertaking of a most extrava- gant description; but, if we consider how little qualified he was for such a task, it can hardly be supposed that the scheme ever entered seriously into his mind. It was not unusual with hun to hazard opinions and adopt resolutions, without much consideration, and often without calculating the means to the end. " Goldsmith," said Bos- well, "had a more than common share of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his country- men. He was very much what the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an eager desire * It is presumed that Dr. Sleigh is meant. 20 LIFE AND WRITINGS of being conspicuous, wherever he was, he fre- nuentiy talked carelessly, without knowledge of the subject or even without thought." The ex- travagant scheme respecting the Written Moun- tains, however, seems not to have given way to a more rational undertaking at home; and, notwith- standing our author's boast, in his letter to Mr. Hodson, of being " too rich to need assistance," we find him, about this time, induced to relinquish his medical practice, and undertake the manage- ment of the classical school at Peckham. The master, Dr. Milner, having been seized with a se- vere illness, was unable to attend to the duties of his charge ; and it had been necessary to procure a person, of classical attainments, to preside over the estabhshment, while deprived of his own sup- port. The son of the doctor having studied vdth Goldsmith at Edinburgh, knew his abilities as a scholar, and recommended him to liis father as a person well qualified for the situation. Our aiithor accordingly took charge of the school, and acquitted himself in the management so much to the satis- faction of his employer, that he engaged to procure a medical appointment for him under the East In- dia Company. Dr. Milner had considerable in- fluence with some of the directors, and afterwards made good his promise, for, by his means, through the interest of the director Mr. Jones, Goldsmith was appointed physician to one of the factories in India, in the year 1758. This appointment seems, for a while, to have fiUed the vivid imagination of our author with splendid dreams of futurity. The princely fortunes .icquired by some individuals in the Indies flattered him with the hope of sunilar success ; and accord- ingly we find him bending his whole soul to the accomplishment of ±his new undertaking. The chief obstacle that stood in the way was the ex- pense of his equipment for so long a voyage ; but his " Present State of Pohte Literature in Europe" had been, for some time, preparing for the press ; and he seems to have relied that the profits of that work would afford the means of enabling him to embark. Proposals were immediately drawn up, and published, to print the work by subscription. These he circulated with indefatigable zeal and industry. He wrote to his friends in Ireland to promote the subscription in that country, and, in the correspondence with them, he evinces the greatest anxiety for its success. In the following letter he explains his situation and prospects, and shows how nmch he had set his heart on the ex- pedition to the East. It is without date, but writ- ten some time in 1758, or in the early part of 1759, and addressed to Mr. Daniel Hodson, his brother- in-law. "Dear Sie, — You can not expect regularity in one who is regular in nothing. Nay, were I forced to love yon by rule, I dare venture to say, I could never do it sincerely. Take me then with all my faults. Let me vvTrite when I please ; for you see I say what I please, and am only thinking aloud when writing to you. I suppose you have heard of my intention of going to the East Indies. The place of my destination is one of the factories on the coast of Coromandel, and I go in the quality of physician and surgeon ; for which the Company has signed my warrant, which has already cost me ten pounds. I must also pay fifty pounds for my pas- sage, and ten pounds for my sea-stores ; and the other incidental expenses of my equipment will amount to sixty or seventy pounds more. The sa- lary is but trifling, viz. one hundred pounds per annum ; but the other advantages, if a person be pru- dent, are considerable. The practice of the place, if I am rightly informed, generally amounts to not less than one thousand pounds per annum, for which the appointed physician has an exclusive privilege. This, with the advantages resulting from trade, with the high interest which money bears, viz. twenty per cent., are the inducements which per- suade me to undergo the fatigues of the sea, the dangers of war, and the still greater dangers of the climate; which induce me to leave a place where I am every day gaining friends and esteem, and where I might enjoy aU the conveniencies of life. I am certainly wrong not to be contented with what I already possess, trifling as it is ; for should I ask myself one serious question, What is it I want? — what can I answer? My desires are as capricious as the big-beUied woman's who longed for a piece of her husband's nose. I have no certainty, it is true ; but whj' can not I do as some men of more merit, who have lived on more precarious terms'? Scarron used jestingly to call himself the Marquis of Gluenault, which was the name of the booksel- ler that employed him; and why may not I assert my privilege and quahty on the same pretensions? Yet, upon deliberation, whatever airs I give my- self on this side of the water, my dignity, I fancy, would be evaporated before I reached the other. I know you have in Ireland a very indifferent idea of a man who vvrrites for bread, though Swift and Steele did so intheearhest part of their lives. You imagine, I suppose, that every author by profession lives in a garret, wears shabby clothes, and con- verses wdth the meanest company. Yet I do not believe there is one single writer, who has abihties to translate a French novel, that does not keep bet- ter company, wear finer clothes, and live more gen- teely, than many who pride themselves for nothing else in Ireland. I confess it again, my dear Dan, that nothing but the wildest ambition could prevail on me to leave the enjoyment of that refined con- versation which I am sometimes permitted to par- take in, for uncertain fortune, and paltry show. You can not conceive how I am sometimes divided. To leave all that is dear to me gives me pain; but OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 21 wheh I consider I may possibly acquire a genteel independence for life; when I thinliof that dignity which philosophy claims, to raise itself above con- tempt and ridicule; when I think thus, I eagerly long to embrace every opportmiity of separating myself from the vulgar, as much in my circum- stances as I am already in my sentiments. I am going to pubUsh a book, for an account of wliich I refer you to a letter v/liich I wrote to my brother Goldsmith. Circulate for me among your acquaint- ance a hundred proposals, which I have given or- ders may be sent to you, and if, in pursuance of such circulation, you should receive any subscrip- tions, let them, when collected, be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the same. " I know not how my desire of seeing Ireland, which had so long slept, has again revived with so much ardour. So weak is my temper, and so un- steady, that I am frequently tempted, particularly when low-spkited, to return home, and leave my fortune, though just beginning to look kinder. But it shall not be. In five or six years I hope to in- dulge these transports. I find I want constitution, and a strong steady disposition, wliich alone makes men great. I will, however, correct my faults, since I am conscious of them." The following letter to Edward Mills, Esq. dat- ed Temple Exchange Coffee-house, August 7, 1759, gives the title of the book he was about to pub- lish, as stated in the foregoing letter. " Dear Sir, — You have quitted, I find, that plan of life which you once intended to pm-sue, and given up ambition for domestic tranquilhty. "Were I to consult your satisfaction alone in this change, I have the utmost reason to congratulate youj choice ; but when I consider my own, I can not avoid feeling some regret, that one of my few friends has declin- ed a pursuit in which he had every reason to expect success. The truth is, like the rest of the world, I am self-interested in my concern; and do not so much consider the happiness you have acquired, as the honour I have probably lost in the change. 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 all that I could come near, that this was my cousin. Instead of this, it seems you are contented to be merely a hap- py man; to be esteemed only by your acquaintance ; to cultivate your paternal acres; to take unmolested a nap under one of your own havW;horns, or in Mrs. Mills's bed-chamber, which, even a poet must confess, is rather the most comfortable place of the two. " But, however your resolutions may be altered with respect to your situation in life, I persuade my- self they are unalterable with regard to your friends in it. I can not think the world has taken such entire possession of that heart (once so suscep- tible of friendship,) as not to have left a corner there for a friend or two; but I flatter myself that I even have my place among the number. This I have a claim to from the similitude of our disposi- tions; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean that of retaUation; for indeed you have more than your share in mine. I am a man of few professions ; and yet this very instant I can not avoid the pain- ful apprehension, that my present profession (which speaks not half my feelings,) should be considered only as a pretext to cover a request, as I have a re- quest to make. No, my dear Ned, I know you are too generous to think so; and you know me too proud to stoop to mercenary insincerity. I have a request, it is true, to make ; but, as I know to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without difBdence or con- fusion. It is in short this : I am going to pubhsh a book in London, entitled, "An Essay on the pre- sent State of Taste and Literature in Europe." Every work pubhshed here, the printers in Ireland republish there, without giving the author the least consideration for his copy. I would in this respect disappoint their avarice, and have all the additional advantages that may result from the sale of my per- formance there to myself. The book is now print- mg in London, and I have requested Dr. Radcliff; Mr. Lawder, Mr. Bryanton, my brother Mr. Hen- ry Goldsmith, and brother-in-law Mr. Hodson, to circulate my proposals among their acquaintance. The same request I now make to you; and have accordingly given directions to Mr. Bradley, book- seller in Dame-street, Dublin, to send you a hun- dred proposals. Whatever subscriptions, pursuant to those proposals, you may receive, when collected, may be transmitted to Mr. Bradley, who will give a receipt for the money and be accountable for the books. I shall not, by a paltry apology, excuse my- self for putting you to this trouble. Were I not convinced that you found more pleasure in doing good-natured things than uneasiness at being em- ployed in them, I should not have singled you out on this occasion. It is probable you would comply with such a request, if it tended to the encourage- ment of any man of learning whatsoever ; what then may not he expect who has claims of family and friendship to enfore his?" The same subjects are pursued in another and every interesting letter, written in 1759, but subse- quent to the foregoing, to his brother, the Rev. Henry Goldsmith. ' Dear Sir, — Your punctuality in answering a man whose trade is writing, is more than I had reason to expect, and yet you see me generally fill a whole sheet, which is all the recompense I can make for being so frequently troublesome. The behaviour of Mr. Mills and Mr. Lawder is a little 22 LIFE AND WRITINGS extraordinary. However, their answering neither you nor me, is a sufficient indication of their dis- liking the employment which I assigned them. As their conduct is different from what I had expected, so I have made an alteration in mine. I shall the beginning of next month send over two hundred and fifty books,* which are all that I fancy can be well sold among you, and I would have you make some distinction in the persons who ha-ve subscribed. The money, which will amount to sixty pounds, may be left with Mr. Bradley as soon as possible. I am not certain but I shall quickly have occasion for it. I have met with no disappointment with respect to my East India voyage, nor are my reso- lutions altered ; though at the same time, I must confess it gives me some pain to think I am almost beginning the world at the age of thirty-one. Though I never had a day's sickness since I saw you, yet I am not that strong active man you once knew me. You scarcely can conceive how much eight years of disappointment, anguish, and study, have worn me down. If I remember right, you are seven or eight years older than me, yet I dare venture to say, if a stranger saw us both, he would pay me the honours of seniority. Imagine tu your- self a pale, melancholy visage, with two great wrinkles between the eye-brows, with an eye dis- gustingly severe, and a big wig, and you may have a perfect picture of my present appearance. On the other hand, I conceive you as perfectly sleek and healthy, passing many a happy day among your own children, or those who knew you a child. Since I knew what it was to be a man, this is a pleasure I have not known. I have passed my days among a parcel of cool designing beings, and have contracted all their suspicious manner in my own behaviour. I should actually be as unfit for the so- ciety of my friends at home, as I detest that which I am obliged to partake of here. I can now neither partake of the pleasure of a revel, nor contribute to raise its jollity. I can neither laugh nor drink, have contracted a hesitating disagreeable manner of speaking, and a visage that looks ill-nature itself; in short, I have thought myself into a settled melan- choly, and an utter disgust of all that life brings with it. Whence this romantic turn, that all our family are possessed with 7 Whence this love for every place and every country but that in which we .eside? for every occupation but our own 7 This desire of fortune, and yet this eagerness to dissi- pate? I perceive, my dear sir, that I am at intervals for indulging this splenetic manner, and following my own taste regardless of yours. " The reasons you have given me for breeding up your son a scholar, are judicious and convincing. I should, however, be glad to know for what par- • The " Present State of Polite Literature in Europe," sub- scription price, Cs. ticular profession he is designed. If he be assidu- ous, and divested of strong passions, (for passions in youth always lead to pleasure.) he may do very well in your college; for it must be owned, that the industrious poor have good encouragement there, perhaps better than in any other in Europe. But if he has ambition, strong passions, and an exqui- site sensibility of contempt, do not send him there, unless you have no other trade for him except your own. It is impossible to conceive how much may be done by a proper education at home. A boy, for instance, who understands perfectly well Latin, French, arithmetic, and the principles of the civil law, and can write a fine hand, has an education that may qualify him for any undertaking. And these parts of learning should be carefully incul- cated, let him be designed for whatever calling he will. Above all things, let him never touch a ro- mance or novel ; these paint beauty in colours more charming than nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes. How delusive, how destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss ! They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happi- ness which never existed ; to despise the little good which fortune has mixed in our cup, by expecting more than she ever gave : and in general, take the word of a man who has seen the world, and has studied human nature more by experience than precept; take my word for it, I say, that books teach us -very little of the world. The greatest merit in a state of poverty would only serve to make the possessor ridiculous ; may distress, but can not re- lieve him. Frugality, and even avarice, in the lower orders of mankind, are true ambition. These afford the only ladder for the poor to rise to prefer- ment. Teach, then, my dear sir, to your son thrift and economy. Let his poor wandering uncle's example be placed before his eyes. I had learned from books to be disinterested and generous, before I was taught from experience the necessity of being prudent. I had contracted the habits and notions of a philosopher, while I was exposing myself to the insidious approaches of cunning ; and often by being, even with my narrow finances, charitable to excess, I forgot the rules of justice, and placed my- self in the very situation of the wretch who did not thank me for my bounty. When I am in the re- motest part of the world, tell him this, and perhaps he may improve from my example. But I find my- self again falling into my gloomy habits of thinking. "My mother, I am informed, is almost blind: even though I had the utmost inclination to return home, under such circumstances I could not; for to behold her in distress, without a capacity of reUev- ing her from it, would add too much to my splenetic habit. Your last letter was much too short; it should have answered some queries I made in my former. Just sit down as I do, and write forward till you have filled all your paper; it requires no OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 23 thought, at least from the ease with which my own sentiments rise when they are addressed to you: for, believe me, my head has no share in all I write ; my heart dictates the whole. Pray give my love to Bob Bryanton, and entreat him, from me, not to drink. My dear sir, give me some account about poor Jermy.* Yet her husband loves her ; if so, she can not be unhappy. " I Imow not whether I should tell you — yet why should I conceal those trifles, or indeed any thing, from you? There is a book of mine will be pub- lished in a few days, the life of a very extraordinary man — ^no less than the great Voltaire. You know already by the title, that it is no more than a catch- penny. However, I spent but four weeks on the whole performance, for which I received twenty pounds. When pubUshed, I shall take some me- thod of conveying it to you, unless you may think it dear of the postage, which may amomat to four or five shilUngs. However, I fear you wiU not find an equivalence of amusement. Your last letter, I repeat it, was too short; you should have given me your opinion ef the design of the heroic-comical poem which I sent you : you remember I intended to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in a pal- try alehouse. You may take the following speci- men of the manner, which I flatter myself is quite original. The room in which he lies, may be de- scribed somewhat this way: — " The window, patched with paper, lent a ray, That feebly show'd the state in which he lay. The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ^ The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; The game of goose was there exposed to view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; The seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And Prussia's monarch show'd his lamp-black face. The mom was cold; he views with keen desire A rusty grate unconscious of a fire ; An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored, And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney-board. ■" And now imagine, after his soliloquy, the land- lord to make his appearance, in order to dun him for the reckoning : — ■ " Not with that face, so servile and so gay, That welcomes every stranger that can pay; With sulky eye he smoked the patient man, Then puU'd his breeches tight, and thus began, etc. " All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of Montaigne's, that the wisest men often have friends, with whom they do not care how much they play the fool. Talie my present follies as instances of regard. Poetry is a much easier, and more agreeable species of composi- tion than prose; and could a man live by it, it were no unpleasant employment to be a poet. I am resolved to leave no space, though I should fill it up only by telling you, what you very well know * His youngest sister, who had married unfortunately. already, I mean that I am your most affectionate friend and brother." Notvyithstanding the ardour with which our au- thor at first prosecuted his intention of embarking for the Indies, we find soon after that he abandon- ed the design altogether, and applied himself with renewed vigour to hterary pursuits. From what particular motive this expedition was given up, has never been accurately explained, but most likely it was owing to the immediate impracticability of raising an adequate sum for his equipment. Per- haps, however, abetter reason may be found in the rapid change that took place in our author's circum- stances about this time, in consequence of the in- creased patronage he began to receive from the booksellers. No man had the art of displaying with more advantage as a writer, whatever Uterary acquisitions he had made ; and whatever he put his hands to as an author, he finished with such felici- ty of thought and purity of expression, that it al- most instantly became popular. Hence the booksel- lers were soon bound to him from interest, and the profits they derived from the ready sale of his pro- ductions became the guarantee of his constant em- ployment He had by this titae published the " Bee, being Essays on the most interesting Sub- jects," also Essays and Tales in the British Maga- zine, afterwards collected and published in one vol- ume, besides various criticisms in the newspapers and reviews, all of which were read with avidity by the pubUc, and commended by the learned. His connexions with literary characters became conse- quently still more extended, and his Uterary pros- pects were rendered still more flattering; and hence we may the more easily account for the change that took place in his mind with regard to his In- dian appointment. Our author's toil in the service of the booksellers was now exceedingly laborious. Independent of his contributions to newspapers and magazines, he wrote regularly for Mr. Griffiths in the Monthly Review, from nine till two o'clock every day. His friend Dr. Milner had introduced him to Griffiths, and tliis work was performed in consequence of a written agreement which was to last for a year. The remuneration to be given on the part of Mr, Griffiths, was board and lodging, and a handsome salary; but it is probable Goldsmith found the drudgery too irksome, for at the end of seven or eight months the agreement was dissolved by mu- tual consent. When the " Inquiry into the state of PoUte Literature" was published, Mr. Newber- ry, the bookseller, who at that time gave great en- couragement to men of literary talents, became one of our author's chief patrons. For that gentleman he was now regxilarly engaged in writing or com- piling a variety of minor pieces, and at the same time was introduced by his means as a writer in the Public Ledger, to which he contributed Chi- 24 LIFE AND WRITINGS nese Letters, afterwards published under the title of the " Citizen of the World." At this time also, Goldsmith wrote occasionally for the British Magazine and Critical Review, con- ducted by Dr. Smollett. To that celebrated wri- ter he was originally introduced in consequence of the taste and accuracy with which he had criticis- ed a despicable translation of Ovid's Fasti, by a pedantic schoolmaster ; though the intercourse be- tween them does not appear to have been kept up for any considerable time, yet Goldsmith is said to have derived important advantages from the con- nexion. It is well knovra. that the liberal soul of Smollett made him the friend of every author in distress; and it is generally understood that, for some time, he warmly interested himself in Gold- smith's success. He not only recoromended him to the patronage of the most eminent booksellers, but introduced him to the notice of the first Uterary characters. Notwithstanding the variety of our author's lite- rary labours, however, no decided improvement in his circumstances appears to have taken place till after the pubhcation of his " Inqvury" in 1759. At that time he had lodgings in Green- Arbour Court, Old Bailey; and, that he must have occu- pied them rather on principles of economy than from the excellence of their accommodation, is proved by a little anecdote related by one of his literary friends. " I called on Goldsmith, at his lodgings," said he, "in March 1759, and found him writing his " Inquiry," in a miserable, dirty- looking room, in which there was but one chair ; and when from civility, he resigned it to me, he was himself obhged to sit in the window. While we were conversing together some one gently tapped at the door, and being desired to come in, a poor ragged Uttle girl, of a very becoming de- meanour, entered the room, and dropping a cour- tesy said, ' my mamma sends her compHments, and begs the favour of you to lend her a chamber-pot full of coals']' " Our author's labours for the booksellers, though for some time unproductive of general hterary fame, by degrees procured him the more substan- tial benefits of good living and commodious lodg- ings. He soon acquired extraordinary facUity in compilation, and used to boast of the power of his pen in this way of procuring money. According- ly, as early as 1761, we find him removed from Green-Arboiir Court to Wine-Ofiice Court in FJeet-street, where he occupied genteel apartments, received visits of ceremony, and sometimes gave entertainments to his literary friends. Among the distinguished characters to whom Goldsmith had been lately introduced, and with whom he now regularly associated, either from similarity of disposition or pursuits, the most re- markable in point of eminence was Dr. Johnson. To a mind of the highest order, richly and various- ly cultivated, Johnson united a warm and gene- rous disposition. Similar quaUties, both of the head and the heart, were conspicuous in Gold- smith; and hence, to use an expression of the Rambler himself,, no two men were, perhaps, ever better formed to take to one another. The innate benevolence of heart which they mutually display- ed first drew them together; and so strong was the attraction, idtimately increased by respect for each other's powers, that their friendship subsisted with- out interruption, and with undiminished regard, for a period of fourteen years. It has been inju- diciously remarked, that this connexion was unfor- tunate for the reputation of Goldsmith, and that, in the literary circles of the time, " he seldom ap- peared but as a foil to the Giant of Words." On the contrary, however, the intercourse that subsist- ed between these eminent men, would rather ap- pear to have been productive of the finest illustra- tion of their respective characters; and such was the strength of their mutual attachment, that it seems to have been the study of each to embellish and exalt the character of the other. Besides, Johnson was the giant of intellect as well as the giant of words, and it is absurd to suppose, that, in the display of his extraordinary powers he would ever require a foil to heighten their effect. Gold- smith, it is true, seemed sometimes, as it were, to look up to the great moraUst, but it was rather with affection than with dread, more with the spirit of emulation than the despair of equal excellence. And, on the other hand, in no single instance do we find that Johnson ever looked down upon Gold- smith as inferior to himself: the reverse, indeed, is much more frequently the case; for the uniform tendency of his remarks on the genius and writings of our author is to hold him up as the brighest lite- rary ornament of his time. Long before his fame was established with the pubhc, Johnson had justly appreciated his talents, and in a conversation with Boswell, concluded with asserting, that "Gold- smith was one of the first men then existing as an author." It has not been ascertained by whom Johnson and our author were originally introduced to one another; but it is generally understood that their intimacy commenced in the beginning of 1761. On the 31st of May, that year, we find Johnson, for the first time, at a supper in Goldsmith's lodg- ings, in Wine-Office Court, along with a number of literary friends. Dr. Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore, was one of the party invited, and be- ing intimate with the great lexicographer, was re- quested to call at his chambers and take him along with him. When walking together, to the poet's lodging, Percy was struck with the imusual spruceness of Johnson's appearance in the studied neatness of his dress : he had on a new suit of OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 25 clothes, a new hat, and a wig nicely powdered; and in the tout ensemble of his apparel there was a degree of smartness, so perfectly dissimilar to his ordinary habits and appearance, that it could not fail to prompt an inquiry on the part of his compan- ion, as to the cause of this transformation. " Why, sir," said Johnson, " I hear that Goldsmith, who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of cleanliness and decency, quoting my practice, and I am desirous this night to show him a better ex- ample." The connexion betwixt our author and John- son was henceforth more closely cemented by dai- ly association. Mutual coromunication of thought begot mutual esteem, and as their intercourse in- creased, their friendship improved. Nothing could have been more fortunate for Goldsmith. A man of his open improvident disposition was apt to stand in need of the assistance of a friend. The years, wisdom, and experience of Johnson, ren- dered his advice of the highest value, and from the kindness and promptitude with which he im- dertook and performed good offices, he might al- ways be securely rehed on in cases of difficulty or distress. It was not long before the improvi- dence of our author produced embarrassment in his circumstances, and we find the illustrious mo- rahst the prompt and affectionate Mentor of his imprudent friend. The sums which he was now receiving as a writer, might naturally be supposed to have been at least equal to his wants, and more than sufficient to have kept him out of debt. But Goldsmith's affections were so social and generous, that when he had money he gave it most hberally away. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if we find him soon after this period in distress for money, and even imder arrest for his rent He had just put the finishing stroke to his Vicar of Wakefield when the arrest took place, and was obUged to send for his friend Johnson to raise mo- ney by a sale of the manuscript. Our author's situation, on this occasion, hav- ing been mis-stated, it may be proper to give an authentic detail of it as narrated by Johnson him- self. "I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him direct- ly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and fomid that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion ; I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork mto the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extiicated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon re- tm^; and having gone to a bookseller sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill." Mr. Newberry was the person with whom Johnson thus bargained for the "Vicar of Wake-, field." The price agreed on was certainly Uttle for a work of such merit ; but the author's name was not then conspicuously known to the pubUc, and the purchaser took the whole risk on himself by pajnng the money down. So unconscious was he of the real worth of his purchase, and so little sanguine of its success, that he kept the manu- script by him for a long time after. Indeed, it was not till the author's fame had been fuUy establish- ed by the pubhcation of his "Traveller," that the publisher ventured to put the "Vicar of Wake- field" to the press; and then he reaped the two-fold advantage arising from the intrinsic merit of the work, and the high character of its author. When Boswell some years afterwards, remarked to John- son, that there had been too little value given by the bookseller on this occasion : "No, sir," said he, "the price was sufficient when the book was sold; for then the fame of Goldsmith had not been ele- vated, as it afterwards was, by his "Traveller;" and the bookseller had such faint hopes of profit by his bargain, that he kept the manuscript by liim a long time, and did not publish till after the "Traveller" had appeared. Then, to be sin-e, it was accidentally worth more money. Had it been sold after the "Traveller," twice as much money would have been given for it, though sixty guineas was no mean price. The bookseller had the advantage of Goldsmith's reputation from the "Traveller," in the sale, though Goldsmith had it not in selling the copy." After the sale of this novel, Goldsmith and Mr. Newberry became still more closely coimected. We find him, in 1763, in lodgings at Canonbury House, Islington, where he laboured assiduously for that gentleman, in the revisal and correction of various publications; particularly, "The Art of Poetry," in 2 vols. 12mo; a "Life of Beau Nash," the famous king of Bath; a republication of his own letters, originally written in the character of a Chinese Philosopher, and contributed to the Public Ledger, a newspaper of which Kelly was at that time the editor. These were now collected and given to the public in 2 vols. 12mo, under the title of "The Citizen of the World." Of all his productions, prompted by necessity, and written on the spur of the moment, this collection of letters is entitled to the praise of supereminent merit. Few works exhibit a nicer perception, or more deli- cate delineation of life and manners. Wit, humour, as LIFE AND WRITmaS and sentiment, pervade every page; the vices and follies of the day are touched with the most play- ful and diverting satire; and EngUsh character- istics, in endless variety, are hit off with the pen- cil of a master. They have ever maintained their currency and reputation, and are ranked among the classical productions of the British muse. Nearly about the same time, or early in 1764, a selection of all his fugitive pieces, originally con- tributed to various magazines, were collected and published for his own benefit, in one volume, un- der the title of "Essays." These, in their general scope and tendency bear some analogy to the letters of the Cliinese Philosopher. The manner is still happier than the matter, though that too is excel- lent; and our author appears to have been prompt- ed to their repubhcation, in consequence of the hbe- ral use that was surreptitiously made of them by the magazines, and other fugitive repositories of the day. In a humorous preface which accom- panied the volume, he took notice of that circum- stance, and \'indicates his claim to the merit as well as the profit of his own productions. "Most of these Essays," said he, "have been regularly reprinted two or three times a-year, and conveyed to the pubUc through the channel of some engag- ing compilation. If there be a pride in multiplied editions, I have seen some of my labours sixteen times reprinted, and claimed by different parents as their own. I have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, and signed at the end with the names of Philantos, PhUalethes, Phi- laleutheros, and Philanthropos. These gentle- men have kindly stood sponsors to my produc- tions; and to flatter me more, have always passed them as their own. It is time, however, at last to vindicate my claims ; and as these entertainers of the pubhc, as they call themselves, have partly lived upon me for some years, let me now try if I can not Hve a httle upon myself. I would desire, in this case, to imitate that fat man, whom I have somewhere heard of in a shipwreck, who, when the sailors, pressed by famine, were taking shces from his posteriors to satisfy their hunger, insisted, with great justice, on having the first cut for him- self." The rapidity with which the first impres- sion of this little volume was disposed of, greatly surpassed the expectations of its author. Since that time, few books have gone through a greater variety of editions. It has been somewhere remarked, that Gold- smith was a plant of slow growth; and perhaps there may be some truth in the observation, in so far as regards public applause. He had now been seven years a writer, and, notwithstanding the va- riety of his labours, had produced little, except his "Inquiry" and "Citizen of the World," to distin- guish him from the herd of authors by profession. With the pubhc he was generally known as a man of letters, but as such not very remarkably distinguished; and it was frequently observed, that though his pubhcations were much read, they were not greatly talked of With the characteris- tic irritability of genius, conscious of its powers and jealous of its reward. Goldsmith used to fret under the pangs of neglected merit, and to repine at the slow progress of public opinion. No votary of the muses was ever more emulous of fame; and, with his accustomed simplicity, he was careless of conceaUng his impatience to ob- tain it. Various anecdotes of Ins fretful anxiety for applause have been recorded in diiferent pub- lications, but the most authentic is one of rather a ludicrous description, noticed by Mr. Boswell. Conversing with Dr. Johnson one day on the dif- ficulty of acquiring literary celebrity, "Ah," said he, in a tone of distress, "the public will never do me justice; whenever I write any thing, they make a point to know nothing about it." On an- other occasion, when BosweU was present, "I fear," said Goldsmith, "I have come too late into the world ; Pope and other poets have taken up the places in the temple of Fame, and as a few at any period can possess poetical reputation, a man of genius can now hardly acquire it." And in the same querulous tone of despondency he addresses his brother, in the dedication to his "Traveller:" ' Of all kinds of ambition, as things are now cir- cumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. What from the increased re- finement of the times, from the diversity of judg- ment produced by opposing systems of criticism and from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the strongest and happiest effbrts can expect to please but a very narrow cir- cle." A short time, however, proved to our au- thor how faUacious were his fears. In less than a year the pubUcation of his "Traveller," placed him at the head of the poets of his time. The outline of this beautiful poem had been sketched during our author's residence in Switz- erland, and part of it, as noticed in the dedication, had been addressed from that country to his brother Henry in Ireland. DiSident of its merit, and fearful of its success, he kept it by him in its origi- nal crude state for several years, and it was not till he had been strongly encouraged by the high opin- ion expressed of it by Dr. Johnson, that he was at last induced to prepare it for the press. For two years previous to its publication, while toiling at other works for bread, his choicest hours are said to have been devoted to the revisal and correction of this poem, and, if report may be believed, no po- em was ever touched and retouched by its author with more painful and fastidious care. When he thought at length that it had received the highest possible finishing, it was committed to the press, and came out early in 1765. It was hailed with OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 27 delight by all ranlis, celebrity and patronage fol- lowed the applause with which it was received, and Goldsmith, so far as regarded fame, was at last at the height of his ambition. The great moral object of the " Traveller" is to reconcile man with his lot. The poet maintains that happiness is equally distributed among man- kind, and that a different good, either furnished by nature or provided by art, renders the blessings of all nations even. In pursuing his subject he takes an imaginary station on the Alps, and passes liis view over the countries that he spread out beneath him, noticing those only, however, through which the author had personally travelled. He draws a picture of each in succession, de- scribing from his own observation their scenery and maimers. He enumerates their advantages, and contrasts their various pursuits, — "wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content," — showing that each favourite object, when attained, runs into ex- cess, and defeats itself by bringing with it its own peculiar evil. He proceeds to show, that content- ment is more frequently to be found in a meagre mountain soil and stormy region, than in a genial climate and luxuriant country ; for labour produces competence, and custom inures to hardship, while ignorance renders the rugged peasant calm and cheerful under a life of toil and deprivation. But the poet makes a distinction between mere content and happiness. If the wants of barren states are few, and their vdshes limited, their enjoyments are in like manner circumscribed ; for every want be- comes a sourcce of pleasure when gratified. Their virtues partake also a similar dearth, and their morals, like their pleasures, are scanty, coarse, and low. For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unalter'd, vmimproved, the maimers nm; And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart Fail blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the momitain's breast May sit like falcons cowering on the nest ; But all the gender morals, such as play Through life's more cultured vraiks, and charm the way, These, far dispersed, on timorous pimons fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. The poet comes at length to the conclusion, that happiness centres in the mind, that it depends up- on ourselves, and is equally to be enjoyed in every country and under every government ; for, even in regions of tyranny and terror, where unjust laws oppress, and cruel tortures are inflicted, these evils rarely find their way into the hallowed seclusion of a domestic circle. In this poem, we may particularly remark a quality which distinguishes the writings of Gold- smith ; it perpetually presents the author to our minds. He is one of the few writers who are in- separably identified with their works. "We thinlc of him in every page; we grow intimate with him as a man, and learn to love him as we read. A general benevolence glows throughout this poem. It breathes the hberal spirit of a true citizen of the world. And yet how beautifully does it inculcate and illustrate that local attachment, that preference to native land, which, in spite of every disadvan- tage of soil or chmate, pleads so eloquently to every bosom; which calls out with maternal voice from the sandy desert or the stormy rock, appealing ir- resistibly to the heart in the midst of foreign luxu- ries and delights, and calling the wanderer home. When the " Traveller" was pubUshed, Dr. Johnson wrote a review of it for one of the journals, and pronounced it the finest poem that had appear- ed since the time of Pope. T his was no cold praise, for the versification of Pope was at that time the model for imitation; his rules were the standard of criticism, and the " Essay on Man" was placed at the head of didactic poetry. The fame of Gold- smith was now firmly established; and he had the satisfaction to find, that it did not merely rest on the authority of the million, for the learned and the gi-eat now deemed themselves honoured by his acquaintance. His poem was frequently the subject of conver- sation among the hterary circles of the time, and particularly in that circle which used to assemble at the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds. On one oc- casion it was remarked among the company at Sir Joshua's, that "the 'Traveller' had brought Gold- smith into high reputation." — "Yes," said Mr. Langton, " and no wonder ; there is not one bad line in that poem, not one of Dry den's careless verses." " Sir Joshua. — I was glad to hear Charles Fox say, it was one of the finest poems in the English language. "Langton. — Why were you glad 7 You sure- ly had no doubt of it before. " Dr. Johnson. — No : the merit of the " Travel- ler," is so well estabUshed, that Mr. Fox's praise can not augment it, nor his censure diminish it." "Sir Joshua. — But his friends may suspect they had too great a partiality for him. "Johnson. — Nay, sir, it can not be so; for the partiality of his friends was always against him." Goldsmith, however, was not permitted to enjoy the fame he had acquired without experiencing al- so the detraction that generally attends successful genius. The envy of some and the jealousy of others, especially among the minor candidates for poetical fame, was speedily awakened by the ap- plause bestowed on his poem. Unable to deny the merit of the performance, they strove to detract from the merit of its author, by ascribing the chief part of it to the friendly muse of Dr. Johnson. This question has since been finally settled. In the yeai- 1783, Dr. Johnson, at the request of Mr. 28 LIFE AND WRIT INQS Boswell, marked with a pencil all the lines he had furnished, ■which are only line 420th, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go ; and the concluding ten Uneg, except the last coup- let but one, printed in italic. How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ; Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find; With secret course, which no loud storms annoy. Glides the smooth current of domestic joy, Tlie lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, iMke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,' To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. Johnson added " these are all of which 1 can be sure." They bear indeed but a very trifling pro- portion to the whole, which consists of four hun- dred and thirty-eight verses. The truth in this case seems to be, that the report had its origin in the avowed fact of the poem having been submit- ted to Johnson's friendly revision before it was sent to the press. Goldsmith, though now universally known and admired, and enabled to look forward to indepen- dence at home, appears still to have retained a strong tincture of his original roving disposition. He had long entertained a design of penetrating into the interior parts of Asia, to investigate the remains of ancient grandeur, learning, and man- ners; and when Lord Bute became prime minister at the accession of George the Third, this desire was more strongly excited by the hope of obtain- ing some portion of the royal boimty, then so Ube- rally dispensed by that nobleman in pensions and benefactions to men of learning and genius. That he might be enabled to execute this favourite pro- ject he resolved on making a direct application to the premier for pecuniary assistance, and the sanc- tion of Govermnent, but, the better to ensure suc- cess, he previously drew up and pubhshed in the Pubhc Ledger, an ingenious essay on the subject, in which the advantages of such a mission were stated with much ability and eloquence. Our poor author, however, was then but little known, and not having distinguished himself by any popular hterary effort, his petition or memorial was throvsm * Gtoldsmith in this couplet mentions Luke as a person well known, and supeiUcial readers have passed it over quite smoothly; while those of more attention have been as much perplexed hy Luke, as by Lydiat in "The Vanity of Human Wishes." The truth is, that Goldsmith himself was in a mis- take. In the "Respublica Hungarica," there is an accoimt of a desperate rebelhon in the year 1514, headed by two bro- thers of the name of Zeck, George and Luke. When it was quelled, George, and not Luke, was punished, by his head being encircled with a red hot iron crown: Corona cande- scente ferrea coronatur. The same severity of torture was exercised on the Earl of Athol, one of the mm-derers of James I, of Scotland. aside unnoticed or neglected. Perhaps it was for- tunate for hterature that it so happened. Gold- smith, with all his genius and taste as a writer, was but Uttle versed in the arts; and it is extreme- ly questionable whether he was quahfied to accom- plish the task which he had proposed to himself, The opinion of his friend, Dr. Johnson, who so well knew and appreciated the extent of his ac- quirements, may be given as decisive of such a question. In a conversation with Mr. Boswell, the latter remarked, that our author " had long a visionary prospect of some time or other going to Aleppo, when his cirCxunstances should be easier, in order to acquire a knowledge, as far as might be, of any arts peculiar to the East, and introduce them into Britain;" to which Johnson rejoined, " of all men. Goldsmith is most unfit to go out on such an inquiry ; for he is yet ignorant of such arts as we ourselves already possess, and consequently could not know what would be accessions to our present stock of mechanical knowledge: sir, he would bring home a grinding-barrow, and think he had furnished a wonderful improvement." Goldsmith, however, seems never to have been conscious of the deficiency of his own powers for such an mi- dertaking. His passion for travel was never ex- tinguished; and notwithstanding the neglect with which Iris application for ministerial patronage had been treated, his design of penetrating to the East frequently revived. Even after the publication of the " Traveller," as formerly remarked, though en- gaged in several literary undertakings, this design was still predominant; and had it not been for his characteristic simphcity or carelesness, or perhaps his propensity to practical blundering, an opportu- nity was now thrown in his way that might have enabled him to fulfil his most sanguine expecta- tions. Among the distinguished characters of the day which the merit of the " Traveller," had attached to its author, either as patrons or friends. Lord Nugent (afterwards Earl of Clare) was conspicu- ous in point of rank ; and his lordship, not satisfied with his own personal iiotice and friendship, warm- ly recormnended him to his friends in power, par- ticularly to the Earl (afterwards Duke) of North- umberland, then lord-heutenant of Ireland. That nobleman, on the recommendation of Lord Nu- gent, had read several of Goldsmith's productions, and being charmed with the elegance of their style, expressed a desire to extend liis patronage to their author. After his lordship's retmn from Ireland, in 1765, he communicated Ms intentions to Dr. Percy, who was related to the family of Northum- berland, and by his means an interview took place between the poet and the peer. Of this visit to his lordship, Goldsmith used to give the following account: "I was invited by my friend Percy to wait upon the duke, in consequence of the satis- OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 2? faction he had received from the perusal of one of my productions. I dressed myself in the best man- ner I could, and after studying some compliments I thought necessary on such an occasion, proceed- ed to Northumberland-house, and acquainted the servants tliat I had particular business with the duke. They shov^ed me into an ante-chamber, where, after waiting some time, a gentleman very elegantly dressed made his appearance. Taking him for the duke, I deUvered all the fine things I had composed, in order to compliment him on the honom* he had done me; when, to my great aston- ishment, he told me I had mistaken him for his mas- ter, who would see me inmiediately. At that in- stant the duke came into the apartment, and I was so confounded on the occasion, that I wanted words barely siifficient to express the sense I entertained of the duke's politeness, and went away exceedingly chagrined at the blunder I had committed. In the embarrassment which ensued from this awkward mistake, our author's eastern project, for which he had iirtended to have solicited ,his lord- ship's patronage, was totally forgotten, and the visit appears to have been concluded vsdthout even a hint as to this great object of his wishes. Sir John Hawkins, in his "Life of Dr. John- son," has noticed and commented on the circum- stances attending this interview, with peevishness and ill-humour. " Having one day," says he, " a call to wait on the late Duke, then Earl of North- umberland, I found Goldsmith waiting for an au- dience in an outer room: I asked him what had brought him there; he told me, an invitation from his lordship. I made my business as short as I could, and as a reason, mentioned that Dr. Gold- smith was waiting without. The earl asked me if I was acquainted with him? I told him I was, adding what I thought was likely to recommend him. I retired, and stayed in the outer room to take him home. Upon his coraing out, I asked him the result of this conversation. " His lord- ship," said he, " told me he had read my poem, meaning the ' Traveller,' and was much delighted with it; that he was going lord-lieutenant to Ire- land, and that, hearing I was a native of thatcomi- try, he should be glad to do me any kindness." " And what did you answer," asked I, " to this gracious oflFerl" — " "Why," said he, " I coiild say nothing but that I had a brother there, a clergy- man, that stood in need of help : as for myself, I have no dependence on the promises of great men; I look to the booksellers for support; they are my best friends, and I am not inclined to forsake them for others."—" Thus," contuiues Sir John, " did this idiot in the affaii-s of the world trifle with his fortmies, and put back the hand that was held out to assist him!" — In a worldly point of view, the conduct of Goldsmith on this occasion was un- doubtedly absurd; but those who have generous dispositions will be pleased with such a character- istic instance of his well-knovra simphcity and goodness of heart. A benevolent mind will dis- cover in the recommendation of a brother, to the exclusion of himself, a degree of disinterestedness,, which, as it is seldom to be met with, is the more to be admired. Though Goldsmith thus lost the only good op- portunity that had offered for obtaining Govern- ment patronage for his intended eastern expedi- tion, it must be admitted to the honour of the Duke of Northumberland, that when the plan was after- wards explained to him at a distant period, he ex- pressed his regret that he had not been n\iade ac- quainted with it earlier; for he could at once have placed the poet on the Irish estabhshment, with a sufficient salary to enable liim to prosecute his re- searches, and would have taken care to have had it continued to him during the whole period of his travels. From this time our poet, though he some- times talked of his plan, appears to have for ever relinquished the design of travelling into Asia. Independent of every consideration of interest or ambition, the introduction of Goldsmith to a noble- man of such high rank as the Earl of Northiun- berland, was a circumstance sufficiently gratifying to a mind fond of distinction. In fact, the vanity of our poet, was greatly excited by the honour of the interview with his lordship : and, for a consider- able time after, it was much the subject of allusion and reference in his conversation. One of those ingenious executors of the law, a bailiff", having come to the knowledge of this circumstance, deter- mined to turn it to his advantage in the execution of a writ which he had against the poet for a small debt. He wrote Goldsmith a letter, stating, that he was steward to a nobleman who was charmed with reading his last production, and had ordered him to desire the doctor to appoint a place where he might have the honour of meeting him, to con- duct him to his lordship. Goldsmith swallowed the bait without hesitation; he appointed the Bri- tish Coffee-house, to which he was accompanied by his friend Mr. Hamilton, the proprietor and printer of the Critical Review, who in vain remon- strated on the singularity of the appUcation. On entering the coffee-room, the bailiff paid his re- spects to the poet, and desu'ed that he might have the honour of immediately attending him. They had scarcely entered Pall-Mali on their way to his lordship, when the bailiff produced his writ, to the infinite astonishment and chagrin of our author. Mr. Hamilton, however, immediately interfered, generously paid the money, and redeemed the poet from captivity. Soon after the publication of the " Traveller," Goldsmith appears to have fixed his abode in the Temple, where he ever afterwards resided. His apartments were first in the Ubrary staircase, next so LIFE AND WRITINGS m the King's-Bench-walk, and ultimately at No. 2, in Brick-court. Here he had chambers in the first floor, elegantly furnished, and here he was often visited by literary friends, distinguished aUke by their rank, talents, and acquirements. In the num- ber of those with whom he now associated, and could rank among his friends, he was able to ex- hibit a list of the most eminent and conspicuous men of the time, among whom may be particu- larized the names of Burke, Fox, Johnson, Percy, Reynolds, Garrick, Colman, Dyer, Jones, Boswell, and Beauclerk, with the Lords Nugent and Charle- mont. The mention of these names naturally calls up the recollection of the famous Literary Club of which Goldsmith was one of the earliest members, and of which the conversational anecdotes, re- ported by Mr. Boswell, have contributed to give so much interest to the pages of that gentleman's bi- ography of Johnson. As our author continued a member of this select society from its foundation till his death, and shone as one of its most conspicuous ornaments, some account of its institution, and a notice of the names of its members till the present time, all of whom have more or less figured in the literary or political world, may not be unacceptable to many of our readers. This literary association is said by Mr. Boswell to have been founded in 1764, but Dr. Percy is of opinion that its institution was not so early. Sir Joshua Reynolds had the merit of being the first to suggest it to Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke; and they having acceded to the proposal, the respective friends of these three were invited to join them. The ori- ginal members, therefore, as they stand on the re- cords of the society, were Sir Joshua Reynolds,* Dr. Johnson, Mr. Edmund Burke, Dr. Nugent,+ Mr. Beauclerk, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Chamier, and Sir John Hawkins ; and to this num- ber there was added soon afterwards Mr. Samuel Dyer.t It existed long without a name, but at the * Neither Sir Joshua nor Sir John Hawkins had then been knighted, nor had Johnson been presented with his diploma of LL. D. ; but both here and on other occasions the parties are noticed by their most common appellations. t This gentleman was a physician, father of Mr. Burke's wife ; not the Dr. Nugent who published some volumes of tra- vels, and several philosophical worte, for whom he has been sometimes mistaken. The above Dr. Nugent was a very amiable man, and highly respected by his contemporaries. J This gentleman was one of the intimate friends of Mi. Burke, who inserted in the public papers the following cha- racter of him at the time of his death, which happened on Monday, September 14, 1772 : " On Monday evening died at his lodgings in Castle-street, Leicester Fields, Samuel Dyer, Esq., Fellow of the Royal So- ciety. He was a man of profound and general erudition ; and his sagacity and judgment were fully equal to the extent of his learning. His mind was candid, sincere, benevolent; his friendship disinterested and unalterable. The modesty, sim- plicity, and sweetness of his manners, rendered his conversa- tbn as amiable as it was instructive, and endeared him to funeral of Mr. Garrick, became distinguished by the title of the Literary Club. The members met and supped together one evening in every week,, at the Turk's Head, in Gerrard street, Soho. Their meetings commenced at seven ; and by means of the inexhaustible conversational powers of Johnson, Burke, and Beauclerk, their sittings were generally protracted till a pretty late hour. It was originally intended that the number of members should be made up to twelve, but for the first three or four years it never exceeded nine or ten; and it was un- derstood that if even only two of these should chance to meet, they would be able to entertain one another for the evening. About the beginning of 1768, the attending or efficient members were reduced to eight ; first by the secession of Mr. Beauclerk, who became es- tranged by the gayer attractions of more fashiona- ble clubs; and next by the retirement of Su* John Hawkins. Soon eifter this it was proposed by Dr. Johnson to elect a supply of new members, and to make up their number to twelve, the election to be made by ballot, and one black ball to be sufficient for the ex- clusion of a candidate. The doctor's proposal was immediately carried into effect by the election of Sir Robert Chambers, Dr. Percy, and the late George Colman; and these three were introduced as new members on Monday evening, February 15, 1768. Mr. Beauclerk having desired to be restored to the society, was re-elected about the same time. From this period till 1772 the club consisted of the same members, and its weekly meetings were regularly continued every Monday evening till De- cember that year, when the night of meeting was altered to Friday. Shortly afterwards there were no less than four vacancies occasioned by death. These were supplied, first by the Earl of Charle- mont and David Garrick, who were elected on the 12th of March, 1773 ; and next by Mr. (afterwards Sir WilUam) Jones and Mr. Boswell, the former of whom was elected on the 2d, and the latter on the 30th of April following. In adverting to the election of Mr. Garrick, it may not be deemed im- pertinent to notice an error on the part of Sir John Hawkins, in his " Life of Johnson." Speaking of that gentleman's wish to become a member of the club, "Garrick," says the knight, "trusted that the least intimation of a desire to come among us would procure him a ready admission; but in this he was mistaken. Johnson consulted me upon it ; those few who had the happiness of knowing intimately that valuable unostentatious man ; and his death is to them a loss irreparable." Mr. Dyer was held in high estimation for his erudition by Dr. Johnson, but we know not of any literaiy work in which he was concerned, except that he corrected and improved the translation of Plutarch's Lives, by Dryden and others, when it was revived by Tonson. OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 31 and when I could find no objection to receiving him, exclaimed, " he will disturb us by his buf- foonery!" and afterwards so managed matters, that he was never formally proposed, and by conse- quence never admitted. In justice both to Mr. Garrick and Dr. Johnson, Mr. Boswell has rectified this mis-statement. " The truth is," says he, "that not very long after the in- stitution of our club, Sir Joshua Reynolds was speaking of it to Garrick: ' I like it much (said the latter); I think I shall be of you.' When Sir Joshua mentioned this to Dr. Johnson, he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. 'He'll be of lis (said Johnson), how does he know we will permit him"? The first duke in England has no right to hold such language.' However, when Garrick was regularly proposed some time after- wards, Johnson, though he had taken a momentary offence at his arrogance, warmly and kindly sup- ported him; and he was accordingly elected, was a most agreeable member, and contmued to attend our meetings to the time of his death." This state- ment, while it corrects the inaccuracy of Sir John, affords also a proof of the estimation in which the Literary Club was held by its own members, and the nicety that might be opposed to the admission of a candidate. The founders appear to have been somewhat vain of the institution, both as unique in its kind, and as distinguished by the learning and talent of its members. Dr. Johnson, in particular, seems to have had a sort of paternal anxiety for its prosperity and perpetuation, and on many occasions exhibited almost as jealous a care of its purity and reputation as of his own. Talking of a certain lord one day, a man of coarse manners, but a man of abilities and information, "I don't say," con- tinued Johnson, "he is a man I would set at the head of a nation, though perhaps he may be as good as the next prime minister that comes : but he is a man to be at the head of a club, I don't say our club, for there is no such dub." On another oc- casion, when it was mentioned to him by Mr. Beauclerk that Dr, Dodd had once wished to be a member 'of the club, Johnson observed, " I should be sorry indeed if any of our club were hanged," and added, jocularly, " I will not say but some of them deserve it," alluding to their politics and re- ligion, which were frequently in opposition to his own. But the high regard in which the doctor held this association was most strikingly evinced in the election of Mr. Sheridan. In return for some literary civilities received from that gentleman while he had as yet only figured as a dramatist, Johnson thought the finest comphment he could bestow would be to procure his election to the Literary Club. When the ballot was proposed, therefore, he ex- erted his influence, and concluded his recommenda- tion of the candidate by remarking, that " he who has written the two best comedies of his age, is surely a considerable man." Sheridan had accord- ingly the honour to be elected. The importance thus attached by its members to this celebrated club, seems justified by time and public opinion. No association of a like kind has existed, and re- tained its original high character, for so long a pe- riod; and none has ever been composed of men s& remarkable for extraordinary talent. In 1774, an accession of new members was add-- ed by the election of the Hon. Charles James Fox, Sir Charles Bunbury, Dr. George Fordyce, and George Steevens, Esq.; and this brings the annals of the club down to the death of Goldsmith. Either then, or soon after, the number of the members was increased to thirty; and, in 1776, instead of sup- ping once aweek, they resolved to dine together once a-fortnight during the sitting of Parliament; and now the meetings take place every other Tues- day at Parsloe's, in St. James' s-street. It is beUev- ed, that this increase in the number of the mem- bers, originally limited to twelve, took place in con- sequence of a suggestion on the part of our author. Conversing with Johnson and Sir Joshua Rey- nolds one day, Goldsmith remarked, " that he wish- ed for some additional members to the Literary Club, to give it an agreeable variety; for (said he) there can be nothing new among us ; we have tra- velled over one another's minds." Johnson, how- ever, did not like the idea that his mind could ba travelled over or exhausted, and seemed rather dis- pleased; but Sir Joshua thought Goldsmith in the right, observing, that "where people have Hved a great deal together, they know what each of them will say on every subject. A new understanding, therefore, is desirable ; because, though it may only furnish the same sense upon a question which would have been furnished by those vsdth whom we are accustomed to live, yet this sense will have a different colouring, and colouring is of much effect in every thing else as well as painting."* From the institution of the Literary Club to the present time, it is believed that the following is a correct list of the members: — * Lord Ashburton (Dunning.) * Sir Joseph Banks. * Marquis of Bath. * Dr. Barnard, Bishop of Kila- loe. * Mr. Topham Beauclerk. Sir Charles Blagden. *Mr. Boswell. * Sir Charles Bimbury. * Right Hon. Edmund Burke. * Richard Burke (his son. ) * Dr. Bumey. Sir Robert Chambers. Mr. Chamier. ' Earl of Charlemont. * George Colman. Mr. Courtney. Dr. Douglas, Bishop of Salis. bury. "Mr. Dyer. * Lord Elliot. * Rev. Dr. Farmer. * Dr. George Fordyce. • Right Hon. C. J. Fox. * David Garrick. "Mr. Gibbon. ' Dr. Goldsmit^. • Sir William JIamilton. ' Sir John Hawkins. • Dr. Hinchliffe, Bishop of Pe- tferbgrough. * Df. Johnson. >» ■ < • Sir WiUiam Jona • Mr. Langton. 32 LIFE AND WRITINGS In a society thus composed of men distinguished for genius, learning, and rank, where the chief ob- ject of the institution was social and literary enjoy- ment, it is certainly interesting to know what kind of intellectual sauce was usually served up to give a zest to their periodical suppers. Happily, Mr/ Boswell has supplied such a desideratum ; and as a fair specimen of the numerous conversations which he has reported of the members, it may not be un- amusing to our readers to be presented with part of the discussion which took place at the time of his own election in April, 1773, and a full report of the sitting of the club on the 24th of March, 1775. This we do with the more pleasure, on account of the first discussion being in some sort illustrative of the character and writings of om* author. " On Friday, April 30," says Mr. Boswell, " I dined with Dr. Johnson at Mr. Beauclerk's, where were Lord Charlemont, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and some more members of the Literary Club, whom he had obligingly invited to meet me, as I was this eveiung to be balloted for as candidate for admission into that distinguished society. Johnson had done me the honour to propose me, and Beauclerk was very zealous for me. " Goldsmith being mentioned, Johnson said, ' It is amazing how little Goldsmith knows. He sel- dom comes where he is not more ignorant than any one else,' Sir Joshua Reynolds, ' Yet there is no man whose company is more Uked.' Johnson, ' To be sure, sir. When people find a man, of the most distinguished abilities as a writer, their inferior while he is with them, it must be highly gratifying to them. What Goldsmith comically says of him- ' Duke of Leeds. ' Earl Lucan. • Earl Macartney. • Mr. Malone. Dr. Marlay, Bishop of Clon- fert. • Dr. Nugent. Hon. Frederick North (now Earl of Guilford.) • Earl of Upper Ossory. •Viscount Pcdmerston. *Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dro- more. Major RenneL • Sir Joshua Reynolds. Sir W. Scott Cnow Lord Sto- well) •M.R. B.Sheridan. ' Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph. • Dr. Adam Smith. Earl Spencer. William Lock, jun, Mr. George Ellis. Lord Minto. * Dr. French Lawrence. *Dr. Horsley, Bishop of St Asaph. Henry Vaughan, M. D. ' Mr. George Steevens. * Mr. Agmendesham Vesey. * Dr. Warren. *Dr. Joseph Warton. * Rev. Thomas Warton. * Right Hon. William Wind- ham. Right Hon. George Canning. Mr. Marsden. Right Hon. J. H. Frere. Right Hon. Tlios. Grenville. *Rev. Dr. Vincent, Dean of Westminster. Right Hon. Sir William Grant, Master of the Rolls. Sir George Staunton. Mr. Charles Wilkins. Right Hon. William Drum- mond. The members whose names are distinguished by an asterisk in the foregoing list have all paid the debt of nature. Among those who survive, it is generally understood that the spirit of the original association is still preserved. self is very true, he always gets the better when he argues alone : meaning, that he is master of a sub- ject in his study, and can wiite well upon it; but when he comes into company grows confused, and unable to talk. Take him as a poet, his " Travel- ler" isa very fine performance; ay, and so is his "Deserted Village," were it not sometimes too much the echo of his " Traveller." Whether, in- deed, we take him as a poet, as a comic writer, or as a historian, he stands in the first class.' Boswell, ' A historian! my dear sir, you will not surely rank his compilation of the Roman History with the works of other historians of tliis age'?" Johnson, ' Why, who is before him?' Boswell, ' Hume, Ro- bertson, Lord Lyttleton,' Johnson (his antipathy to the Scotch beginning to rise,) ' I have not read Hmne; but, doubtless. Goldsmith's History is bet- ter than the verbiage of Robertson, or the foppery of Dalrymple.' Boswell, ' Will you not admit the superiority of Robertson, in whose History we find such penetration, such painting?" Johnson, ' Sir, you must consider how that penetration and that painting are employed. It is not history; it is ima- gination. He who describes what he never saw, draws from fancy. Robertson paints minds as Sir Joshua paints faces in a history-piece : he ima- gines a heroic countenance. You must look upon Robertson's work as romance, and try it by that standard. History it is not. Besides, sir, it is the great excellence of a writer to put into his book as much as his book will hold. Goldsmith has done this in his History. Now Robertson might have put twice as much into his book. Robertson is like a man who has packed gold in wool : the wool takes up more room than the gold. No, sir, I al- ways thought Robertson would be crushed by his own weight — would be buried under his own orna- ments. Goldsmith tells you shortly aU you want to know; Robertson detains you a great deal too long. No man will read Robertson's cimibrous de- tail a second time; but Goldsmith's plain narrative vyill please again and again. I would say to Ro- bertson what an old tutor of a college said to one of his pupils: "Read over your compositions and wherever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out." Goldsmith's abridgment is better than that of Lucius Florus or Eutropius : and I vpill venture to say, that if you compare him with Vertot, in the same places of the Roman History, you will find that he excels Vertot. Sir, he has the art of compiling, and of sajang every thing he has to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing a Natural History, and will make it as entertaining as a Persian Tale.' " I can not dismiss the present topic (continues Mr. Boswell) without observing, that Dr. Johnson, who owned that he often talked for victory, rather urged plausible objections to Dr. Robertson's ex- cellent historical works in the ardour of contesl^ OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 33 than expressed his real and decided opinion; for it is npt easy to suppose, that he should so widely differ from the rest of the literary world. "Johnson, 'I remember once being with Gold- smith in Westminster Abbey. While we sur- veyed the Poet's-Corner, I said to him, — Forsitan et nostrum nomen noiscebitur istis,* When we got to Temple-Bar he stopped me, pomted to the heads upon it, and shly whispered me, — I'orsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis.'t "Johnson praised John Bunyan highly. 'His "Pilgrim's Progress" has great merit, both for in vention, imagination, and the conduct of the story and it has had the best evidence of it^ merits, the general and continued approbation of manldnd Few books, I believe, have had a more extensive sale. It is remarkable, that it begins very much like the poem of Dante ; yet there was no trans- lation of Dante when Bunyan wrote. There is reason to think that he had read Spenser." "A proposition which had been agitated, that monmnents to eminent persons should, for the time to come, be erected in St. Paul's Church as well as in the Westminster Abbey, was mention- ed; and it was asked, who should be honoured by having his monument first erected 1 Somebody suggested Pope. Johnson, 'Why, sir, as Pope was a Roman Catholic, I would not have his to be first. I think Milton's rather should have the pre- cedence. I think more highly of him now than I did at twenty. There is more thinking in liim and Butler than in any one of our poets.' "The gentlemen (continues Mr. Boswell) now went away to their club, and I was left at Beau- clerk's till the fate of my election should be an- nounced to me. I sat in a state of anxiety, which even the charming conversation of Lady Di Beauclerk could not entirely dissipate. In a short time I received the agreeable intelligence that I was chosen. I hastened to the place of meeting, and was introduced to such a society as can sel- dom be found. Mr. Edmund Burke, whom I then saw for the first time, and whose splendid ta- lents had long made me ardently wish for his ac- quaintance; Dr. Nugent, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Gold- smith, Mr. (afterwards Sir Wilham) Jones, and the company with whom I had dined. Upon my en- trance, Johnson placed himself behind a chair, on which he leaned as on a desk or pulpit, and, with humourous fonnality, gave me a charge, pointing out the conduct expected from me as a member of this club." The next conversational specimen given by Mr. • Orid, de Art. Aynand. 1. iii. 5. 13. tin allusion to Dr. Johnson's supposed^ political principles, and perhaps his own. E. 3 Boswell, is of the discussion which took place at the meeting of 24th March, 1775. "Before John- son came in, we talked of his 'Journey to the Wes- tern Islands,' and of his coming away 'willing to believe the second sight,' which seemed to excite some ridicule. I was then so unpressed with the truth of many of the stories of which I had been told, that I avowed my conviction, saying 'He is only willing to believe ; I do believe. The evidence is enough for me, though not for his great mind. What will not fiU a quart bottle will fill a pint bot- tle. I am filled with behef ' 'Are you,' said Col- man, 'then cork it up.' "I found his 'Journey' the common topic of conversation in London at this time, wherever I happened to be. At one of Lord Mansfield's for- mal Sunday evening conversations, strangely call- ed levees, his Lordship addressed me, 'We have all been reading your Travels, Mr. Boswell.' I an- swered, 'I was but the humble attendant of Dr. Johnson.' The Chief- Justice replied, with that air and manner which none who ever lieard or saw him can forget, 'He spealis ill of nobody but Ossian.' "Johnson was in high spirits this evening at tlie club, and talked ^\^th great animation and success. He attacked Swift, as he used to do upon all occasions: "The Tale of a Tub" is so much su- perior to liis other writirgs, that we can hardly believe he was the author of it : there is in it such a vigour of mind, such a swarm of thoughts, so much of nature, and art, and life.' I wondered to hear him say of 'Gulliver's Travels,' 'When once you have thought of big and httle men, it is very easy to do all the rest.' I endeavoured to make a stand for Swift, and tried to rouse those who were much more able to defend him ; but in vain. Johnson at last, of his own accord, allowed very great merit to the inventory of articles found in the pocket of 'the Man Mountain,' particular- ly the description of his v/atch, which it was con- jectured was his god, as he consulted it upon all occasions. He observed, that 'Swift put his name but to two things (after he had a name to put), the "Plan of the Improvement of the Enghsh Language," and the last "Drapier's Letters.'" "From Swift there was an easy transition to Mr. Thomas Sheridan. Johnson, 'Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of Douglas, ano presented its author with a gold medal. Some years ago, at a Coffee-house in Oxford, I called to him "Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Sheridan, how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for writing that foolish play?" This, you see, was wanton and in- solent; but I meant to be wanton and insolent. A medal has no value but as a stamp of merit. And was Sheridan to assume to himself the right of giving that stamp? If Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow a gold medal as an honorary re- LIFE AND WRITINGS ward of dramatic excellence, he should have re- quested one of the universities to choose the per- son on whom it should be conferred. Sheridan had no right to give a stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting Apollo's coin.' " Now that Goldsmith had acquired fame as a poet of the first ranlc, and was associated with the wit and talent that belonged to this cele- brated club, his publisher, Mr. Newberry, thought he might venture to give the "Vicar of Wakefield" to the world. It was accordingly brought out in 1766, and not only proved a most lucrative specu- lation for the bookseller, but brought a fresh ac- cession of Uterary celebrity to its author. Notwith- standing the strUdng merit of this work, it is a fact not less singular than true, that the literary friends to whom Goldsmith submitted it for criti- cism, before publication, were divided in opinion as to the probability of its success ; and it is still more singular that Dr. Johnson himself should have en- tertained doubts on the subject. It has been as- serted, that the publisher put it to press in the crude state in which he found it, when the bar- gain was made with Johnson for the manuscript; but such a conclusion is obviously erroneous. Goldsmith was at that time on the best terms with Newberry, and engaged in the completion of vari- ous minor pieces for him ; and as the fame of the one as well as the profit of the other were equally at stake on the success of the performance, it is ex- ceedingly improbable that both author and pub- lisher should be regardless of such revisal and cor- rection as was clearly for the benefit of both. That Goldsmith did alter and revise this work be- fore publication, may be gathered from a conversa- tion which took place between Johnson and Mr. Boswell. "Talking of a friend of ours," says the latter, "who associated with persons of very dis- cordant principles and characters, I said he was a very universal man, quite a man of the world." "Yes, sir," said Johnson, "but one may be so much a man of the world, as to be nothing in the world. I remember a passage in Goldsmith's 'Vi- car of Wakefield,' which he was afterwards fool enough to expunge; '1 do not love a man who is zealous for nothing."' Boswell, "That was a fine passage." Johnson, "Yes, sir; there was another fine passage which he struck out : ' When I was a young man , being anxious to distinguish my- self, I was perpetually starting new propositions; but I soon gave this over; for I found that gener- ally what was new was false.' " The "Vicar of Wakefield" has long been con- sidered one of the most interesting tales in our language. It is seldom that a story presenting merely a picture of common life, and a detail of domestic events, so powerfuUy affects the reader. The irresistible charm this novel possesses, evinces how much may be done, vrithout the aid of extra- vagant incident, to excite the imagination and in- terest the feehngs. Few productions of the kind afford greater amusement in the perusal, and stUl fewer inculcate rpore impressive lessons of morali- ty. Though vrit and humour abound in every page, yet in the whole volume there is not one thought injurious in its tendency, nor one senti- ment that can offend the chastest ear. Its language, in the words of an elegant writer, is what "angels might have heard and virgins told." In the deli- neation of his characters, in the conduct of his fa- ble, and in the moral of the piece, the genius of the author is equally conspicuous. The hero displays with unaffected simplicity the most striking virtues that can adorn social life : sincere in his professions, humane and generous in his disposition, he is him- self a pattern of the character he represents. The other personages are drawn with similar discrimi- nation. Each is distinguished by some peculiar feature ; and the general grouping of the whole has this particular excellence, that not one could be wanted without injuring the unity and beauty of the design. The drama of the tale is also managed with equal skill and effect. There are no extra- vagant incidents, and no forced or improbable situ- ations ; one event rises out of another in the same easy and natural manner as flows the language of the narration ; the interest never flags, and is kept up to the last by the expedient of concealing the real character of Burchell. But it is the moral of the work which entitles the author to the praise of supereminent merit in this species of writing. No writer has arrived more successfully at the great ends of a moralist. By the finest examples, he in- culcates the practice of benevolence, patience in suffering, and reliance on the providence of God. A short time after the publication of the "Vicar of Wakefield," Goldsmith printed his beautiful ballad of the "Hermit." His friend Dr. Percy had published, in the same year, "Reliques of An- cient English Poetry;" and as the "Hermit" was found to bear some resemblance to a tale in that collection, entitled " The Friar of Orders Gray," the scribblers of the time availed themselves of the circumstance to tax him with plagiarism. Irritated at the charge, he published a letter in the St. James's Chronicle, vindicating the priority of his own poem, and asserting that the plan of the other must have been taken from his. It is probable, however, that both poems were taken from a very ancient ballad in the same collection, beginning "Gentle Heardsman." Our author had seen and admired this ancient poem, in the possession of Dr. Percy, long before it was printed ; and some of the stanzas he appears, perhaps undesignedly, to have imitated in the "Hermit," as the reader will perceive on examining the following specimens : — OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 35 FROM THE OLD BALLAD. And grew soe coy and nice to please, As women's lookes are often soe, He might not Icisse, nor hand forsoothe, Unless I willed him so to doe. Thus being wearyed with delayes, To see I pittyed not his greeffe, fle gott him to a secrett place, And there hee dyed without releefie. And for his sake these weeds I weare, And sacrifice my tender age ; And every day I'U beg my bread, To undergo this pilgrimage. Thus every day I fast and pray, And ever wiU doe tUl I dye ; And gett me to some secrett place; For soe did hee, and soe will L FROM THE HERMIT. For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain ; And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain. Till, quite dejected by my scorn, He left me to my pride ; And sought a solitude forlorn. In secret, where he died. But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. And well my life shall pay ; I'U seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die ; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did. And so for him wiU L There has been an attempt, in later days, to cast a doubt upon the title of Goldsmith to the whole of this poem. It has been asserted that the "Her- mit" was a translation of an ancient French poem entitled "Raimond and Angeline." The pretend- ed original made its appearance m a trifling peri- odical pubUcation, entitled "TheQ,uiz." It bears internal evidence of being in reality an imitation of Goldsmith's poem. The frivolous source of this flippant attack, and its transparent falsity, would have caused it to pass unnoticed here, had it not been made a matter of grave discussion in some periodical journals. To enter into a detailed refu- tation would be absurd. The poem of "The Hermit" was at first in- scribed to the Countess (afterwards Duchess) of Northumberland, who had shown a partiahty for productions of this kind, by patronizing Percy's "Reliques of Ancient EngUsh Poetry." This led to a renewed intercourse with the duke, to whom we have already narrated Goldsmith's first visit; but the time had gone by when his grace could have been poUtically useful, and we do not know that our author reaped any other advantage from the notice that nobleman took of him. than the gratification of being recognized by a man of the duke's high rank as a literary friend. This distinguished peer and his duchess were accustomed to spend part of each summer at Bath; and one year, after their return to London, her grace related to Dr. Percy, with considerable hu- mour, the following occurrence, characteristic of our author's occasional abstraction of mind. On one of the parades at Bath, the duke and Lord Nugent had hired two adjacent houses. Gold- smith, who was then resident on a visit with the latter, one morning walked up into the duke's din- ing room, as he and the duchess were preparing to sit down to breakfast. In a manner the most free and easy he threw hunself on a sofa; and, as he was then perfectly knovm to them both, they in- quired of him the Bath news of the day. But per- ceiving him to be rather in a meditative humour, they rightly guessed there was some mistake, and endeavoured, by easy and cheerful conversation to prevent his becoming embarrassed. When break- fast was served up, they invited him to stay and partake of it ; and then poor Goldsmith awoke from liis reverie, declared he thought he had been in the house of his friend Lord Nugent, and with confu- sion hastily withdrew; not, however, till the good- humoured duke and duchess had made him promise to dine with them. Something akin to this incident, is the well known blunder committed by our author during a conversation with the Earl of Shelbourne. One evening, wliile in company with this nobleman. Goldsmith, after a variety of conversation, fell into a fit of musing. At last, as if suddenly recovering from his abstraction, he addressed his lordship ab- ruptly in this manner; — "My lord, I have often wondered why every body should call your lordship Malagrida; for Malagrida, you know, was a very good man." The well bred peer only replied to this awkward compliment by a smile, and the heedless poet went on totally uiaconscious of his error. It was afterwards remarked by Dr. John- son, that this mistake of Goldsmith was only a blunder in emphasis, and that the expression meant nothing more than, "I wonder they should use Malagrida as a term of reproach." About this period, or perhaps a little earlier, Goldsmith, in addition to the apartments he occu- pied in the Temple, took a coimtry-house on the Edgeware-road, in conjunction with a Mr. Bott, one of his literary friends, for the benefit of good air, and the convenience of retirement. To tliis Uttle mansion he gave the jocular appellation of Shoe- maker^ s Paradise, the architecture being in a fan- tastic style, after the taste of its original possessor, who was one of the craft. Here he began and finished one of his most pleasing and successful compilations, a " History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son." This 36 LIFE AND WRITINGS little work was at fifst published anonymously, and was verj' generally ascribed to the pen of Lord Lyttleton. That nobleman then held some rank in thfe world of letters, and as the chief feature in the performance was an easy elegance of language, without much depth of thought, or investigation, the public were the more easily betrayed into a be- lief that it was the work of his lordship. It had likewise the honour to be ascribed to the Earl of Orrery, and some other noble authors of that period. That it was really the production of Goldsmith, however, was soon afterwards generally known ; a circumstance, which in all probabihty, greatly en- hanced its value in the estimation of the world. Few books have had a more extensive sale or wider circulation. The fame our author had now acquired as a critic, a novehst, and a poet, prompted him to ad- venture in the drama. His first eflbrt produced " The Good-natured Man." This comedy was oflTcred to Garrick, to be brought out at his theatre of Drury-Lane; butafter much fluctuation between doubt and encouragement, with his customary hesi- tation and uncertainty, he at length declined it. The conductof Garrickin this instance was the more sur- prising, as the piece had been read and applauded in manuscript by most of the author's literary friends, and had not only the sanction of Burke's critical judgment, but Johnson himself had engaged to write the prologue. Colman, the manager of Cov- ent-Garden Theatre, was, however, not so scrupu- lous ; especially when he found it presented under such patronage. It was therefore agreed that it should be produced at his theatre ; and it was repre- sented there for the first time on the 29th of Janu- ary, 17G8. Contrary to the expectations of the au- thor and his friends, it did not meet with unquali- fied applause ; and though it kept possession of the stage nine nights, it was finally withdrawn. The peculiar genius of its author was apparent in the ease and elegance of the dialogue, and throughout the whole there were many keen remarks on men and manners ; but the piece was deficient in stage- efiect. The Bailiff scene, in particular, was gene- rally reprobated, though the characters were well drawn. This scene was afterwards greatly abridg- ed. Whatever were the faults of the piece as a whole, it was admitted that many of the parts pos- sessed great comic effect, and these were highly applauded. The part of Croaker, in particular, was allowed to be excellent. It was admirably sup- ported by Shuter, the most popular comedian of his day. The drollery of his manner wliile reading the incendiary letter in the fourth act, and his ex- pression of the different passions by which he was agitated, were so irresistibly comical, that he brought down thunders of applause. Goldsmith himself was so overcome with the acting of Shuter, that he ex- pressed his delight before the whole company, as- suring him that "he had exceeded his ovra idea of the character, and that the fine comic richnes* of his colouring made it almost appear as new tcr him as to any other person in the house." Dr. Johnson furnished the prologue, and publicly de- clared, that in his opinion, " The Good-natured Man" was the best comedy that had appeared since " The Provoked Husband." He dwelt with much complacency on the character of Croalcer, and averred that none equal to it in originahty had for a long time been exhibited on the stage. Goldsmith used to acknowledge, that for his con- ception of this character he was indebted to John- son's Suspirius in the "Rambler." Thatof Honey- wood, ,in its undistinguisliing benevolence, bear» some resemblance to his own. " The Good-na- tured Man" has undoubtedly great merit; and though deficient in effect for the stage, will always be a favourite in the closet. Mr. Cumberland re- marks, that it " has enough to justify the good opinion of its literary patrons, and secure its au- thor against any loss of reputation; for it has the stamp of a man of talents upon it, though its popu- larity with the audience did not quite keep pace with the expectations that were grounded on the fiat it had antecedently been honoured vidth." Short aa its career was, however, its author by the sale of the copy, and the profits of his three nights, acquired not less than five hundred pounds, a sum which enabled him to enlarge his domestic establishment, and improve his style of living, though it is believ- ed on rather a too expensive scale. On removing, at this time from an attic in the Inner-Temple, to elegant chambers in Brick-court, Middle-Temple, he is said to have laid out upwards of four hundred pounds. Goldsmith's improved circumstances, did not, however, compensate for the vexations he suffered from the virulence of some of the periodical critics. "At that time," says Mr. Cumberland, "there was a nest of vipers in league against every name to which any degree of celebrity was attached; and they kept their hold upon the papers till certain of their leaders were compelled to fly their country, some to save their ears, and some to save their necks. They were weU known ; and I am sorry to say, some men whose minds should have been superior to any terrors they could hold out, made suit to them for favour, nay even combined with them on some occasions, and were mean enough to enrol themselves under their despicable ban- ners." From this class of critics, poor Goldsmith's sensitive feelings suffered the horrors of crucifixion. To add to his mortification, the comedy of " False Delicacy," written by his friend Kelly, came out at Drury-Lane Theatre about the same time with " The Good-natured Man" at Covent-Garden, and had such an unexampled run of success, that it was said to have driven its opponent fairly off the OF DR. GOLDSMITH. 37 field This might, perhaps, be in some measure owing to the able management of Garrick, under whose special superintendence it was got up; but at that time sentimental writing was the prevailing taste of the town, and Kelly's piece was the finest specimen of the sentiinental school that had ap- peared. Although " False Delicacy," according to Dr. Johnson, was "totally devoid of character," no less than ten thousand copies were sold in the course of only one season ; and the booksellers con- cerned in the cop3'right, as a mark of the sense they entertained of the comedy, evinced by its ex- traordinary sale, presented Kelly with a piece of plate of considerable value, and gave a sumptuous entertainment to him and his frie^ids. These cir- cumstances so wrought upon the irritable feelings of Goldsmith, in whose disposition, warm and generous as it was, envy had an unhappy predomi- nance, that he renounced the friendship of Kell}', and could with difficulty be brought to forgive him this temporary success. Our author, though in the chief features of his character the original of his own " Good-natured Man," was yet strangely jealous of the success of others, and particularly in whatever regarded literary fame. We find it difficult to reconcile the possession of so odious a quality with alTcctioiiate habits and benevolent propensities like his. True it is, how- ever, that he was prone to indulge this unamiable better than I should have done ; for I should have bowed and stammered through the whole of it." On another occasion, during an interesting ar- gument carried on by Johnson, Mayo, and Top- lady, at the table of Messrs. Dilly, the booksellers, ' Goldsmith sat in restless agitation, from a wish to get in and shine. Finding himself excluded, he had taken his hat to go away, but remained for some time with it in his hand, like a gamester who, at the close of a long night, lingers for a little while, to see if he can have a favourable opening to finish with success. Once when he was beginning to speak, he found himself overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the table, and did not perceive Goldsmith's attempt. Thus disappointed of his wish to obtain the atten- tion of the company. Goldsmith in a passion threw down his hat, looking angrily at Johnson, and ex- claiming in a bitter tone " Take it." When Top- lady was going to speak, Johnson uttered some sound, which led Goldsmith to think that he was beginning again, and taking the words from Top- lady. Upon wliich he seized this opportmiity of venting Ms own spleen, under the pretext of sup- porting another person : "Sir," said he to Johnson, "the gentleman has heard you patiently for an hour : pray allow us now to hear him." Johnson replied, " Sir, I was not interrupting the gentle- man ; I was only giving him a signal of my atten- passion to so ridiculous an excess, that the instances tion. Sir, you are impertinent.' ' Goldsmith made of it are hardly credible. When accompanying two beautiful young ladies,* with their mother, on a tour in France, he was amusingly angry that more attention was paid to them than to him. And once, at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in Lon- don, when those who sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was rnaJe to toss a pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed with some warmth, " Pshaw! I can do it better myself." in fact, on his way home with Mr. Burke to supper, he broke his shin, by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets. His envy of Johnson was one day strongly ex- hibited at the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds. While the doctor was relating to the circle there assembled the particulars of his celebrated inter- view with the king. Goldsmith remained unmoved upon a sofa at some distance, afl^ecting not to join in the least in the eager curiosity of the company. At length, however, the frankness and simplicity of his natural character prevailed. He sprung from the sofa, advanced to Johnson, and in a kind of flutter, from imagining himself in the situation he had just been hearing described, exclaimed, " Well, you acquitted yom-self in this conversation * The Bliss Hom^ks, one of whom was afterwards married to Henry Buubury, Esq. and the other to Colonel Gwyn, no reply. Johnson, Boswell, and Mr. Langton, towards the evening, adjourned to the club, where they found Burke, Garrick, and some other mem- bers, and amongst them their friend Goldsmith, who sat silently brooding over Johnson's reprimand to him after dinner. Johnson perceived this, and said aside to some of them, " I'll make Goldsmith foi^ive me;" and then called to him in a loud voice, " Dr. Goldsmith, — something passed to-day where you and I dined ; I ask your pardon." Gold- smith answered placidly, "It must be much from you, sir, that I take ill." And so at once the dif- ference was over ; they were on as easy terms as ever, and Goldsmith rattled away as usual.' The tincture of envy thus conspicuous in the dis- position of our author, was accompanied by another characteristic feature, more innocent but withal ex- ceedingly ridiculous. He was vain of imaginary qualifications, and had an incessant desire of being conspicuous in company ; and this was the occasion of his sometimes appearing to such disadvantage as one should hardly have supposed possible in a man of Ms genius. When his literary reputation had risen deservedly high, and his society was much courted, his jealousy of the great attention paid to Johnson was more strikingly apparent. One eve- ning, in a circle of wits, lie found fault with Bos- well for talking of Johnson as entitled to the honour of unquestionable superiority. " Sk," said he, 38 LIFE AND WRITINGS " you are for making a monarchy of what shovild be a republic." He was still more mortified, when, talking in a company with fluent vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of all who were present, a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson rolling himself, as if about to speak, suddenly stop- ped him, saying, " Stay, stay ; Toctor Shonson is going to say something." This was very provok- ing to one so irritable as Goldsmith, who frequently mentioned it with strong expressions of indigna- tion. There is thus much to be said, however, for the envy of Goldsmith. It was rarely excited but on oc- casions of mere literary competition ; and, perhaps, appeared much more conspicuous in him than other men, because he had less art, and never attempted to conceal it. Mr. Boswell used to defend hitn against Dr. Johnson for this fault, on the ground of his frank and open avowal of it on all occasions,: but Johnson had the best of the argument. " He talked of it to be sure often enough," said the latter, "but he bad so much of it that he could not con- ceal it. Now, sir, what a man avows, he is not ashamed to think ; though many a man thinks what he is ashamed to avow. We are all envious na- turally ; but by checking envy, we get the better of it. So we are all thieves naturally ; a child al- ways tries to get at what it wants the nearest way : by good instructions and good habits this is cured, tUl a man has not even an inclination to seize what is another's ; has no struggle with himself about it." But, after all, if ever envy was entitled to be called innocent, it certainly was so in the person of Goldsmith. Whatever of this kind appeared in his conduct was but a momentary sensation, which he knew not like other men how to disguise or con- ceal. Rarely did it influence the general tenor of Ms conduct, and, it is believed, was never once known to have embittered his heart. While Goldsmith was occupied with his comedy of the "Good-natured Man," he was, as usual, busily employed in the compilation of various pub- lications for the booksellers, particularly a series of histories for the instruction of young readers. These were, his " History of Rome," in 2 vols. 8vo. and the "History of England," in 4 vols. 8vo. The " History of Greece," in 2 vols. 8vo. pub- lished under his name after his death, can not with certainty be ascribed to his pen. For the "History of England," Davies the bookseller con- tracted to pay him 500Z. and for an abridgment of the Roman history, the sum of fifty guineas.* These historical compilations possess aU the ease, ' The articles of agreement relative to these works between the bookseller and Goldsmith having been preserved, we quote them for the gratification of our reader's curiosity, especially as they were drawn by the doctor himself grace and simplicity, peculiar to the general style of their author, and are well calculated to attract young readers by the graces of composition. But the more advanced student of history must resort to other sources for information. In the History of England, in particular, there are several mis-statements ; and one instance may be given from his account of a remarkable occvir- rence in the affairs of his own country, to which it might have been expected he would have paid more than ordinary attention. This is to be foimd in his narrative of the famous siege of London- derry, in 1689, sustained against the French army during a hundred and four days, after the city was found to be without provisions for little more than a week, and had besides been abandoned by the military commanders as utterly untenable. For this memorable defence the country was indebted to the courage, conduct, and talents of the Rev. George Walker, a clergyman who happened to take refuge in the city after it was abandoned by the military. Under the direction of Walker, as- sisted by two oflScers accidentally in the place, the defence was conducted with so much skill, courage, and perseverance, and the citizens displayed such valour, patience, and fortitude, under innmnerable hardships and privations, that the city was finally saved.* For his services on this occasion Mr. "MEMORANDUM. " Russell street, Coveni Garden. " It is agreed between Oliver Goldemith, M. B., on the one hand, and Thomas Davies, bookseller, of Russell street Covent Garden, on the other, that Oliver Goldsmith shall write for Thomas Davies, a History of England, from the birth of the British Empire, to the death of George the If., in four volumes, octavo, of the size and letter of the Roman History, written by Oliver Goldsmith. The said History of England shall be written and compiled in the space of two years from the date hereof. And when the said History is written and delivered in manuscript, the printer giving his opinion that the quantity above mentioned is completed, that then Oliver Goldsmith shall be paid by Thomas Davies the sum of 500^. sterling, for having written and compiled the same. It is agreed also, thaf Oliver Goldsmith shall print his name to the said work. In witness whereof we have set our names the 13th of June, 1769. " Oliver Goldsmith. " TTmmas Davies." "MEMORANDUM. " September 15, 1770. " It is agreed between Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., and Thomas Davies, of Covent Garden, bookseller, that Oliver Goldsmith shall abridge, for Thomas Davies, the book entitled Gold- smith's Roman History, in two volumes, 8vo, into one volume in 12mo, so as to fit it for the use of such as will not be at the expense of that in 8vo. For the abridging of the said history, and for putting his name thereto, said Thomas Davies shall pay Oliver Goldsmith fifty guineas; to be paid him on the auridgment and delivering of the copy. As witness our hands. " Oliver Goldsmith, " Tlwmas Davies." A curious journal which Mr. Walker had kept of all the occurrences during the siege, was published at that period, in 4to, and was afterwards republished by the late Dr. Brown, OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 39 Walker, who belonged to the Established Church, was afterwards created Bishop of Dromore by King William; but his military zeal prompted him to volunteer his services at the battle of the Boyne, where he was unfortunately killed. Of this ex- traordinary character Goldsmith takes a very slight and rather disrespectful notice, stating him to have been a dissenting minister, wliich he was not, aird neglecting to record either liis promotion or his death.* Goldsmith, besides his regular employment in the compilation of these histories, had now all the other business of an author by profession. Either through friendship or for money, but oftener from charity to the needy or unsuccessful of his brethren, he was frequently engaged in the composition of prefaces, dedications, and introductions to the performances of other writers. These exhibit ingenious proofs of his ready talent at general writing, and for the most part gave a much better display of the subjects treated of than could have been done by their own authors. But in tliis view he is rather to be con- sidered as an advocate pleading the cause of ano- ther, than as delivering the sentiments of his own mind; for he often recommends the doubtful pecu- liarities, and even the defects of a work, which it is obvious, had been engaged on the other side, he could with equal ability have detected and exposed. Something like this our readers will find in an Ad- dress to the Public, which was to usher in propo- sals for "A New History of the World, from the creation to the present time," in 12 vols. 8vo. by Guthrie and others, to be printed for Newberry. This undertaking was to form an abridgment of all the volumes of the ancient and modern universal his- tories ; and our author urges a great variety of topics in praise of such contractions and condensing of his- torical materials, which, with equal ingenuity, he author of the Estimate, etc. One very providential circum- stance happened to the besieged. Being reduced by tlie ex- tremity of famine to eat every kind of unwliolesome food, they were dying in great numliers of the bloody flux ; but the acci- dental discovery of some concealed barrels of starch and tal- low, relieved their hunger, and cured the dysentery at the game time. * Our author's inaccuracy, with regard to Mr. Walker, was corrected in the following letter addressed to him by Mr. Woolsey, of Duiidalk : " To Dr. Goldsmith.— Sir, 1 beg leave to acquaint you, there is a mistake in your abridgment of the History of England, respecting Dr. Walker, viz. ' one Walker, a dissenting minister.' " I venture to assure you, Mr. Walker was a clergyman of the Established Church of Ireland, who was appointed Bishop of Dromore by King William, for his services at Derry, but was unfortunately killed at the battle of the Boyne; which I hope you will be pleased to insert in future editions of your late book. " The Duke of Schomberg was certainly killed in passing the river Boyne. I am, Sir, with great respect, your most obedient humble servant, " Thomas Woolsey." "Dundalk, April 10, 1772." could have opposed and refuted. But the whole is truly excellent as a composition. About the same time, he drew up a preface or introduction to Dr. Brookes's " System of Natural History," in 6 vols. 12mo, in itself a very dull and uninteresting work; but such an admirable display of the subject was given in the preface, which he rendered doubly cap- tivating by the charms of his style, that the book- sellers immediately engaged him to undertake his owh larger work of the " History of the Earth and Animated Nature." It was tiiis work which Dr. Johnson emphatically said, its author would " make as entertaining as a Persian Tale." The result proved the accuracy of the judgment thus passed on it; for, although it contains numerous defects, 5'et the witchery of its language has kept it buoyant in spite of criticism. The numerous editions through which it has passed attest, that, if not a profound, it is at least a popular work ; and few will be dispos- ed to deny, that with all its faults, if not the most instructive, it is undoubtedly the most amusing work of the kind yet published. It would be absurd to aver, that an adept would find himself enlightened by the doctor's labours in that science: but a com- mon reader will find his curiosity gratified, and that time agreeably disposed of which he bestows on this work. When our author engaged in this compi- lation, he resolved to make a translation of Pliny, and, by the help of a commentary, to make that agreeable writer more generally acceptable to the pubhc ; but the appearance of Buffon's work induced him to change his plan, and instead of translating an ancient writer, he resolved to imitate the last and best of the moderns who had written on the same subject. To this illustrious Frenchman Gold- smith acknowledges the highest obligations, but, unlucluly, he has copied hun without discrimina- tion, anti, while he selected his beauties, heedlessly adopted his mistakes. In a serio-comical apostrophe to the author, Mr. Cumberland observes, on the subject of this work, that " distress drove Goldsmith upop undertakings neither congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his talents. I remember him, when, in his chambers in the Temple, he showed me the beginning of his ' Animated Nature;' it was with a sigh, such as ge- nius draws, when hard necessity diverts it from its bent to drudge for bread, and talk of birds, and beasts, and creeping things, Vv'hich Fidcock's showman would have done as well. Poor fellow, he hardly knew an ass from a mule, nor a turkey from a goose, but when he saw it on the table. But publishers hate poetry, and Paternoster-rovr is not Parnassus. Even the mighty Dr. Hill, who was not a very deli- cate feeder, could not make a dinner out of the press, till, by a happy transformation into Hannah Glass, he turned liimself into a coo!;;, and sold re- ceipts for made-dishes to all the savoury readers in the kingdom. Then, indeed, the press ocknow- 40 LIFE AND WRITINGS ledged him second in fame only to John Bunyan: his feasts kept pace in sale with Nelson's Fasts ; and when his own name was fairly written out of credit, he wrote himself into immortality under an alias. Now, though necessity, or I should rather say, the desire of finding money for a masquerade, drove Oliver Goldsmith upon abridging histories, and turning Buffon into English, yet I much doubt, if, without that spur, he would ever have put his Pegasus into action : no, if he had heen rich, the world would have been poorer than it is, by the loss of all the treasures of his genius, and the con- tributions of his pen." Much in the same style was Goldsnnth himself accustomed to talk of his mercenary labours. A poor writer consulted him one day on what subjects he might employ his pen with most profit : " My dear fellow," said Goldsmith, laughing, indeed, but in good earnest, " pay no regard to the draggle-tail Muses; for my part, I have always found produc- tions in prose more sought after and better paid for." On another occasion, one of his noble friends, whose classical taste he knew and admired, lament- ed to him his neglect of the Muses, and enquired of him why he forsook poetry, to compile histories, and write novels? "My lord," said our. author, "by courting the Muses I shall starve, but by my other labours, I eat, drink, and have good clothes, and enjoy the luxuries of life." This is, no doubt, the reason that his poems bear so small a propor- tion to his other productions; but it is said, that he always reflected on these sacrifices to necessity with the bitterest regret. Although Goldsmith thus toiled for a livelihood in the drudgery of compilation, we do not find that he had become negligent of fame. His leisure hours were still devoted to his Muse ; and the next voluntary production of his pen was the highly- finished poem of " The Deserted Village." Pre- vious to its publication, the bookseller who had bar- gained for the manuscript, gave him a note for one hundred guineas. Having mentioned this soon afterwards to some of his friends, one of them re- marked, that it was a very great sum for so short a performance. "In truth," said Goldsmith, "I think so too ; it is much more than the honest man can afford, or the piece is worth : I have not been easy since I received it; I will therefore go back and return him his note :" which he actually did, and left it entirely to the bookseller to pay him accord- incf to the success of the sale and the profits it might produce. His estimate of the value of this perform- ance was formed from data somewhat singular for a poet, who most commonly appreciates his la- bours rather by their quality than their quantity. He computed, that a hundred guineas was equal to five shillings a couplet, which, he modestly observ- ed, "was certainly too much, because more than he thought any publisher could atford, or, indeed, than any modern poetry whatever could be worth." The sale of this poem, however, was so rapid and extensive, that the bookseller soon paid hkn the full amount of the note he had returned, with an ac- knowledgment for the disinterestedness he had evinced on the occasion. Although criticism has allotted the highest rank to " The Traveller," there is no doubt that " The Deserted Village" is the most popular and favourite poem of the two. Perhaps no poetical piece of equal length has been more universally read by all classes or has more frequently supplied extracts for apt quotation. It abounds with couplets and single lines, so simply beautiful in sentiment, so musical in cadence, and so perfect in expression, that the ear is delighted to retain them for theii truth, while their tone of tender melancholy indeli bly engraves them on the heart. — The character- istic of our author's poetry is a prevailing simplici- ty, which conceals all the artifices of versification : but it is not confined to his expression alone, for it pervades every feature of the poem. His delinea- tion of rural scenery, his village portraits, his moral, political, and classical allusions, while marked by singular fidelity, chasteness, and elegance, are all chiefly distinguished for this pleasing and natural character. The finishing is exquisitely delicate, without being overwrought; and, with the feelings of tenderness and melancholy which runs through the poem, there is occasianally mixed up a slight tincture of pleasantry, which gives an additional interest to the whole. " The Deserted Village" is written in the same style and measure with " The Traveller," and may in some degree be considered a suite of that poem : pursuing some of the views and illustrating in their results some of the .principles there laid down. But the poet is here more intimately interested in his subject. The case is taken from his own experi- ence, the scenery drawn from his own home, and the application especially intended for his own country. The main intention of the poem is to contrast agriculture with commerce, and to maintain that the former is the most worthy pursuit, both as it regards individual happiness and national prosperi- ty. He proceeds to show that commerce, while it causes an influx of wealth, introduces also luxury, and its attendant vices and miseries. He dwells with pathos on the effects of those lordly fortunes which create little worlds of solitary magnificence around them, swallowing up the small farms in their wide and useless domains ; thus throwing an air of splendour over the country, while in fact they hedge and wall out its real life and soul — ^its hardy peasantry. OP DR. GOLDSMITH. 41 HI faies the land, to hast'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay ; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride. When once destroyed, can never be supplied. The poet, again personified in the traveller, re- turns from his wanderings in distant countries to the village of his childhood. In the opening of the poem he dravFS from memory a minute and beauti- ful picture of the place, and fondly recalls its sim- ple sports and rustic gambols. In all his journey- ings, his perils, and his sufferings, he had ever look- ed forward to this beloved spot, as the haven of re- pose for the evening of his days. And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at fiist he flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return, and die at home at last. With these expectations he returns, after the lapse of several years, and finds the vUlage deserted and desolate. A splendid mansion had risen in its neighbourhood ; the cottages and hamlets had been demolished; their gardens and fields were thrown into parks and pleasure-grounds; and their rustic inhabitants, thrust out from their favourite abodes, had emigrated to another hemisphere. To distant climes, a dreary scene. Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through- torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Dejected at this disappointment of his cherished hope, the poet wanders among the faint traces of past scenes, contrasting their former hfe and gaiety with their present solitude and desolation. This gives occasion for some of the richest and mellow- est picturing to be found in any poetry. The village-preacher and his modest mansion; the schoolmaster and his noisy troop; the ale-house and its grotesque frequenters, are all masterpieces of their kind. The village alluded to in this poem is at present sufficiently ascertained to be Lishoy, near Bally- mahon, in the county of Westmeath, Ireland, in which Goldsmith passed his youth. It has been remarked, that the description of the place and the people, together with the introduction of the nightingale, a bird, it is said, unknown in the Irish ornithology, savour more of the rural scenery and rustic life of an English than an Irish vUlage. But this presents no insuperable difficulty. Such h- censes are customary in poetry ; and it is notoriou." that the clear blue sky and the delicious tempera- ture of Italy, have with much greater freedom been appropriated by English bards to deck out their descriptions of an English spring. It is evi- dent, indeed, that Goldsmith meant to represent his village as an EngHsh one. He took from Lis- hoy, therefore, only such traits and characteristics as might be applied to village-life in England, and modified them accordingly. He took what be- longed to human nature in rustic life, and adapted it to the allotted scene. In the same way a painter takes his models from real life around him, even when he would paint a foreign or a classic group. There is a verity in the scenes and characters of "The Deserted Village" that shows Goldsmith to have described what he had seen and felt; and it is upon record that an occurrence took place at Lishoy, during his life time, similar to that which produced the desolation of the village in the poem. This occui-rence is thus related by the Rev. Dr. Strean, of the diocese of Elphin, in a letter to Mr. Mangin, and inserted in that gentleman's "Essay on light reading." "The poem of 'The Deserted Village,' " says Dr. Strean, "took its origin from the circumstance of General Robert Napier, the grandfather of the gentleman who now lives in the house, within half a mile of Lishoy, built by the general, having purchased an extensive tract of the country sur- rounding Lishoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which, many families, here called cottiers, were re- moved to make room for the intended improve- ments of what was now to become the wide do- main of a rich man, wann with the idea of chang- ing the face of his new acquisition, and were forc- ed, 'with fainting steps,' to go in search of 'torrid tracts,' and 'distant climes.' "This fact might be sufficient to establish the seat of the poem ; but there can not remain a doubt in any unprejudiced mind, when the following are added ; viz. that the character of the village -preach- er, the above-named Henry, the brother of the poet, is copied from nature. He is described exactly as he lived: and his 'modest mansion' as it existed. Burn, the name of the village-master, and the site of his school-house, and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely widow, The wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. (and to this day the brook and ditches near the spot where her cabin stood abound with cresses), still remain in the memory of the inhabitants, and Catherine's children live in the neighbourhood. The pool, the busy mill, the house where 'nut- brown draughts inspired,' are still visited as the poetic scene; and the 'hawthorn bush,' growing in an open space in front of the house, which I knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one, the other two having been cut, from time to time, by persons carrying pieces of it away to bo made into toys, etc. in honour of the bard, and of the celebncy of his poem. All these contribute to the same proof; and the 'decent church,' which I at- tended for upwards of eighteen years, and which tops the neighbouring hill,' is exactly described 42 LIFE AND WRITINGS as seen from Lishoy, the residence of the preach- er." To the honour of Ireland, and in particular of a gentleman named Hogan, grandson to General Napier the destroyer, we are enabled to add that the \dllage of Lishoy, now bearing its poetical name of Auburn, has been renovated and restor- ed, at least as to its locaUties, to what it was in its happiest days. The parsonage, rescued from a legion of pigs and poultry, which had taken possession of its lower apartments, and relieved from loads of grain and fodder, under which its upper chambers had for some years groaned, has resumed its ancient title of Lishoy-house : the church yet crowns the hill, and is again entitled to the appellation of decent; the school-house maintains its station; and the village-inn, with its sign repainted, its chambers re-whitewashed, and the varnished clock replaced in its corner, echoes once more with the voices of rustic poUticians, merry peasants, and buxom maids, Half willing to he press'd, Who kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. To render the dispensation of poetical justice still more complete, the usurping mansion, the erection of which occasioned the downfall of the village, has become dismantled and dilapidated, and has been converted into a barrack.* Goldsmith dedicated "The Deserted Village" to his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, from motives of af- fection. " I can have no expectations," said the poet, "in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am igno- rant of that art in which you are said to excel : and I may lose much by the severity of yovir judg- ment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest therefore aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to you." * The following account of the renovation of this village is extracted from a number of the New Monthly Magazine. "About three mUes from BaUymahon, a very central town in the sister kingdom, is the mansion and village of Aubiim, so called by their present possessor, Captain Hogan. Through the taste and improvement of this gentleman, it is now a beau- tiful spot, althougli fifteen years since it presented a very bare and unpoetical aspect. This, however, was owing to a cause which serves strongly to corroborate the assertion, that Gold- smith had this scene in view when he wrote his poem of ' The Deserted Village.' The then possessor. General Napier, turn- ed all his tenants out of their farms, that he might enclose them in his own private domain. Littleton, the mansion of the General, stands not far off, a complete emblem of the deso- lating spirit lamented by the poet, dilapidated and converted into a barrack. "The chief object of atti-action is Lishoy, once the parson- age-house of Henry Gold!(mith, that brother to whom the poet dedicated his 'Traveller,' and who is represented as the Village Pastor, Passing rich with forty younds a-year. "When I was in tlie country, the lower chambers were in- habited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-rooms by oats. Captain Hogan, however, has, I believe, got it since into his possession, and has, of course, improved its condition. "Though at first strongly inclined lo dispute the identity of Auburn, Lishoy-house overcame my scruples. As I clambered over the rotten gate, and crossed the grass-grown lawn, or court, the tide of association became too strong for casuistry : here the poet dwelt and wrote, and here his thoughts fondly recurred when composing his ' Traveller,' in a foreign land. Yonder was the decent church, that literally ■ topped the neigh- bouring hiU.' Before me lay the little hiU of Knockrue, on which he declares, in one of his letters, he had rather sit with a book in hand, than mingle in the proudest assemblies. And above all, startingly true, beneath my feet was Yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild. "A painting from the life could not be more exact. 'The stubborn currant-bush' lifts its head above the rank grass, and the proud hollyhock flaunts where its sisters of the flower- knot are no more. "In the middle of the village stands the old 'hawthom- Iree,' built up with masoiury, to distinguish and preserve it : it is old and stunted, and suffers much from the depreda- tions of post-chaise travellers, who generally stop to procure a twig. Opposite to it is the village ale-house, over the door of which swings 'The Three Jolly Pigeons.' Within, every thing is arranged according to the letter: The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose. "Captain Hogan, 1 have heard, found great difficulty in obtaining 'the twelve good rules,' but at length purchased them at some London book-stall, to adorn the white-washed parlour of the 'Three Jolly Pigeons.' However laudable this may be, nothing shook my faith in the reality of Auburn so much as this exactness, which had the disagreeable air of be- ing got up for the occasion. The last object of pilgrimage is the quondam habitation of the schoohnaster, There, in his noisy mansion, skili'd to rule. " It is surrounded with fragrant proofs of its identity in The blossom'd furze unprofitably gay. "Here is to be seen the chair of the poet, which fell into the hands of its presents possessors at the wreck of the parson- age-house : they have frequently refused large offers of pur- chase; but more, I dai-e say, for the sake of drawing contri- butions from the curious than from any reverence for the bard. The chair is of oak, with back and seat of cane, which precluded aU hopes of a secret drawer, lite that lately disco- vered in Gay's. There is no fear of its being worn out by the devout earnestness of sitters — as the cocks and hens have usurped undisputed possession of it, and protest most cla- morously against all attemps to get it cleansed, or to seat one's self. GOLDSMITH'S WORKS. 43 The warm friendship which had subsisted for years between the painter and the poet, warranted this dedication ; while the fine qualities which dis- tinguished that eminent artist, richly merited the elegant compliment thus paid him by Goldsmith. *' Reynolds," says Mr. Cumberland, " was a per- fect gentleman ; had good sense, great propriety, with all the social attributes, and all the graces of hospitahty, equal to any man. He well knew how to appreciate men of talents, and how near akin the muse of poetry was to that art of which he was so eminent a master. From Goldsmith he caught the subject of his famous Ugolino ; what aids he got from others, if he got any, were worthily be- stowed and happily applied. Great as an artist, Sir Joshua was equally distinguished as a man ; and as few have better deserved, so few have had a more ample share of prosperity dealt out to them. He sunned himself, as it were, in an vmclouded sky, and his Muse, that gave him a palette dressed by all the Graces, brought him also a cornucopia, lich and full as Flora, Ceres, and Bacchus could conspire to make it. When he was lost to the world," continues Mr. Cumberland, "his de^xth Was the dispersion of a bright and luminous circle of ingenious friends, whom the elegance of his manners, the equability of his temper, and the at- traction of his talents, had caused to assemble round him as the centre of their society. In edl the most engaging graces of his art, in disposition, at- 4;itude, employment, character of his figures, and above aU, in giving mind and meaning to his por- traits, if I were to say Sir Joshua never was ex- celled, I am inclined to believe so many better opinions would be with me, that I should not be found to have said too much." "The controversy concerning the identity of iliis Auburn was formerly a standing theme of discussion among the learn- ed of the neighhourhood, hut since the pros and cons have been all ascertained, the argument has died away. Its abet- tors plead the singular agreement between the local history of the place and the Auburn of the poem, and the exactness with which the scenery of the one answers to the description of the other. To this is opposed the mention of the nightingale, And fiU'd each pause the nightingale had made ; — there being no such bird in the island. The objection is slight- ed, on the other hand, by considering the passage as a mere poetical license: 'Besides,' say they, 'the robin is the Irish nightingale.' And if it be hinted, how unlikely it was that